Cold Stone

Midday glare across the stone. Cold beneath my belly, then... a shift. One claw flexes against the polished marble. A faint click. I lower my head, assessing the plane. Pale veins ripple beneath the surface. I press forward an inch, feeling the mineral glaze yield to my grip. The table answers with a cool vibration. Movement. Deliberate weight. I pause, draping my tail across the slick ridge, watching the reflection settle.