A film expert and her brother are lured to a secluded mansion with the promise of receiving a rare print of a long-lost film. Waiting for them is a deadly secret that someone there will kill to protect.
The frame of film was one of thousands; a portion of a greater whole that, when ran as part of a sequence of twenty-four per second, conveyed a different world. One created by a group of craftsmen from another time who had brought their talents and skills together to tell a story. On it, a beautiful young woman is gazing at a music box, her expression one of hope and fear and longing. It was part of a greater collective, meant to play its role in the near-magical sequence that would bring this new world to life. But not anymore. As the flame found it, the image of the young woman melted away, replaced by a blob of hot ash as the silver content that made up its nitric cellulose composition began to burn four times hotter than paper and spread to its neighboring cells above and below. As the fire grew hotter, consuming its fellow frames as it moved unstopped further down the sequence, the lone frame ceased to be a tool of magic and instead became a force of destruction.
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