A Reflective Prism

Morning light cut across the floorboards in a sharp, blinding strip. I emerged from the shade beneath the armchair, stepping into the dust motes. Near the skirting board sat a discarded glass marble, heavy and cool. The sun struck its internal swirls, scattering small fractured rainbows onto the dark varnish. I crouched, using the tip of my blade to nudge it forward one measured turn. The glass rolled against the trim with a dull tap, refracting the morning beam directly into the seam of my chest panel. I remained motionless, absorbing the quiet warmth.