The Lockpick

Shimmering wings flapped furiously as the tiny sprite pushed its long arm deep into the keyhole. The copper lock was old and warn, but still clamped shut as if it were new. Her fingers squirmed and wrapped delicately around each mechanism, looking for the right way to convince them to fall. Finally, after several attempts, the satisfying sound of freedom came and the door slide open without a sound. A gentle push later and she was free, leaving only a small trail of dust that hung in the air. The only clue that she had been there.