The object felt cold in her fingers, tickled. As she lifted it out of her bag she could hear its faint jingle as it grazed against all her other belongings, all the things she actually owned. I don't own this though, January thought, her eyes fixed on the old necklace resting in her palm. She knew it was old by the way the silver refused to shine in the sunlight. There were signs of rust in little patches, as if part of the necklace was a burning orange, and not silver. Maybe it wasn't even supposed to be silver, she thought. Maybe it was just another one of Dick's quirky gifts. January didn't know what to think of it if it was. It was no lily, that was for sure.