A/N: Yes, another new series. This one is exclusively for KHR this time and will be a collection of song-fics ranging from drabbles to one-shots. As I've already decided upon all the songs I'll be doing, I won't be taking requests on this one. Also, if you do not know a song or simply know and would like to have the song, I've uploaded all the songs I'll be using onto my mediafire. They can be found at mediafire*com/?sharekey=01733de13294a4d81bee9a6e9edd9c769dfd0ee1fe1b9007d8c7c6998cb4ca21. Please remember to change the star into a dot if you use the link. Please note that I do not own anything besides this story. Katekyo Hitman Reborn is property of Amano Akira; Doll On A Music Box/Truly Scrumptious is from the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Soundtrack and is property of it's respective owners.

SHOT ONE: DOLL ON A MUSIC BOX/TRULY SCRUMPTIOUS {MUKURO ROKUDOU}

You see a doll on a music box
That's wound by a key
How can you tell
I'm under a spell
I'm waiting for love's first kiss

You walked lazily into your room, near exhausted from the party that your boss had insisted that you escort him to. As Vongola Decimo's diplomat and secretary, you were often forced to do stupid duties like that. Sighing, you reached up to unclip the heavy, dangly earrings that you had chosen to wear simply because they had looked perfect with your dress. Now though, nobody was here to see it and you were so glad to get them off.

You crossed your small bedroom in a couple strides, heading straight for the dresser. Actually, to be precise, you were heading for the jewelry box on top of the dresser. Touching the lid softly, gently, you smiled down at the small wooden box for a second. You remembered when you had first gotten this jewelry box; the tiny, plain wooden box that your grandmother had given you as a birthday present when you were six. You hadn't really liked the gift. At least, you hadn't liked it until she reached over and opened the lid, sending the first notes of a haunting, sad song floating out into the air. You looked in, barely breathing, at the beautifully crafted porcelain woman turning around and around inside of it.

You remembered staring at it in awe as your grandmother chuckled, bending down to gently stroke the dancing woman. "Would you like to hear the story of this music box, (y/n)?" your grandmother had asked in her hoarse, croaky old lady's voice. You just grinned, giggling before climbing up into her lap. You'd always loved when Grandma told you stories. She was so much better at telling them than anyone else you knew. She never made them boring or too long.

Cuddling you to her, she picked up the music box in her hands, already gnarled and twisted then by the arthritis that had plagued her for much of her life. Staring at the little woman, your grandmother began.

"Once, (y/n), there was a beautiful woman. Her name was Francesca Marcello and she was one of the most beautiful women in all of Italy. She was admired by a lot of men, but she only had eyes for one. He was handsome and charming and he loved her just as much as she loved him. But she was of noble birth and him; he was just a poor boy who worked at the blacksmith's. But they met in secret for many months until one day, the most terrible news came. Francesca's father had arranged for her to be married. The young lovers were, of course, most upset."

"But Grandma!" you'd interrupted in your childish way. "Why didn't they just tell everyone that they loved each other? I mean, Mommy and Daddy say it all the time and I love telling people how much I love them!"

Grandma had just sighed, a small smile, a sad smile, flitting across her lips. "Oh honey, sometimes it's not as easy as that. Back then, a person with a lot of money couldn't love someone with less money than them. And a person with no money couldn't love someone with a lot of money. It was considered wrong back then. Theirs was a love that couldn't exist."

"But Grandma, how can love be wrong?" you asked, not understanding then, hopelessly naive.

Grandma had looked really sad then and when she spoke next; her voice was barely above a whisper. "I was in love once. A man named Demon Spade. He was so beautiful and I loved him."

You'd been confused then, looking up at your Grandma, who was staring off into space, her mind somewhere else, locked up in memories. You didn't get it; your grandfather's name had been Ivan, not Demon Spade. You didn't know what to say, what to do. Grandma didn't look right and she was scaring you a bit, so you'd done the only thing you'd been able to think of and called her name.

"Grandma?"

Grandma had seemed to snap back then, her eyes focusing on you. But she was looking at you so odd and her next words confused you, her behavior scaring you.

"Sometimes, people get chained up by life. They chain themselves up with useless rules and stop living. They chain themselves up to love and die. You don't ever let yourself be chained (y/n). Never. You love and you love proudly. And you don't ever let no man chain you to the point where you can't live without him." Grandma's hands had tightened around you, hurting you and you whimpered.

"Grandma, tell me what happened to the girl!" you cried out, just wanting to get back to the story, to have Grandma acting normal again. And this seemed to do it, because Grandma's hands had loosened up and that fierce look had faded.

"Well, Francesca couldn't stand the thought of marrying another when her heart belonged to Pablo, her handsome blacksmith. So the lovers made a plan. They sought out the help of a witch who lived just out of town. They crept to her house late one night, trying to remain unseen. But someone did see them. The Duke that Francesca was to be wed to witnessed them sneaking off together and followed them to the witch's house. He watched as the lovers asked the witch to make it so that they could always be together.

And the witch did. She gathered a box that was lying on her dresser and sealed Francesca in it, a little woman dancing around and around. She told Pablo that for Francesca to be freed from the box she only had to be kissed by her true love. Pablo was overjoyed. He'd keep the box hidden and safe while he stole out of the city and when everyone thought that Francesca was missing or gone, when he was safe in another town, he'd kiss the little dancer and have his love back. Thanking the witch, he gathered the box to him and set off back towards the town.

But on his way back, the wicked duke overtook him and beat him into unconsciousness before stealing the box. The wicked duke tried kissing the doll in the box, but nothing happened. Convinced that if he couldn't have Francesca, no one could, the Duke hid the box deep in the catacombs under Venice. Pablo spent years trying to find the box and failing. Though he eventually married and had children, the thought of his first and truest love was always there and he never gave up the search. On his death bed, he commanded his oldest son to find the box.

But the son failed too and so the duty of finding the box passed down to his son and so on, down the generations."

You looked up at Grandma, thinking over the story.

"But Grandma, if they couldn't find the box, how did you?"

Grandma laughed then, a sad laugh as she closed the top of the music box. "I didn't. He gave it to me. Demon Spade. I don't know how he found it though."

You drew yourself out of the memories, sighing deeply. You'd lost your naiveté somewhere along the way and that story no longer thrilled you as it had when you were a child. Because now you knew only too well the concept of forbidden love.

You flipped up the lid of the jewelry box angrily, throwing your earrings in while trying to keep your eyes on anything but the tiny dancing figure inside. But, as always, your eyes always found their way too it. But tonight, it was different, the dancing figure different. Because tonight, it was not the beautiful Francesca doll you saw dancing in slow, graceful circles, but a doll that looked exactly like you. A doll accompanied by another, a man's hands on her waist, joining her in the slow tragic dance. A man who looked like…

"Mukuro," you breathed out, watching the couple dance, looking at each other with loving faces. Tears welled up in your eyes as you slammed the top to the box closed on his illusion, choking back a sob. How often would he do this to you? Remind you of what you could never have?

You knew all too well what it was like to be chained now. What it was like to love a forbidden love, a love that the world and your family wouldn't let you have. A love that was wrong. And you knew what it was like to be separated from your love, the one that was locked far beneath the earth, the one who could only come to you in dreams or illusions. And your grandmother had been dead for many a year now, but you had to wonder if she'd be as ashamed of you as you were.

"I'm sorry, Grandma. I couldn't keep the chains off," you whispered into the empty room.