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The slow plinks of a music box sounded somewhere in the darkness. It was the same single pick melody that always played at this time. Yume could never find it, but she supposed she was never meant to. By morning, it would all be but a dream. Perhaps it truly was a dream. Her nights were sleepless enough she couldn’t truly tell where dream and reality ended. All she knew was the darkness of her room, and that as silence settled over the building and all grew still - the music box played. 

This room, this tiny cell of a room, was her world when she was home. Her prison, her haven. Every night, that door locked from the outside. Trapping her in darkness with but a bed and some blankets for company. Every night, as everything else settled to slumber and even the walls and floors stopped creaking, the music box sang to her. Somewhere, in her darkness. 

It sounded like a waltz, at least that’s what she started thinking when she finally knew what types of different music there were. A slow, haunting waltz she could picture dancing to. She never dared - uncertain of what disturbing the stillness might do - but she dreamed of it. When she’d hear the music, she’d close her eyes and imagine herself drifting, slowing along with the melody and filling the notes it missed. 

Her eyes remained open tonight, staring up at the darkness that was her ceiling as she lay and listened. Somewhere that song played. It called to her. She could feel it in her bones, the urge to heed the call. To get up. To dance.

She sat up, turning to sit with her legs off the bed. Dare she? It felt like ice rushed through her veins, freezing her to her core at the thought. If she danced and made a sound, if anyone woke...

Her breathing shook. Nerves. She leaned forward a bit, gently - slowly - placing her foot to the ground, toes then ball then heel. First one, then the other, before slowly rising from her bed. The floor didn’t creak. The music didn’t stop. 

She realized she was holding her breath when she felt lightheaded. It was reflexive, to stop even breathing in the fear at just existing. But nothing had happened. Her eyes closed. She could feel the music, the pull, urging her to dance. 

She took a step and froze. The plinks continued. She made another. The song persisted. Slow, measured, steps began. Bare feet on wood floors. Careful, light steps carrying her around in time to the melody she both heard and imagined as accompaniment. Except, as she danced - it sounded like the music quickened. First slow to help her get her footing, and feel the melody fully. But progressively, it grew faster. She hadn’t realized, not entirely. She just enjoyed the ability to swirl and turn and move freely.

Until she stepped on a loose floorboard.

Yume stopped, freezing as her nightgown skirting settled around her legs. She was afraid to even move, to dive back into bed. Anything would make more sound. Especially when she realized how utterly quiet it was for that moment. There was no more plinks, no more melody to carry on. 

Then she heard the footsteps coming down the hall. [/hider]