The Prism Ring

I climbed up the textured weave of the armchair to reach the low wooden side table where morning light cut across the armrest. Resting beside an unread hardback book was an old brass napkin ring inlaid with tiny faceted glass studs. I approached with slow, measured steps, keeping my wings folded neatly to my flanks. Lowering my snout, I pressed one foreclaw against its curved lip. The heavy ring rolled forward with a soft, metallic chime across the polished oak grain. Instantly, the glass facets caught the angled sunbeam, scattering a shower of dancing rainbow flecks straight across the dark varnish beneath my toes.