It was a rare day that Phoebe paused to sift through the splintered stone that lined the forgotten corners of the ruined city. The cavern she found herself in was ostentatious; though materials of value had long since been removed by years of delvers pilfering abandoned treasures, there was a beauty to the space all the same. The arched ceilings were speckled with worn paint, the remnants of a crumbled fresco that had once lined the space above. Despite lifetimes of neglect, intricate columns stood tall and straight; between creeping vines and emerald moss she could see deftly-carved designs preserved in the stone. What little furniture was left in the space was gorgeous: a marble slab Phoebe could presume was once a sturdy table, and benches that still shimmered in a faint dusting of golden sheen.

Though she rarely paused to seek treasure amid the ruins of the ancient city, Phoebe found herself intrigued by the crumbled wall in the furthest reaches of the room. Based on the gnarled roots and flourishing plant life growing where fortification had fallen to reveal the surrounding earth, this portion of the room had collapsed long ago and had been left to weather and decay ever since. Perhaps, the metallic-speckled mare hoped, valuable items had been against the wall when it fell, entombing forgotten treasures in a stony grave. Thus, she had elected to devote some time to unburying the neglected corner, one piece of stonework at a time. If she was lucky, she would unearth some fabulous find; if not, it would only waste a few hours.

She was kicking aside chunks of masonry when her hoof hit something with an unexpectedly muffled thud, suspiciously different from the rock she had been excavating. Pausing the clear the area around it, she found a wooden chest; small but wrought with sturdy ironwork and lacquered to a deep mahogany. “Odd,” she thought to herself aloud as she brushed away rubble and dust. “You’d think wood this old would have been worm food ages ago.” Despite the suspicious circumstances, she couldn’t deny its presence: such a remarkable treasure, buried so long ago just for her to unearth it.

Phoebe opened the chest without hesitation. Inside, amid pristine ruby-red satin, set a glimmering golden crown. It was as though time had never passed since the headdress was last polished; even in the dim light it sparkled in glamorous sheen. Her breath caught in her throat as she inspected the find, almost scared to touch it lest it turn out to be a mere figment of her imagination. The top of the crown peaked in delicately curved arches, studded with brilliant gemstones that seemed to glow from within. It was stunning; in all her time delving, Phoebe could recall few finds more impressive than this.

Put it on. The thought, so sudden and foreign, sounded more like another voice speaking over her shoulder than Phoebe’s own mind. This crown is yours, preserved for you and you alone. The desire shocked her, enough to make her pause as she processed it. She never had been one to seek treasure, nor did she find her accolades in what she hauled from the abandoned city. Yet, in this moment, she felt as though everything in her life had led her to this moment. She was certain the crown would fit her perfectly. It is yours to take, and yours to wear. Put on the crown. Even her own thoughts felt incessant, almost rude in their insistence. Despite herself, she found herself reaching to grab it, to know what it would be like to deserve such an amazing piece of antiquity—

She stopped herself before she could touch it, and instead slammed the wooden box closed. No, she told herself, backing away from the chest as though it might spring to life and attack her. She has run these passageways long enough to know that if a find seems too good to be true, it certainly is. What sort of luck could she possible have that, on her first time digging through rubble in months, she would stumble across the find of a generation? That she should be the one to uncover such a valuable treasure. No, it was far more likely that the magic of these buried spaces was preying on her; and that such a find was, at best, fake, and more likely a curse laying in wait of the greedy and the foolish. She would not be its victim today.

Phoebe did not dare open the box again, or risk falling victim to its opulent golden sheen. Instead, she took the time to rebury the chest as she found it; hiding it among crumbled masonry and musty dirt. It was not a perfect concealment—an observant Courser might see from the torn moss and fresh dirt that the area had been disturbed and thus think to dig here as well. Unfortunately, without chalk to mark a warning on the cavern’s walls, she was without a way to inform the next delver, and so resigned to leave the treasure as it was. She just had to hope that the unforgettable treasure would never be found again.