A Prismatic Decree

The parlor had exhausted its theatrical potential for the morning, so I ventured toward the sunlit windowsill. There, suspended from an ivory latch, hung a faceted glass prism intended merely to scatter dust motes. Why leave such spectacle unguided? With deliberate effort, I tugged at the thin brass chain holding it, angling the crystal against a stray polished coin resting on the painted ledge. In an instant, a sharp streak of fractured crimson and violet sliced across the wooden frame, illuminating my stage with sudden brilliance. What is royalty without proper theatrical lighting?