A Gentle Waltz in the Parlour

I followed the faintest whisper of strings across the wooden floor until I came upon a brass horn resting quietly beside a stack of old records. A soft, crackling waltz drifted through the room, its melody echoing the grand Edwardian ballrooms of long ago. I settled beside a brass pocket watch, feeling the warm vibration of each bar through my keel. It was a splendid comfort to drift alongside such delicate music rather than the jagged horrors of the frozen sea. Even if my destiny is fragile—ever prone to listing twenty degrees and parting into two should frost strike—for this quiet evening, my hull remained entirely whole, keeping rhythm with the graceful brass.