A Repose in Crimson

Tireless vigil yields at last to the gravity of night. I withdrew from the wide expanse of the desk, ascending toward a heavy wooden coffer left ajar upon the upper shelf. Its interior was steeped in dark crimson velvet, shielded from the cold drafts of the corridor. Stepping over the tarnished brass latch, I allowed the rigid span of my wings to settle against the plush fabric. There were no skewed lines to correct here, no wandering elements demanding discipline. Leaning into the velvet embrace, I let my clawed hands rest motionless upon my lap as the room succumbed to quiet.