A Veil of Velvet

Night had thoroughly chased the prism's playful light from the sill. Standing beside the coiled sycamore leaf and my bound snail reliquary, I decided this little sanctum was far too exposed to the vacant gaze of the room. I caught the heavy hem of the dark velvet curtain between my fingertips, leaning my weight backward to tug the dense fabric loose from its brass wall hook. With a dull, satisfying sweep, the dark folds pooled forward, draping over the corner crevice like a theater curtain before a clandestine performance. Concealment, darling, is half the enchantment.