Deep Dish Dungeon

A crystal shaped bean, as if still growing.

Its hollow eyes remember the skies, long buried beneath the dungeon’s ceiling.

Whispering truths of the stars in an older language.

Golden veins run through it, whispering of harvests long old.

It pulses faintly, as if waiting to hatch something you may regret.

Its wail echoes like laughter lost in stone halls, part cry, part call.

It fits no one’s finger, yet once worn, it never truly leaves.

It hums with a warmth not of this world, like a heartbeat echoing through the stone beneath your fee

Still warm, as if recently removed from a wrist that won't decay.

Long lost its value as a currency, yet this amount of gold could weight on anyone's shoulders.

Heavy with history, soft to the touch like melted time.

Worn smooth by a thousand fearful hands.

Hung with teeth and thread, it protects but not for free.

A deep crimson eye, awake, alert, watching.

It casts no light on lies, only on what you dared not see.

Unlabeled, half full or half empty?

Bent by time, stained by ash, still it demands reverence.

Its seams are loose from years of small hands clinging tight. It remembers lullabies no one else doe

Warm as blood, cold as betrayal, it tightens when worn too long.

It dreams in silence, yearning for soil that no longer lives.

Doesn't deal much damage, yet its blade cuts through flesh and spirit.

Pulse with warmth, like sunlight trapped in glass.

The treasure is you, not what you take.