A quiet relic of devotion and decay, this small French crucifix—early 20th century—bears at its base the subtle terror of the skull and crossbones. Memento mori: remember, you will die. Its reverse is unadorned, smooth as worn bone, inviting the touch of contemplation.
Once an object of faith, now a whisper from the border between heaven and graveyard, it reminds the bearer that all ecstasies—divine or otherwise—are fleeting.
Sold without chain, as if to insist that mortality itself cannot be bound.
A quiet relic of devotion and decay, this small French crucifix—early 20th century—bears at its base the subtle terror of the skull and crossbones. Memento mori: remember, you will die. Its reverse is unadorned, smooth as worn bone, inviting the touch of contemplation.
Once an object of faith, now a whisper from the border between heaven and graveyard, it reminds the bearer that all ecstasies—divine or otherwise—are fleeting.
Sold without chain, as if to insist that mortality itself cannot be bound.
