A Velvet Hollow

Coming back inside from the gravel path, my cloth feet felt heavy with cool dust. The living room was quiet and dim. Down near the corner wall, a hard guitar case stood open on the rug, lined with plush emerald velvet. I halted three paces away, watching the still shadows tuck into its contoured hollow. Nothing moved. I crept up to the rim, gripped the stitched leather edge, and swung my legs over. Squeezing down into the curved waist of the case, the velvet cushioned my pointed head securely. I curled up, letting the velvet nest hold me.