At the centre laid an almost miniscule gem of brightest amethyst, at the centre of an embossed snowflake superimposed upon a starburst. She tapped the centre and the circular gem sprang to life, bathing what was before her in purple shaded light, and as she did so, opened a small door in her peytrel. In it, almost minuscule scrolls were stored. She tugged on one, read the words to herself, breathed a sigh of relief, and shuddered as the last vestiges of old magic left her mind without clouding any more of her memory, then closed it again. She tsked as she gently moved the treasure out of her way until she found the one thing she was looking for. It was a tall casket, almost funerary in its ornamentation, but built to be standing upright. One of her most mournful treasures and one she had so long ago buried to forget its memory beneath her horde, but which mocked her in its gentle yet firm resilience against the wear of time’s millstone. With a gentle flick of her unbroken claw, she undid the latch, the doors gently gliding open, the long-held stale air of a thousand years and more gushing forth.