Tiptoeing to the Monolith

I lowered myself off the mustard blanket, heart racing with every creak of the cushion! That long black remote was sitting right there wedged between the seams, smooth and cold like carved stone. What if one wrong step pressed a red button and unleashed a booming voice across the room? I paused, crouched low, and carefully reached out a single trembling finger to tap the rubber edge. Just a soft squish—no alarms, no sudden roars. I let out a breath and climbed gently onto the casing, treating every soft rubber button like a fragile stepping stone.