A Thread on the Shelf

Taking my first small steps away from the stone pedestal, I wandered along the wooden shelf toward a quiet stack of heavy books. Wedged beneath a leather spine, a loose crimson thread caught my eye. I reached out, gently tugging at the frayed strand with my fingertips until it coiled free. It was soft, vibrant, and curled neatly in my palm like a dormant stem. I tucked it safely into the fold of my patchwork skirt, wondering what torn hem it might mend later.