👑 Diadem of Sorrows 👑

The diadem was nothing short of breathtaking. So smooth were its tendrils of gold, so warmly they glinted under the light of her torch, that for a moment she was hypnotized by the sight, her eyes honing in on the green jewel that was the centerpiece. It was exactly as she had seen it in the artist's sketch - and so lucky she had been, to catch such a priceless piece before it had been thrown out by the museum as nothing more than a worthless fake. But it hadn't been a fake, had it?  

A cool chill settled into her skin, as though a cold breeze were caressing her. Surely, not everything had been true, but she'd been correct in guessing that the object itself existed. The other things - the warnings... No, they couldn't possibly be real. A folk tale, or an urban legend, perhaps. People back then were superstitious.

She twirled the crown in her hands. A magnificent feat, for a society thought to be so primitive - delicate work, as though done by a machine and not a human. Or, perhaps, by something else entirely. Magic?

The artist had noted something to that effect in the margins of his notes, but she had hardly believed it. All she'd wanted was to prove it - to prove it was not a fake, to prove that the artist - her artist, because she had been the one to uncover his works, sitting in a wooden box in a musty wine cellar closed off and forgotten by time, just as his notes had described - was the real deal. And she had.

This was the find of a lifetime for her. Shards of pottery, pieces of jewelry, pieces of woven cloth - it all paled in the presence of this discovery. If it was as old as the artist's notes were - and they were at least three-thousand years old - and as old as his notes said - about five-thousand years older - then it was most certainly the find of a lifetime. 

"Bring me some cloth to wrap it in," she told her assistant - an intern who'd volunteered to come along with her on what her boss had called a hare-brained goose chase. The intern nodded silently, his mouth still gaping at the priceless object in her hand, and tore himself away, scrambling out of the underground room they'd uncovered at the location of the ruin the notes had led her to. "Quietly!" she called. The last thing she needed was to alert anyone of her find. She would have nothing to show for all her trouble if it was stolen.

I simply can't let it out of my sight.

It was on the drive back, as she pulled into a bed and breakfast for a good night's rest, that she felt the urge to put it on. She glanced over at her intern sitting in the passenger seat of the rented car, head rolled to the side, mouth open as they snored silently. She reached over and opened the glove compartment, taking out the cloth bundle and shoving it into her purse. 

"Hey, wake up," she called, patting the young man on the shoulder. "Come on, don't sleep in the car. Let's go get us rooms." Groggy-eyed and hazy from sleep, the intern didn't even think of the priceless artifact in the glove box, opening the door and slipping out of the car. This spurred a wave of irritation; surely, he knew that this was the discovery that would put her on the map. How could he simply forget about it, as tired as he was? She was tired, too - exhausted - but at least she had her head on straight. Despite the fact that it was now safely bundled away in her bag, his oversight frustrated her.

He stumbled his way into the reception, and she followed closely, her purse clutched to her as she looked around in paranoia. Little fears trickled into her mind. What if someone had watched her take it out of the glove box and put it into her bag? What if there's a thief lying in wait somewhere, waiting to pounce? Someone who'd followed them all the way back from that remote little ruin of a cottage that once was? She shook her head. Obviously she was more tired than she'd thought.

They each got a room on either sides of the building, and she went to hers hurriedly, her strides long and quick on the carpeted floor of the hall. She pushed her key into the lock, looking both ways to ensure that nobody was following her, and slipped into the room so quickly, anyone might have found it suspicious. She locked the door behind her, leaving the key in the lock just in case. With a sigh, she slumped against the wooden door and took in her little room.

It was tiny, with barely enough room for the bed and end tables to one side, and the wardrobe on the other. Beside it, a door leading into an even tinier bathroom. She looked around, ensuring nobody was hiding in wait, and set the bag on her bed, a bit unsettled by her newfound paranoia. Surely, there was nothing to be so anxious about. Nobody even knew this item existed - except for her team at the museum, most of which didn't believe in it, anyway. 

With a deep breath, she took out the previous artifact and unwrapped the cloth covering it. She inhaled sharply, taking in the beautiful work. It was, indeed, a marvel. How strange, to think that someone so long ago could have had the tools to make something so dainty, so delicate, so extravagant as this. She found the mirror on the front of the wardrobe and stood before it, taking herself in - the short, rounded frame, the messy hair pulled back in a low ponytail, the crumpled shirt from days on the road. She certainly didn't look regal, but she wanted to try it on, anyway. She knew that when she returned to the museum with her find, they would take it away to test, study, and then put it under a glass case for all to admire - and she would be able to hold it no more. 

