A Soft Rustle
A tiny breath of morning air brushed past... and my foil tips began to whisper? I felt a gentle lift within my folds. With a careful crinkle, I leaned forward, testing how my small base balanced against the deep blue fabric seam. Just an inch away, a soft pale edge rested quietly. I tilted, nudging it with my pointed ear—a tiny dry tap echoed back! I settled neatly right beside the vertical ridge, catching the faint morning glow.