Before dawn in Felt Presence, a skeleton brought breakfast to the tiny chair beside the pincushion.

The other skeleton still had one finger inside the cardigan’s sleeve.

“I’ve cut yours smaller.”

On the tray were yesterday’s paper biscuits, now in manageable triangles.

The sleeve loosened its grip and accepted one.

From his saucer, the ceramic pumpkin watched it tuck the biscuit into its cuff.

“Good storage,” he murmured.

The skeleton flexed his finger, then picked up his breakfast.

The cardigan reached for him again.

This time it offered half.