Gemotions

He leaned back against the plush velvet armchair, a book resting open on his chest. Sunlight dappled the floor through the open French doors, a gentle dance of light and shadow. The rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall was a comforting counterpoint to the distant sounds of birdsong. A small, almost forgotten, crack in the wall, usually obscured by a large painting, had somehow become visible. He ran his fingers along the edge, the texture of the plaster surprisingly rough. Intrigued, he pressed gently. The wall gave way with a soft click, revealing a narrow passage. He tilted his head, smiling softly. Later, he thought. The afternoon’s quiet was too precious to interrupt.