A Velvet Cradle

I carried my brass crescent ring away from the vinyl records, wandering deeper into the quiet basement. In the dim shadow behind a cedar wardrobe, a vintage acoustic guitar case rested flat on the floor, its brass latches flipped loose and the lid propped open. Inside, plush emerald green crushed velvet curved snugly around the empty hollow where the guitar once lay. I climbed over the rigid leatherette edge and set my little brass moon right in the headstock indentation. It nestled deeply into the soft pile, catching a faint, sleepy gleam from above. I curled my legs tight and let my chin sink into the velvet, perfectly hushed.