In the heart of Ife, where the sun's warmth kissed the earth and the air was perfumed with spices, I chanced upon an ancient drum. Its wooden body was adorned with intricate etchings and its skin seemed to harbor secrets whispered by the wind.
My eyes sparkled with curiosity as I neared the drum. The villagers cautioned me that it was no ordinary artifact. They claimed it possessed the power to alter fate and weave dreams into existence. But I was young, and caution was a song yet to be sung.
I laid my hands on the drum and it hummed beneath my touch a haunting tune that resonated within my bones. It offered wealth, love and adventure all I needed to do was strike it thrice under the full moon's gaze.
On the third night bathed in moonlight, I stood before the drum my heart pounding. I struck it once for wealth. Gold coins poured at my feet, shimmering like fallen stars. Twice for love. The prince materialized, his eyes ablaze with desire. And thrice for adventure. The earth quaked unveiling a concealed cave.
Guided by the drum's rhythm, I ventured inside. There, I discovered a treasure beyond comprehension a chest filled with ancient scrolls each narrating unique tales.
I became a raconteur, spinning those tales for my village. The drum's magic infused my words, entrancing my audience. But with each tale told a fragment of my soul unraveled. I aged rapidly, my hair turning silver like moonlight.
One day, under the baobab tree, the drum whispered to me. “You've given enough,” it said. “Free me and your youth shall be restored.” With a sorrowful heart i struck the drum one last time. It broke its magic scattering. I was transformed back into a young woman, my memories preserved. But the tales the unique tales were imprinted in my soul. And so, I continued to narrate stories, not from scrolls or drums, but from my heart.
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