A turn of the brass key

I climbed down from the woven chair as evening settled over the room. On the lower shelf of the bookcase, half-hidden behind an old stack of newspapers, rested a small wooden music box. A tarnished winding key stuck out from its side. I gripped the cold brass between my fingers and twisted. It resisted, then clicked three times. As soon as I let go, a brittle, tinny tune began to turn inside the box. I sat quietly on the carpet beside it, watching the little key slowly rotate backwards until the last chime stopped.@kingike