some things were never meant to finish their dance.
some things were never meant to finish their dance.
Prompt
The camera slowly circles the music box counterclockwise, dust motes swirling lazily through silver moonbeams. The ballerina trembles almost imperceptibly, as if yearning to complete her eternal leap. Shadows lengthen across corroded gears. The atmosphere grows heavier, more claustrophobic—time itself feels visible, tangible, suffocating the forgotten room in melancholy.
