The castle library door groaned open. Golden light spilled across the floor, thick with floating dust. Melody stepped inside. The shelves smelled of old paper and quiet. She walked slowly between the rows of leather-bound books.
Her fingers traced the spines. Something called to her — she could feel it, but could not name it. Past towers of books she walked, past portraits of kings she did not know, until a small wooden box caught her eye.
Tucked between two heavy volumes was a small wooden music box. She lifted it gently and turned the brass key. Click. Click. A tune began — but it stuttered, skipping like a stone across water. She wound it again. The melody came softer this time.
She carried the music box out into the garden. Sunlight poured over the flowers and the stone paths. Beneath the great willow tree, she set the box on the bench. The tune stuttered again, but she did not mind. She sat and waited.
From her satchel she took her father's painting album. The pages fluttered in the breeze. She turned them slowly, past sketches and studies, until a single sheet of paper rose from between the leaves and drifted down.
The paper settled in her lap. She looked down. The notes on the page matched the melody of the music box exactly. She pressed the paper to her chest. A smile spread across her face. She knew this song. She had always known.
She opened the music box once more and turned the key. The melody played clear and true this time, as if the box had finally remembered. She reached into the album again and found the painting — the one of her as a child.
She set the painting beside the music box. The melody rose, filling the garden. And there — in the painted face — something shifted. The painted princess seemed to glow in the afternoon light, as though she were smiling from the canvas.