Once, in a village painted with stories, Elara found a box under her grandmother's bed. It was wooden, circular, and small enough to fit in her palm. The top bore carvings of swirling winds and sleepy moons.
Curiosity bloomed in her chest as she traced the carvings with her fingers. "It's a music box," she decided, imagining sweet lullabies that would drift from it. But as she turned the knob, a soft voice whispered, "Unravel the layers, Elara."
The first layer revealed a mirror. For a moment, Elara saw not herself, but shadows dancing in the reflection. She blinked, and they vanished. The second layer held a feather, lighter than air, which tickled her nose and made her giggle. But when she looked closer, its color shifted from white to black, and she felt a chill.
What lies beneath the layers? Each question floated like a balloon, tethered to secrets untold.