The pendant never meant that much to me. Sure, it was a family heirloom, but I was never that interested in my family history. I'm from a long line of well-off intellectuals from the coast of Massachussetts.. A family of quiet shut-ins never really builds up an interesting history, to be quite frank. I didn't wear it because of my family, no.I wore it because it spoke to me.
The pendant itself was in the shape of an octopus, its eight tentacles curling upward. It was carved out of some strange black stone that seemed perpetually wet. The eyes of the octopus were made from tiny white pearls that almost glowed next to the void-like stone. It was beautiful, yet sent chills up my spine. There was something strange about it, something otherworldly.
It didn't mean anything. It was just a piece of jewlery, an old trinket. But I loved it. It was one of the things I always wore.
Its uniqueness always struck me the most. That's why it was so strange to see a near replica in the ruins of an old building on the waterfront. I quickly pocketed it for that very reason.
I considered showing my parents, for they might have known about any copies of the pendant. It did come from my ancestors that once lived in this town, so it made a little sense... And then, none at all. I decided against it.