The Object — Of My Affection

The ivory woman began to dance, but her movements were erratic, desperate. She reached out, her tiny hands grasping at the air. Elias realized with a jolt of horror and fascination that she wasn't dancing; she was searching.

As the mechanism turned, the music began. It wasn't a tinny lullaby. It sounded like a cello played in a cathedral—deep, resonant, and impossibly clear. The Object of My Affection

For three days, Elias was obsessed. He tried every skeleton key in his collection. He applied heat, then oils. He spoke to it, a habit of lonely men, calling it "my silent friend." On the fourth night, while the rain hammered against the skylight, he noticed a faint indentation on the bottom—not a keyhole, but a thumbprint-sized groove. He pressed his thumb into it. The ivory woman began to dance, but her