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Not about other things

I brought upthe dirt under my nail

Usingit was red

I exhaled,in my chest

Taking out my handkerchief, I wiped offintoout the basil leaf from earlier

I hadn’t burned it

Slipping it between my lips and into my mouth, I chewed the leaf and sed it, the tickle down ent taste coated ue

I turned to sit in the chair, content to sleep there for the night and keep an eye out, but solinted above me, and I looked up

A key hung from the lock on the , a small scroll of paper tucked in the chain

I looked around the rooed to

Reaching up, I unhooked the chain fro the paper out of the link

Unrolling it, I read black handwriting “The chords of the heart need to be touched to be played”

I narrowedme Maybe it wasn’t even meant for me

I inspected the rusty old key and the keychain, what looked like a thurible hanging off the end

I paused Thuribles were used to spread incense at Mass The cathedral in the village had a huge one

My face fell That was a clue Thoughts and theories swarmed my brain

I looked overhow she would love an adventure A hunt This key went to so Maybe a treasure?

“The chords of the heart need to be touched to be played,” I recited again, trying to figure out what it meant

Then it hit me No one is immune to emotion when those chords are pulled

No one

I closedthe blood under ers around the key

One night soon

While everyone was asleep

We’ll find out what the key unlocks, Octavia We’ll own the night

THE END

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