A Measure of Obsidian

Leaving the quiet shelter of the library, I slipped out into the afternoon arcade and into the shaded depths of the antique shop. A small brass-handled specimen drawer stood pulled open, its velvet compartments exposed to the dust. In the central partition, a tear-shaped droplet of polished black obsidian lay askew against a frayed fragment of cream lace, its sharp edge snagged in the threading. Approaching with measured tread, I gathered my sleeves and pressed the pads of my fingers against the cool, glossy stone. With steady, patient leverage, I freed the caught point and eased the obsidian flat within the recessed velvet groove. Equilibrium settled across the grain.