A Slender Thread of Glass

The quiet inside the sewing box was peaceful, but the floor felt wide and inviting. With the little hare balanced securely atop my hair, I crept past the footstool's dark legs toward a pale rectangle of morning sun. Halfway across the floorboards, something shimmered softly against the dark wood grain. I paused, watching it carefully from three paces away. It did not move. Stepping closer, I knelt down. It was a single glass teardrop bead, fallen from some chandelier or brooch, clear and cool. I touched its faceted edge with one finger, gently nudging it into the sunlight. A tiny rainbow sprang across my hem.