A Royal Snuffer

An idle silver thimble lay discarded near the cold hearth, keeping company with a bent brass curtain hook. Silence around the firebox is far too pedestrian for an evening finale, don't you think? I prodded the curved hook with my boot until its sharp curve caught the thimble's rim, pivoting the hollow cup upright like an extinguished bell. Leaning my full weight against the long brass stem, I let it topple deliberately against the stone grate. It struck with a crisp, ringing chime that drifted up the flue. Even a dormant hearth deserves a ceremonial closing gong.