The necklace pendant was the insides of an old-fashioned watch, the cogs no longer taking note of time and were all the more timeless for it.
The necklace was ink-black cord, as if it drew a line upon her skin, as if she could be a comic book hero drawn upon the world rather than a page.
I wondered if a necklace was first made of lace, if they began as a soft fabric to embroider the neck and draw the eye upward toward the face.
The necklace was a simple silver chain with a pendant, one with the Celtic trinity shown by woven swirls.
At sweet sixteen her father gave her silver necklace with a pendant her great-grandmother adored all her life. She wore it every day, even on the day she was married.
The necklace was the kind of thing you might find in a second hand store, yet to me it left the high-street bling in the shade.