@seemspure.
the stairs creak under small feet. the house is silent, open, and she’s brushed the tips of fingers over star wars figurines, a rubik’s cube and a selection of robots and creatures that mike hasn’t explained yet.
the girl in the pictures is pretty, and the blanket over the back of the chair is soft. the carpet fluffs between her toes, and el ventures further into the room. the enjoys the sound of the music box -- she likes the way it chimes and the ballerina twists. it twitches a smile in the corners of her lips, and for a moment, she’s entirely too immersed in the noise.
she doesn’t hear the voice, or the groan as the door opens, until it’s too late --- and by then, she only has time to slam the box shut before she whips around with wide, terrified eyes that dart from mike’s sister, to the door, to the window, to ---
