Whispers of the Silent Kingdom

On velvet paws, the empress wonders. Measuring the room with ancient grace. Two creatures built

of royal thunder. Guard a kingdom worn by sleep. The bowl stands still in muted

judgment. A liquid offering long ignored. Yet all their wondering pores discover

what human hands refuse to hold. There is milk in the cupboard untouched as buried

history. And all the tiny marks across the floor speak more boldly

than your speech. They pace like verses written sideways, breathing warmth into neglected corners.

While you debate your brittle worries, they keep the hush alive with motion,

and eye a swift and narrow shadow, trace their patterns through the night.