As a shrewd merchant, I ventured into a foreign port said to be paved with gold.
The currency here was alive. Every coin was a greedy little spirit.
When I paid with silver coins from my homeland, the shopkeeper gave me a strange smile. “Outlander, your coins are beautiful.”
In the dead of night, the silver coin suddenly wriggled in my palm, growing a sharp mouthpart that pierced my flesh.
Outside the window, the whole city blazed with light as its residents lined up to offer living people in sacrifice to their god of wealth.
Only then did I understand: every coin here was waiting to devour another life.
