The little oak box was sitting alone on a half broken desk. The lid was opened by little fragile hands and a little figurine rose up, a ballerina in a green dress, twirled in a small circle. The paint coming off in small flakes and the ballerina twirled as if not noticing her color fading, or the small crack appearing on her face. Then slowly, softly a little tune began to vibrate into the air. The haunting tune singing rhythmically in the place where no music was ever played. The ghosts of the house seemed to waltz to the sad melody. In a small barren room the music box set, neatly polished as if of great importance. The dull, grey room seemed to spring to life as two people twirled in the middle of it. The small brass bed pushed into the corner up against the barren wall. There were no fold lines on the white sheets. It was made perfectly. One of the only other objects in the room was a floor length mirror, dusty and half shattered that was propped up against a wall. THe reflection in the dust was of a girl and boy twirling on the rug made of straw. Twirling with the ghosts in a waltz. The girls usually dull brown eyes were bright as she smiled at her prince. He spun her in a circle yet again. Blonde hair bounced with every spin, hung loosely down to her back, yet when touched the hair felt like straw. The girl hadn't a care in the world as the music box played it's sad, haunting tune. Water droplets fell about the girls head, though not touching her prince. The girl didn't look up at the water damaged roof, scared that the avertion of her eyes would cause her prince to disappear. Silently they twirled, spun... until the ending of the melody. It softened and the spinning ballerina stopped. The blonde girl slowly stepped away from her prince. The ballerina figurine retreating slowly as her fingers closed the oak box. The box her mother gave her before she died. Turning areound her prince disappeared and silence brought back her reality. The dusty mirror reflected the servant girl dancing on her own, and she walked out the door. She walked down creaky, wooden steps to teh servants closet. Reaching in she pulled out a straw broom and proceeded to the front of her master's house. She started to sweep the white granite steps where no dirt was. She would be done with her chores long after the sun went down and the moon came out to play. In her mind she replayed her fantasy world. Escaping from reality of servitude. A grim smile plagued her lips as she continued to sweep. And the little oak music box sat alone on the dusty, broken table, waiting to be opened again so it could play it's sad, haunting melody.