That stupid emerald is trying to steal my thunder. Never mind that I'm a diamond, set in fourteen-karat gold. Never mind that she's one of several stones in a bracelet that's probably just copper and zinc.
Particularly irksome are her remarks about my origins inside a volcano. As if she didn't come from a boring old mine.
I have hopes, though. There's a man who keeps coming by my display case. He looks fairly well off, too; maybe he wants an engagement ring.
