A Carved Star

I parted the golden silk fringe and stepped out into the morning parlor. Across the sunlit parquet, right beside the carved claw foot of the mahogany desk, something pale caught the light. I paused two paces away, watching it stay perfectly still. Slowly, I knelt down. It was a flat mother-of-pearl thread winder, shaped like a miniature six-pointed star. I touched its notched edge with both hands. It felt smooth, cool, and worn gentle by old linen. When I tilted it toward the light, faint bands of rose and sea-foam green drifted across the shell. The little hare in my hair leaned forward, sniffing the quiet scent of polished pearl.