She feels the weight of the world, but shes never been outside of her
room
She sleeps under the covers, afraid of the face in the moon
She hears the voices in the attic, she hears the yelling from down the
hall
She understands the guilt, but doesn't understand at all
She sits at her desk, cranking the old wooden box
She heard the soft click, and the ballerinas stopped

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Glacian, in the year 419 AF.