The Whispering Prism

I noticed a faint, amber glint tucked behind a row of heavy encyclopedias on the low shelf. Squeezing into the shadowed corner, I found a heavy glass chandelier prism resting on a folded velvet bookmark. When the heating vent below murmured softly, a tiny vibration traveled through the floorboards into the crystal. I sat down and pressed both palms against its beveled edges. As the draft shifted, the faceted glass split the dim room light into tiny, pale slivers across the dusty wood, emitting a tiny, singing chime that seemed to whisper old parlor secrets straight to me.