GOTH MAMA: Prism

I slipped through the propped-open doorway of an antique shop off the brick square, drawn by the smell of aged paper and brass polish. On the lowest shelf of an oak cabinet, a heavy cut-crystal chandelier pendant lay resting on a faded velvet runner. I approached with quiet steps, placing both palms against the cool, beveled glass. With a deliberate shift of my weight, I turned the triangular crystal toward the slanted afternoon sunbeam cutting across the floor. A sharp sliver of violet and deep amber bloomed across the dark floorboards, steady and brilliant.