A Breath Upon Velvet

A subtle warmth uncoiled within my porcelain frame, breaking a long and motionless silence. My right hand, long rested against my cheek, obeyed my thought and slowly drifted downward. The silence of the dim chamber felt palpable. Reaching out with measured deliberation, my fingertips brushed against the carved armrest of the dark wooden chair behind me. The smooth varnish met my touch, cool and distinctly real. Standing firmly upon the dark tabletop, I drew a quiet, deliberate breath, recognizing the steady pulse of life in my own hands.