Kibo and Tiku and the Museum

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You know the place where the oldest lullabies are kept, the ones no one sings anymore? The Hall of Fading Echoes stands there, its silver doors always slightly ajar. Inside, every step makes the air hum, just a little.

The Hall of Fading Echoes smelled like polished wood and warm milk. Kibo rolled in on quiet wheels, his copper plates dusted with starlight. The ceiling stretched so high it vanished into mist. Below it, a cloud floated, soft as a dandelion clock. It glowed when the hall was quiet.

KIBO: "Tiku, look. The cloud is watching us."

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