“You get one a day, and only one.”

The note had been taped to the dew-drenched glass of the door, the script a scrawl he didn’t recognize. Curious, he had opened the box closest to him to find a fountain pen.

The next day he picked one on the other end, uncovering a scroll of dusty papyrus which contained no words. The next day a center box held a shiny, silver medallion with “C” stamped in the center surrounded by crawling vines.

Luther stared at the boxes, his hand hovering. What treasure awaited him next?

“Perhaps the purple one today…”