Twelve small compartments, each one glassed over and holding a single object: a curl of mica, a shard of frosted sea glass, a dried sprig of sea lavender, a chip of amethyst no larger than a fingernail. The drawer itself is dark-stained wood with a brass pull, lined in faded green felt, every compartment labeled beneath in a fine copperplate hand. It can hang flat on a wall or sit on a table like a very small museum.
Cabinets like this belong to the wunderkammer tradition of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, when European scholars and collectors filled entire rooms with naturalia and artificialia side by side, believing a well-stocked cabinet could stand in for the whole of creation. This drawer is that impulse scaled down to fit above a desk — one shelf's worth of an instinct that once required a hall.
Each compartment was filled and labeled individually rather than mass-assembled, so no two drawers leaving the workshop hold quite the same twelve things. The labels are handwritten in ink left to fade slightly on purpose, giving the whole piece the settled look of something inherited rather than bought last week.
Hang it where the afternoon light catches the glass, or keep it flat on a shelf for close inspection. A gift for the person who already owns one strange thing and clearly wants twelve more.