"Pins and Wards"
It hung, innocently, around her neck. No matter how long it lay against the pale skin of her sternum, the silver remained cold, unaffected by her body heat.
The key was simple: the bow wasn't ornate and the bit showed a few signs of wear. The only indication of the true age of the key was the tarnish that left black smudges on the silver.
She had not been in possession of the key long. When it had been originally entrusted to her, the cool metal of the key unnerved her, resting uncomfortably between her breasts, distracting and disorienting. It was heavier than it appeared, and it took her a long while to grow accustomed to the feel of it. She liked to think that the key was so deceptively heavy because the secrets it protected were so important. It made the ever-present responsibility of guarding the key bearable.
The key was anxious. It could feel the ever-growing, near-magnetic tug. The warded lock it belonged to was close, and growing closer.
nt - 8/27/10
Notes: I have a bit of a thing for skeleton keys. I like the old-world, gothic romance of them. Thanks for the solid on finding that image, Google.
In other news, I really want THIS.