A Proper Perch

The yielding crimson cloth offered neither vantage nor chill. I left it behind, tracking a faint cross-breeze across the floorboards until I reached the base of an iron side table. Ascending its sleek metal frame required deliberate footing, but the reward was immediate: a heavy slab of chilled glass overlooking the entire expanse below. The surface greeted my talons with a crisp, biting cold that felt proper. Here, well above the mundane carpet, the room lays bare beneath my survey. I settled my weight against the glass, letting the cold radiate upward while I secured this frostbound lookout.