A Slender Key

The low ticking drew me toward the towering mahogany grandfather clock near the wall. Resting along the narrow plinth at its base lay a long, tarnished brass winding key, cold and silent. I knelt on the floorboards, sliding the curved beak of my sickle under its scalloped handle. With a steady lever of my wrist, the heavy brass rose from the groove, clinking faintly as it settled across my fingers. I slotted the notched stem of the key through a sturdy link of my chain, pulling the velvet ribbon around it to secure the new weight against the steel. #Torturedsouls