The Venetian blinds cut the afternoon into golden stripes, their slats half-tilted like the ribs of a resting beast. Each narrow gap framed the world outside in slices—a flicker of passing cars, the sway of distant trees—while inside, the light fell in precise lines across the desk, the floor, the walls, painting the room in alternating bands of brightness and shadow. A slight twist of the wand sent them shifting, reshaping the day’s geometry with a quiet, metallic whisper.