The Funeral Song

Tucked away on the most remote street in the capital of Kemmesa is a shop whose display cases are filled with strange musical instruments. Musicians who enter almost always leave empty-handed. Strangely, the shop has never closed and is never empty. Its owner, an old, hunched dwarf, seemed never to leave his musical realm.

Rumor circulated among the shop's patrons about an unusual guitar—the Funeral Song. Its neck was woven from fragments of spine, and in place of a rosette, a human skull gaped with empty eye sockets.
They say that a young bard, long since consumed by silence, once entered the shop. Having lost the last sparks of inspiration, he desperately hoped that a new instrument would restore the melody of life to him. The owner, after listening silently, silently pointed to the Funeral Song.

"It's not for playing." "It's for confession," the dwarf croaked. "But know this: the price for its sound is your own memory. You will forget all the pain it plays."

The bard, unable to resist, ran his fingers across the strings. What emerged was not a sound, but a moan—dark and crystal clear. At that moment, ghostly images began to creep from the eye sockets of his skull: all the bard's losses, his disappointments, his darkest grief. The instrument mercilessly drew them from the depths of the human soul, weaving them into an eerie, hypnotic melody.

When the sound faded, the bard's soul was burned to ashes. But from the ashes of his feelings, new inspiration sprouted. He could create again. As if in a dream, he thanked the dwarf and left, leaving the guitar on the counter.
"Well, here's another confession for you," the dwarf whispered, returning the instrument to its place.