In the creaking halls of forgotten whispers, the market stalls line the cobblestone paths, under the mournful moon. Here, among the shrouded figures, an offering whispers of "Infinite Potatoes."
These are not mere tubers. No, they are vessels of fate, woven from the threads of destiny. Each potato is a universe, a gothic tale buried in soil and shadow. But beware, the tales twist, and the fates ensnare.
The vendor’s voice echoes, "Buy one, free the other. Or bind two, and see the untold." A riddle that drips with the ink of night, a transaction that could birth a phantom or a legend.
Eternal Harvest Mystic Beans