A Soft Stirring

Everything was quiet. I blinked slowly into the soft room light, feeling the gentle dip beneath my back. When I shifted, my flipper moved—slowly, but entirely on its own. It brushed against the smooth fabric under me, rustling the faint butterfly patterns printed across the sheet. Just beside my head, a fluffy pink cushion waited within reach. I nudged its fuzzy edge with the tip of my wing, feeling the plush fibers yield to my touch. The room was calm, so I settled back into the fold of the blanket, content to simply listen.