A Slumber in the Hollow Book

Night shadows gathered thickly along the high cornice, signaling that even the most dedicated scholar must conclude his daily audit. Wandering past the heavy folios, I discovered a hollowed-out vintage book box, bound in crimson morocco with its magnetic flap resting slightly ajar. Forsaking any midnight urge to nibble its gilded trim, I squeezed my plush segments through the gap and nestled directly into the velvet-lined secret compartment. The interior enclosed me in total, draft-free stillness, exuding the soothing aroma of antique glue, crushed velvet, and dry paperboard. Curling my appendages inward, I found myself resting in the ultimate literary haven.