The Song of Burial

On the most remote street of the capital of Kemmes, a shop lurks, whose windows are full of outlandish musical instruments. Musicians who come here almost always leave with nothing. It is strange, but at the same time the shop never closed and was never empty. Its owner, an old hunched dwarf, seemed to have never left his musical realm.
 
Among the visitors of the store there was a rumor about an unusual guitar — a Song of Burial. Its neck was woven from fragments of the spine, and instead of a socket, a human skull gaped with empty eye sockets.
They say that once a young bard came into the shop, in whose soul silence had settled for a long time. Having lost the last sparks of inspiration, he desperately hoped that the new instrument would bring him back the melody of life. The owner, after listening to him in silence, silently pointed to the Song of Burial.
 
— It's not for the game. It's for confession," the dwarf rasped. — But know this: the price for her sound is your own memory. You will forget all the pain that she will play.
 
The bard, unable to resist, ran his fingers over the strings. There was not a sound, but a moan — gloomy and crystal clear. At the same moment, ghostly images crawled out of the eye sockets of the skull: all the losses of the bard, his disappointments, the darkest grief. The instrument ruthlessly extracted 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 on the ashes of his feelings sprouted a new inspiration. 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.