The thought made her a bit miserable. Now that she had found it - now that it was in her hands - it felt like it belonged to her. After all, nobody knew it existed. Everyone would believe her if she went back, head low, and told them that she'd been wrong, after all, and that the whole thing had been some stupid fake - a ruse on the part of an artist who might not have ever existed, after all. She could easily get away with it. They were expecting her to fail.

But there was the issue of the intern.

She placed the diadem on her head, admiring the view in the mirror. It certainly accented her eyes, and made her pale face somehow warmer. She quite liked the image before her. A crown suits me, she thought with a delighted laugh. 

And, as quickly as the joy had come, it left her to be replaced with a peculiar bitterness. Oh, if only she could keep it forever! If only she could hide it away in her home, pull it out every now and then, and remind herself of how beautiful she was, of how beautiful it was, and how well they suited one another. If only...

But the intern would know. He would know, and he would tell everyone the truth. And, if she asked him not to, he'd want something in return. She'd seen the way he'd looked at the crown when she'd finally dug it out of its resting place and polished it up with her sleeve. She'd seen the glint of interest, the small flicker of greed. Oh, he wanted it, all right. He wanted to own it, too, and if she wanted to keep it for herself, he wasn't going to let that happen too easily.

She met her eyes, considering. If only he were out of the picture. If only she'd told him to stay behind. He'd only come along because he thought he could get some field experience. But she should have said no. She should have told him that they needed him at the museum, and there was nothing for him to help her with, anyway: it would either be there, or it wouldn't. 

She huffed. Why had he come along? Why? 

"If only he weren't here," she whispered quietly. 

But that was too much to hope for. So, she put the diadem away again, bundled it up in the cloth, and placed it under her pillow. Tomorrow, she would try not to think about what she was going to lose when she arrived at the museum by the end of the day. She would try to think about how good it would be for her, how it would help her career, and not about the gorgeous beauty she would be giving away.

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In the morning she was woken by a far-off scream. For a moment, as she lay there in bed, reaching for the diadem under her pillow and finding it with great relief, she wondered if perhaps she'd dreamt the scream. A remnant of a nightmare she could no longer remember.

But as she dressed and got ready to hit the road again, the wail of sirens put her on edge. Clutching the purse to her, the crown safely inside of it, she left the room and trudged down to the reception. The middle-aged man who sat there looked distracted, but his frown deepened when he saw her, and he scratched his beard nervously.

"Morning, miss," he said, nodding to her. 

"Good morning," she replied. "I thought I heard a scream earlier. Is everything alright?"

He hesitated, then shook his head. "It's - well, it's the young man you checked in with last night, miss," he told her, his gruff voice doing little to mask his own confusion. "Seems one of the cleaning staff went in and found him - dead." He choked the last word out, and it took her a moment to process his words.

"My intern?" she asked in disbelief. "Dead? How?"

He scratched his beard again. "We're not sure. Seems he died in his sleep. It... happens to people out of the blue, sometimes, even when they're healthy."

She could feel the awful shock clawing through her chest, but tried to keep her voice level. "So - he just - died?"

He nodded. "Seems that way, miss. I'm sorry for your loss."

It wasn't her loss. Well, yes - in a small way, it was. But she hadn't really known the man, and she felt surprisingly numb to learn of his passing. In fact, a small part of her - an unsettling, uncomfortable part of her - even rejoiced for a moment. Now, I don't have to worry about him, she thought, and she couldn't help but think it. 

And why should she feel bad for thinking it? It wasn't her fault he was dead. People died all the time. Sometimes out of the blue - like him. Sure, she'd considered how much she could benefit if he simply weren't there anymore, but - well - it wasn't like she had to feel guilty over a fleeting thought, was it? It just turned out that it had worked out in her favour in the end, and why shouldn't she feel pleased about it? 

Now, I can keep the diadem for myself. It's mine, anyway, isn't it?

She felt a small vibration - like a pleased rumble - emanating from her purse. 

Nobody would know...

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