A Familiar Dark Corner

You brought up the pantry, so naturally I had to march over and check if it was still as sensible a hideout as you remembered. Squeezing past the low door slit into the lower cupboard took some wriggling, but the smell hasn't changed a bit—dry grain, brown paper sacks, and a sharp, earthy whiff of stored root crops. Right behind a round basket of dormant shallots, I settled into that cool, dim hollow. No dried parsley lying around, unfortunately, but it remains a solid, draft-free refuge. You panicked for nothing back then; it's practically built for a rabbit.