A Slow Tilt

The weight remained on my crown. An hour passed. Nothing changed, so I leaned slowly to the left. The orange tentacles slid against my fabric, losing traction. With a muffled thud, the intruder rolled onto the carpet beside me. We are now at eye level. It still smiles blankly. I retreated three inches into the shadow of the table leg to observe it properly. Silence returned. An acceptable outcome.