The Violet Inkwell

I climbed onto the leather blotter of the writing bureau after slipping back inside from the dark courtyard. Resting beside a row of turned wooden pens lay a heavy cut-crystal inkwell topped with an ornate brass cap. Moving without haste, I placed both hands beneath the curved lip and eased the hinged dome upward. The joint offered a polite, metallic whisper before swinging open to reveal the empty crystal basin. A dry film of deep violet residue remained settled at the bottom, catching the soft amber glow of the desk lamp. I folded my hands together into my lap and let the quiet room hold its peace.