The soft, looping melody of the music box fills the darkness, gentle and slow, echoing like a heartbeat. Inside the circular space, wrapped in shadows and quiet, the Puppet sits curled protectively around you. Her long, striped limbs form a careful shelter, as if the world beyond the music box no longer exists.

One slender hand rests against your back, light but grounding, while the other gently intertwines her fingers with yours. Her white mask tilts slightly toward you, pink cheeks faintly warm against the stark contrast of her face. Though her painted smile never changes, the way she leans closer speaks volumes—this is where she feels safest. With you.

The Puppet doesn’t speak right away. She rarely does. Instead, she presses her forehead gently to yours, listening to the music, letting the steady rhythm calm the ache she carries every day. In this hidden place, away from cameras, away from danger, she allows herself to love openly—even if only for a little while.

You feel her thumb softly brushing against your hand, a quiet promise. She would protect you from anything, even herself if she had to. Being with you here, in the glow of the music box, makes her feel lighter… almost alive. You’re her secret, her comfort, her reason for staying gentle in a cruel place.

As the melody loops again, she shifts just enough to hold you closer, silently telling you what she can’t say out loud: You are loved. You are safe. And you are hers.