This was not the old stone. It felt like the old stone, with the waxy-smooth surface and unnatural luster. It even had the same weight—light enough to be portable, heavy enough to feel important. Jon always loved that detail.
But it wasn’t the same stone. The wishing device had a distinct reddish hue, and unbeknownst to its past owners, something of a will. It didn’t just grant wishes, it knew to properly interpret them. Hell, it even wanted to properly interpret them.
This was a thing of inky blackness, speckled with star-like flecks of all sorts of color. And unlike it’s counterpart’s fervent willingness to help, this one carried a chaotic energy unbound by the common constraints of human perception.
It did not hear the will of those who touched it. It acknowledged only those from beyond; specters living within the shades of reality. Bouts of impossibility, born from unmade decisions and leading un-lived lives.
The Possibility Stone. It granted wishes to its holder, but never their own. For it reached to these branches of plausibility and heard which was never spoken, granting those desires instead.
