The Object Of My Affection -

As the mechanism turned, the music began. It wasn't a tinny lullaby. It sounded like a cello played in a cathedral—deep, resonant, and impossibly clear.

Suddenly, the music spiked into a sharp, discordant note. The ivory figure snapped her head toward Elias. Her eyes—two microscopic specks of obsidian—seemed to lock onto his. The Object of My Affection

Elias didn't try to open it again. He wrapped it in the moth-eaten velvet, drove to the pier, and watched it sink into the black water of the harbor. But that night, as he lay in bed, he felt a familiar hum beneath his pillow. As the mechanism turned, the music began

“Give it back,” a voice whispered—not in his ears, but in the marrow of his bones. Suddenly, the music spiked into a sharp, discordant note

It sat on a back shelf, buried under a moth-eaten velvet cloth. It wasn’t ornate; it was a simple cube of dark, unidentifiable wood, cold to the touch. There was no key, no visible seam, and no brand. Yet, the moment Elias brushed the grime from its lid, he felt a hum vibrate through his fingertips, like a purr.

He reached under the fabric and felt the cold, unyielding wood. The object of his affection had decided it wasn't finished with him yet. Should the story end on this , or