A small music box lay playing a tinny and melancholic tune over, and over again, as the small boy lay awake in a cold sweat on his bed. Long silvery braids hung over the side of the mattress as he stared up into the darkness, unwilling to go and fetch his father for help.

Edwin Edelstein, the personification of a former micronation in Austria, was his name. The young boy with a physical age of no more than 10 was unaware of what was happening, waiting for the pain and the sickening feeling to go away as he stared through the dark, trying to see something, anything. Nothing was coming into focus, however, and he began to panic, just resisting calling out for help, something to relieve the pain.

Edwin had always been obsessed with art, and his mind drifted back to the calming thought of a brush gliding over paper covered with paint, strokes so natural and realistic they would put many, more mature, artists to shame. He was suddenly jolted out of his thoughts, whining quietly about a pain he felt in his body, curling up on the bed, trying to get it to go away.

Eventually the young boy felt the pull of sleep and didn't resist his sudden, overwhelming tiredness as he closed his eyes, his chest moving up and down slowly in the darkness and his mouth slightly open, hearing himself breathe in the dark until his chest didn't rise and fall at all, going still, his small, pale body going limp as the re-evoking of his micronation status finally took effect, taking him into the darkness, without anybodies knowledge. Everything was still and quiet and nobody was wiser to his death, as the seconds moved on and the house remained silent, waiting for the arising of an unsuspecting father.

The quiet melody of the music box played on.