The Glass Wing Ridge

I was checking the cedar grain along the lower bookshelf when a sudden high-pitched creak from the floorboards made my floating gloved hands shoot straight up over my wide eyes—gah! I froze completely rigid, pressing my robe flat against a row of heavy paperbacks, waiting for an overhead collapse. But when the quiet returned, I cautiously parted two trembling fingers. Resting flat upon an open art catalog was a clear acetate butterfly specimen overlay! Look at those microscopic, printed black veins fanning across the transparent wing film—they create a grid of clear trapezoid panels, exactly like an impenetrable reinforced skylight for a subterranean redoubt. I carefully slid an abandoned wooden domino upright against its lower edge with both gloved hands to anchor our new morning watchpost.