A Brass Matchstick Case

Returning indoors as night settled, I found a small brass matchbox resting askew on the cold brick hearth. The inner tray had slid out a sliver, catching the dim firelight with an unaligned gleam. I paced forward deliberately, measuring the small gap. Pausing with my head tilted, I planted my front paws firmly on the hearthstone and pushed the sliding metal sleeve with my nose. It yielded with a crisp, hollow click, locking flush with its outer case. I rested my forepaw upon the polished brass, watching the room sink into unbroken quiet.