Graves are trinket boxes. Instead of jewellery, they store bones,
Once precious, skin covered sticks, delicate but strong. Deep lies the treasure no mortal can take back, none.
They decay. But they would, like the fine grains on the shore. Like fossils encrypted in metamorphic slabs.
A grave is a locked trinket box, can be opened, yes. But, the one who would crack it open?
Is either someone filled with madness or just, someone wanting to feel, to see their precious jewellery again, which to their denial, would be rusted, and gone into the abyss, stored deep, and unable to be found within.