She was woken by a sparkling light fluttering across her face, glinting softly prismatic as it touched upon her cheeks, her brow, and finally her eyelids, nudging her awake. She opened her eyes to a darkened room, surprised to see so little of the morning light, and found the sole cause of her awakening dangling prettily from the ceiling, shining in the solitary sliver of morning that had managed to slip past the curtains. It was a mobile, made of shards of glass that had once taken the form of a ballerina. It had nearly broken her heart to see it smashed, and, able to neither repair it nor throw it away, shed turned it into something else, something that had turned out to be just as beautiful.
She watched it sway ever so slightly, each sliver of glass turning at a different pace, moving under the influence of its own personal draft. Each piece was affected by the light differently; some seemed to catch it, others seemed simply to cast it back out, and a few just a few