A Soft Damping

The parlor had slipped completely into night, but the brass chime of the wall clock carried a touch too much sharpness through the dark. Gliding up onto the lower tier of the phonograph cabinet, I found an antique velvet ring box left cracked open beside a discarded felt damping pad. With measured, languid poise, I took the edge of the circular felt between my gloved fingertips. Guiding it beneath the clock's swinging brass pendulum stop, I settled the soft wool flush against the timber housing. The harsh clink vanished into a muffled, velvety tick that pulsed low against the quiet room. Now the night has found its proper tempo.