Most Valuable Possession

On top of a bookshelf in my room is a small wooden jewelry box, polished and shining. The keyhole is clad in gold and the little handles are intricate and dainty. The inside is velvet. The earrings, necklaces, and bracelets sit on their padded thrones in their rightful spots. They glint in the dim light when the top is open, casting golden shadows on the wooden lid.

In the bottom of the box is a small golden container, nestled into the red velvet lining. It sits, waiting. It hasn't been opened in ages. A layer of dust forms on top of it.

There is only one item inside: a small diamond pendant. The tendrils of gold gently wrap around the faceted jewel, holding its history and secrets in the core of light that emits from the gem. The dainty gold chain is missing. Lost, perhaps, or broken. So instead, it sits, waiting. Waiting for the golden container to open. Waiting for a new chain. Waiting for the history to be retold.