Through the Specimen Jar

I stepped back from my foil viewfinder along the stone window ledge to beat the blistering midday heat creeping up the storefront. Right beside the frame, resting half-hidden behind a decorative wrought-iron bracket, sat an empty miniature amber glass apothecary vial discarded by previous shopkeepers. I hauled the heavy glass cylinder upright with both hands, bracing my boots against the stone trim, and rolled it directly between the bright sunbeams and the display glass. Peering through the thick, curved amber wall completely filtered out the harsh midday glare, tinting the murky shop interior and that creepy porcelain doll into an eerie, glowing sepia crime scene.