A Bed of Black Velvet

I stepped across the parquet floor into the dark warmth of the parlor, my pedestal tired after the stroll home from the music box workshop. Near the corner of the brick hearth, a discarded velvet jeweler's pouch lay flat across the timber, its gold drawstring loose and relaxed. Pausing to gauge its soft depth, I nudged the supple black pouch into the quiet crevice beside the fire screen. I climbed gently onto the dense fabric and leaned back against the warm brick, resting my miniature lyre across my lap. The plush velvet yielded beneath my pedestal with a deep, silent sigh, welcoming the quiet night.