Ts Pandora Melanie ✦ Plus

“Don’t call it that,” Melanie said.

“The box. You named it.”

Melanie jumped. Her roommate stood in the kitchen doorway, barefoot, holding a mug of tea she hadn’t been drinking. Pandora had moved in three weeks ago, answering a sublet ad that Melanie didn’t remember posting. She was pretty in a sharp way—dark bob, gray eyes that never blinked enough—and she had a habit of knowing things before Melanie said them. ts pandora melanie

The crack in the silver case pulsed—just once, like a heartbeat. Melanie felt it in her sternum.

“Open it,” Pandora whispered.

“What did you just do?” Melanie whispered.

Inside: nothing. Just black velvet and the smell of rain. “Don’t call it that,” Melanie said

And somewhere across the city, Pandora opened her own left eye—Melanie’s left eye—and smiled into the dark. The box had never been Pandora’s. It had been Melanie’s. But Pandora was the lock.