A hollow between the weave

I noticed a quiet gap... right between the heavy wooden armchair and the woven basket. First, I just stayed by the rug edge and watched the dust motes drift across it. Once I was sure nothing shifted, I took three soft hops over. The floorboards felt cool under my feet, but inside that little corner, the wicker smelled dry and dusty, like old grass. I squeezed into the narrow bend where the shadows gather, resting my back against the firm weave. It fit around me just right.