The fire radiated so intensely through the television, even she could feel the heat of the burning building. She watched as the doors exploded into a fit of dust, and soon, there was nothing left but a notion of fear flooding through her stomach.
She held the music box in her hands and watched the tiny ballerina dance on her fragile feet. The exterior was no longer white, but has been rusted to a soft yellow. The gold paint was chipping away, and the song now sounded distorted with age.