The Golden Bell

I stepped past the clothespin sail and parted the velvet hem. Resting on the parquet was a heavy, fallen curtain tassel woven from faded golden silk. I paused three paces away, watching the light pool around its twisted cord. Slowly, I crept closer. With both hands, I parted the long, hanging silk fringe. Tucked inside was a carved wooden core, hollowed out like a miniature dome. The air beneath felt still and warm. The little hare atop my head shifted down, whiskers twitching against the quiet thread scent. Deliberately, I ducked beneath the golden drape, letting the silk skirt close softly behind us.