Her hoard is radiant; the scalding fragility of the sun and the diamond-hazed mystery of the moon, both cajoling for her reflection.
Her hoard is unyielding; individual pieces that slip and slide, feigning uncertainty, but which nevertheless work as one to smother and surround her, shielding her from the world outside.
Her hoard is gentle; malleable shapes and sounds, a twinkle like laughter, a glimmer like a confession.
Her hoard is beyond time; memories fading into images and sensations, the promises of echoes yet to find their origin. All beneath the skin. All nurturing.
Her hoard is beyond space; an expanse of riches that could bury the world a thousand times over, and yet which has somehow found home in a pair of eyes.
And when those eyes blink, Smolder gets to experience her hoard all over again.