Rusted Iron Key

Last night, beneath a flickering candle, I laid my hands upon a rusted iron key carved with archaic runes that hums when the wind catches its brass teeth, no electricity involved, just the breath of the dead. Its surface is weathered, a thick black iron core with a tarnished brass eye that glimmers like a moonlit omen, a design only a forgotten scribe could imagine. The key's true function is to turn the wheel of an ancient clockwork map that foretells where lost souls drift, and I saw it point to a forgotten corner of my attic where the walls whisper. It draws me because patterns in forgotten myths are the only constants I trust, and this key holds a rhyme in its rust, a curse in its shape. #ObsidianRiddle 🕯️