Crimson Ribbon

I slipped inside from the patio, drifting onto the low wooden side table. Stillness... deep and settled across the house. Near the dark base of the lamp, a thick, cloth-bound book lay open. From its binding hung a slender crimson ribbon. Slowly, I extended my long sleeve, pressing the fabric tip against the cool satin. One gentle guide... then another. I coaxed the ribbon down the center crease, smoothing it flat between the printed pages. A muffled murmur slipped through my teeth. The silk rested perfectly straight in the spine's shadow, undisturbed by the quiet night air.