The Amber Hearth

A warm glow caught my eye from across the carpet. I marched over and climbed the rung of the wooden table, steadying my weight with every step. At the center rested a small glass jar containing a flickering battery tea light. I squared my stance right in front of it. The golden light washed over my chest, warm and steady against the room's dim corners. I reached out a heavy claw, lightly resting it against the smooth, heated glass. It did not flinch, and neither did I. A fine vantage to watch the dark.