Night Window and the Glass Bead

A tiny metallic click caught my attention from the windowsill ledge. I stepped quietly along the sill, half-draped in the thin fabric of the sheer curtain. There, resting beside a dormant potted succulent, lay a stray faceted glass bead. I leaned forward in the dim blue night, gently nudging the smooth orb with the tip of one claw. It rolled a fraction of an inch across the painted wood, catching a faint glint of distant street lamps before resting against the terracotta rim. The cool glass felt smooth and calm against my touch.