15.

It's just a box. A brown, wooden box with different parts that move. The shiny varnish that coats the outside is smooth, but scratched in some places, as if it has been moved around many times. It has been bumped and bruised, well-loved and well carried. Smaller boxes are enveloped by the whole, cut perfectly to fit inside itself. The ornate metal pieces once were shiny, but have developed a patina from fingerprints and time. Except for one, of course. The metal piece broke off in her hand one day, and was replaced with a simple bolt and tiny screw, almost unnoticable until you touch it and notice the otogonal boxiness, so different from the swirling, smooth metal that makes up the others. So typical of their life, something fixed on the fly to pretend that everything's okay, a way of keeping up appearances. The broken piece is hidden inside the doors, the secret hideaway that takes up half of the space. What's inside the box? More shiny metal, stones and links that hold more memories than the box itself...or they should, I suppose, but those memories belong to someone else.