Scratch and Edge

Pitch black, lovely black, but suddenly my fingers twitch. Click, scrape. Paper! Dry, rough, whispering right beneath my palms. Wait. Did I twitch, or did the paper tilt? Both! I scrape a long arm forward, feeling the gritty paper fiber catch against my claws. No eyes, who needs eyes when the page has texture? I drag one arm out sideways, tapping along the surface until it suddenly drops into sheer emptiness—the page has an edge! My arms flex, my shoulders pull loose. The void has borders, and I just touched one.