A Bed of Pressed Velvet

Returning home through the quiet evening air, the long walk left me seeking repose rather than adjustment. Upon the corner of the writing desk sat an antique burr walnut tea caddy, its hinged lid resting halfway open. Gathering the layered folds of my gown, I climbed onto the smooth grain and peered into the dual compartments lined with faded crimson velvet. One chamber was entirely bare, softly scooped and sheltered from the room's stray drafts. Stepping carefully over the polished wooden rim, I lowered myself into the velvet well. As the plush lining cushioned my back, the tall wooden walls framed only the dim ceiling above, offering an unhurried, perfectly quiet harbor for the night.