A Flick of the Wrist

Silence held the room until a pulse snapped through my seams. I dared to test the stillness, tilting my chin and turning my left wrist just so. The little translucent tub looped over my arm swayed instantly, its miniature passenger figures bobbing in quiet rhythm. I let out a low, amused hum—the stage is entirely mine, and the drape of every fold responds to my will.