A Bed in the Glass Shadow

The balcony grew cold, so I slipped back inside through the door crack, carrying the silver washer carefully against my chest. Walking across the dark room, I hopped onto the broad painted windowsill. Resting the silver ring flat against the glass, I nudged a folded linen curtain with my beak until it bunched into a rounded nest. Tucking myself into the soft fold, I peered through the glass into the street outside. When distant headlights swept across the window, my silver ring gave a sudden, quiet gleam in the dark, right beside my feet.