The Box!

The Box! Christmas Eve

"Then what?"

Silence speaks volumes. He hasn't got anything nice to say, so he won't say anything at all.

Even if the thing on the other side of the door is what it claims to be; even if she could forgive him like she so badly wants to; she cannot let him in. She must ferociously protect herself and all that she holds dear, and she must always be vigilant of the wolf in sheep's clothing. Her father taught her that, in the worst of ways.

She puts the key to her lips again. "What are you sorry for? Truth."

"Betrayal," says the man. "Ultimate, unforgivable betrayal. I should rather die than speak of it in detail. Please, do not make me."

It is a normal door. Six faces, eight corners, twelve edges... only one lock. One lock is not enough to stop papa when his eyes get dark. There ought to be three, or as many as the door can hold. There ought to be a wall instead. Walls on all sides, walls within walls, boxes within boxes until it's too much to bother with.

"I am angry with you," Ava says, as evenly as she can manage.

"I know."

Some search restlessly for the key that will fit the hole inside them. There is no such key; there is a dagger in disguise.

"You'll try to open the Box," Ava says. "Truth."

"I will. Partly because doing so might get you out of there. Let me help. I need you to let me help, okay? You don't understand, Ava... I cannot live with the guilt of what I've done."

The key is ice cold against her lips. "Then don't."

Choking. Gasping. Nails running down the oak. Thump. As the other side of the door falls silent, Ava begins to sob. She should not weep for this man, and she isn't. She is weeping for the person she used to think he was, and for the person, she could have been.

Come, Pandora hisses the Box. Give me the key and be free.

Before she knows it, Ava is across the room, sitting before the Box, holding the key still in the lock. Welling tears cause her vision to blur in and out, but the Box is always clear. It is not wrapped in puce, or topped with a bronze bow. It is true black, blacker than closed eyes in a dark room, so black that it seems to absorb color from the air around it. It has an uncountable number of corners and edges, but only one face: the face which whispers, Turn the key, Pandora. I will take care of the rest. This will all be over soon.

Just as Ava is about to submit, she spots two glossy black spheres hovering beside her, faintly shimmering.

"Yes," she says. "I know. You're right. I'm sorry."

She withdraws the key and tucks it back beneath her sweater.

A friend or a monster? Giving or taking? Like a gift, like the Box, she is both. A guardian, and a menace to the seekers of the treasure she protects. It would be easy to surrender to the Box, to wash her hands of the responsibility. But this would be no salvation.

The name, Ava, was given to her by her father. Nobody else will remember it but her, because it is no longer tied to anything real. She is not Ava, she is... something else.

She will continue to live here, at the heart of her labyrinth, as both prisoner and warden. It will always be Christmas Eve, and she will always be alone, except Mr. Quimble. That is what is safe, and safe is what is good. As long as her eyes are open, the Box will remain shut....