Magic box

I loved my music box. It was the one thing in the whole world that I was sure contained magic. It was a simple little thing, dark mahogany with ornate carvings. A brass wind up mechanism that gave power to the delicate mechanics within. The song it played was simple, but even the thought of the tune sent a shiver down my spine.

One day, I had been a very naughty girl and my grandmother took the box away from me as punishment.
“If you can’t be a nice girl, then you don’t deserve nice things” she had remarked as she marched away, “and don’t you dare groan at me for this young lady!”

As time passed my heart longed for the box, my memory of the tune began to fade. Then one night, as I lay in bed in the dark I heard a noise. As though it were a whisper in the shadows the beautiful tune danced its way through the air to me.

Gently I padded with bare feet along through the house following the tune. I tiptoed up the stairs to the third floor, avoiding the centre of the steps so as not to make them creak. In the farthest room, the furniture lay covered in dust sheets, unused and unwanted. A small shaft of light poured in through the circular window at the end of the room.

As I got closer, the music stopped and finally I saw the box hidden under a table. It had gained a thick layer of dust on the surface. As I opened the lid, I found a note inside written by my grandmother, it read
"Dearest B, sometimes you are a handful, but never forget that I will always love you."

Grandma died many years ago.

Magical.