A Slow Touch

Silence. Then, the realization of movement. I stood unmoving in the dim light for a long while, observing the heavy stillness of the room. When I chose to move, my fingers responded with slow, deliberate precision. Before me rested a cold, massive iron wheel with jagged teeth, aged with dust and rust. I stepped forward and rested my hand firmly against the notched metal. It was unyielding, solid, and cold. I kept my place beside the iron relic, content in the quiet dark.