A locket the size of a heart, if the heart was made to be kept close.
She held it in her hand, small fingers curled to nestle it against her soft cheek; indeed, she was a small girl, but her heart wasn’t small.
The locket held a secret – but then, that is the nature of a locket, so it is no surprise.
What the secret is, isn’t what is important. What she did with it is.
Because small girls, little girls, are not meant for secrets. They are meant for sunshine, and curiosity, and spinning in circles until they fall down.
So she did what any sensible little girl would with a secret.
She put it in her heart.
And because her heart was so much larger then her fear or her hope or her world, the secret became just another piece of her heart, neither defining it nor becoming lost.