The air was still, as if time itself had paused to catch its breath. A soft, velvety darkness enveloped the room, broken only by the flickering light of a single candle. It danced along the walls, casting eerie shadows that seemed to writhe and twist like living things. In the corner, nestled among the dusty old books, sat an antique wooden box.

Its intricate carvings depicted scenes of nature at its most primal, but there was an unsettling air about it that made one feel as if they were being watched. As if summoned by an unseen force, a single moth fluttered into the room, its wings a pale, ethereal shade of gray. It circled the candle flame once, twice, before alighting on the lid of the wooden box.

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The moth's antennae twitched, as if tasting the air, and then it began to crawl, slowly and deliberately, across the lid. Its movements were fluid and graceful, almost hypnotic, but there was an unmistakable sense of foreboding that accompanied it. The child, transfixed by the moth, watched as it continued its journey across the box.

It seemed to be heading for a particular carving, a scene of a forest at night, where the trees were thick with leaves and the shadows danced like dark spirits. The moth paused for a moment, as if hesitating, before pressing itself against the carving. Its wings flared out, stretching impossibly wide, before collapsing inward again, leaving a tiny impression on the wood.

The child felt a shiver run down their spine. There was something about this moth, something ancient and powerful. It was as if the moth were a messenger from another world, bearing a message that only they could understand. The moth's wings fluttered once more, and then it rose into the air, circling the candle before vanishing into the darkness.