“They shine like the stars,” the awed voice said beside him. Feanor nodded and acknowledged the statement.
Indeed, his creation did shine like Varda’s stars, but perhaps a little brighter. Pride filled his heart that he alone had made these glorious jewels, now called Silmarils. And the Valar did marvel, the people were awed, and Melkor was jealous of their magnificence. The Trees’ glowing light radiated from within the jewels, reminding one and all of what now lay withered and dead.
“They live,” Feanor finally replied. “Nothing shall ever rival their hue and beauty. No other creation shall match them.”