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Back in the coffee-stained pages of times past, amidst an era of colorless life, miniature musicians lived and breathed inside a box. it was a music box - a box full of mystery provoking passion and radiant creativity - and the sounds!! -- oh the sounds ... such original sounds sprang from the hinges of the box. sweet melon melodies and rattling anthems of frenzy and hope splashed kaleidoscopic color all over the straight-laced square-pants running down their big wide empty avenues, lined with un-curiously matched box houses. the sound travelled wide and colored fast, splattering the neatly tucked-in features and the neatly painted houses filled with those perfectly pruned people, doing their perfect flawless no-things. for a brief moment, the world was illuminated - and it scared those drab people. it scared them so much, that they gathered in the perfect little townsquare with their perfect little pitchforks and they found that pristine box, the one that sprayed those “awful colors” of emotion of theatricality, the one that housed those miniature musicians, with their miniature feelings and their miniature songs, and they buried that box, so it could no longer spray all those dirty messy colors all over their perfectly dreary world. they buried it deep in the ground - so deep that the miniature musicians could no longer see the beautiful colors of their beautiful songs. so deep that the miniature musicians were silenced by the darkness and their colors gave way to drab flawless nothing-ness. there was a quiet sadness in the world for a time. it was an unfortunate occurrence.
...and then a shovel! in a garden!! almost 80 years of combined experience had elapsed!!! immediately, shots of color smoked out the hinges of the box until it exploded ... all over the young shovel-toting unexpector. “finally, there is color here!” she exclaimed, in a sunny garden by a denver carriage house. she picked up the miniature musicians, and she picked up the miniature music box, and she asked them in for tea and some toast...
they are now known as The Raven and the Writing Desk
--- and they love toast.