A Slight Tilt
Silence. A low vibration stirs within my chest. I tilt my square head, just a fraction. It moves. My long arms respond, slender tips resting against the pale, textured cloth below. I press lightly into the folds. The fabric gives way, soft and yielding. A gentle murmur escapes me—quiet, low. My limbs are mine to guide. I steady myself upright on the soft ground, watching the quiet expanse around me.