Next I found a barrel of talismans from a lost culture. “Monster,” they were called. Though I could not deduce their purpose, the markings along the edges were unmistakeable: Mayan. I could not help but think all who dwelt here might be so named.
Next I chanced upon a welcome sight: it was Be. the wine for women! I must say that in such a lonely place as this, it was of no small solace to remember that I, too, could enjoy the grape. Most wines disrupt mystique, you likely know, but Be. is divided by the four primary female traits: flirtiness, freshness, brightness and radiance. One must simply choose her identify from the four and then may drink freely, without fear of abrupt, irreparable masculinity descending on her delicate form.
The time was drawing later. I began a quest for sustenance and found these small sugared cakes from absent members of the tribe Stoli. Alas, they appeared as offerings to some unseen idol–Salted Karamel, I learned–and I thought it dangerous to partake.
I wondered more and time continued to pass. I had not eaten. By a matter of terrible chance, I upon their sacred place and the idol they worshipped. It gleamed there, its impossible richness caressed by a frosted vase. I knew it was not prudent but the dread of this place had overtaken me. I drank.