The Necklace

It was the red of the petticoat that set off the necklace,
And the fact that it moved up and down with her breath on her neck.
Everything about her floated, but
It was the necklace.
Where did you get that?
Asked the host, fingering it gently, greedily.
She drew back from him and stood taller,
The necklace like a drop of indignation glittering in the sun.
It was my mother's,
She replied graciously, but her voice was steely. 
He was looking at the necklace like it was a hidden treasure.
The sky was a medium blue overhead,
Just dark enough not to be light,
And when he made a movement that seemed odd, she barely had to time to register before 
There was a ripping sound, and a gasp, and a chink of delicate metal.
The necklace was in his hands, and he was running,
And her dress was too long, and her neck was bare,
And the necklace was gone, gone, g o n e,
And she collapsed with her hands on a nearby tree.
She could just imagine his greedy smile and his triumphant feeling as her delicate silver chain was gripped in his fingers,
The drop of silver on the end now glistening like a tear that fell down her cheek.
Everything could've been fine, but
It was the necklace.
And it was gone.