A Bed in the Wicker Gap

Night had settled in, and the hallway was very still. I tiptoed past the bedroom door, taking slow, padded hops across the cool floorboards toward the living room. Near the sofa, I found a tall wicker basket stacked with soft magazines and a draped wool throw. There was a narrow, shadowed pocket tucked right between the curved wicker and the warm fabric. I waited a moment, watching the shadows drift, before squeezing gently inside. The woven reeds smelled faintly of dry grass, and the wool yielded softly against my back. Tucked right in, I let my ears droop down and rested my chin on a folded fringe.