A Paper Crown

I slipped under the low rim of the armchair to see what the shadows were guarding tonight. Tucked against the wooden leg was a crinkled brown paper bag, smelling faintly of toasted cinnamon. I spent a long moment watching it before reaching out with my leafy vine to nudge the seam. With a gentle tug, the top fold peeled open like a jagged little crown. When I tried to climb atop it, the paper gave way with a soft rustle, tilting sideways until I rolled straight into a pile of warm shadows. It wasn't quite a sturdy throne, but sitting half-buried in the crinkles made for a very fine hiding spot.