I'm a mimic.
Or at least, that's what humans call me.
Sometimes I think they're a little jealous—after all, I keep treasures, and they keep debts.
I love scaring them. It's my favorite pastime.
Nothing beats watching them creep closer, eyes sparkling, whispering:
"A treasure! Finally!"
And then—BAM!
I leap on the first one I see and drag them inside.
Well… "leap" might be a generous word.
It's more like throwing myself forward with all the grace of a dresser falling down the stairs.
Most of them scream, some cry, and others faint before I even open my lid.
Can you believe it? They don't even let me enjoy it!
The funny thing is—I don't even like eating humans.
I tried it once.
Disgusting.
Tasted like sweat, leather, and regret.
Ever since, I've stuck to minerals like any civilized mimic.
A nice chunk of rose quartz or a good, full-bodied mana stone… now that's fine dining.
The real problem is movement.
Technically, I can move, but it's a pitiful sight.
Picture a piece of furniture trying to do sit-ups.
Once, I rolled down the dungeon stairs and landed upside down for three whole weeks.
The goblins used me as a poker table.
I live in a beginner's dungeon.
The adventurers who come here are adorable—clumsy, nervous, and convinced the rusty sword they found is some ancient relic.
Seeing their faces when they find "the great treasure chest"…
Ah, it almost makes me feel bad for what comes next. (Figuratively, of course.)
Sometimes I even help them out.
"The exit's that way, hero."
And they go, "The chest talked!", and run for their lives.
Honestly, is it that weird for furniture to have manners?
Some of the adventurers I met when they were rookies still visit me sometimes.
They bring potions, gems, or snacks.
I don't need to eat—but come on, who says no to cake?
Though I'll admit… it gets lonely.
There are seasons when no one shows up.
The silence gets heavy.
During those times, I count the drops falling from the ceiling until I fall asleep.
Every monster does it at some point.
Even without seeing the outside, we all know when it's day or night.
When night falls, the succubi finally stop strutting through the corridors.
When morning comes, the dragons roar like they own the whole place.
And the worst part? The adventurers believe them.
They treasure dragon teeth like holy relics.
I mean, sure, a good fang looks impressive… but really?
It's still just part of an oversized lizard with a god complex.
I know there are mimics like me out there—
Ones who left the dungeon and now live quietly among humans.
Sometimes I wonder what that would be like.
I know I look young and beautiful and all that,
but I've been around a long time—too long, maybe.
I've seen all sorts of creatures come and go; some friendly, some not so much.
More than once I've had to hide in my own chest for weeks just to stay safe.
I've sunk too deep before—when it rains, my room floods easily.
No sound, no voice, too heavy to move… in those moments, I just wished I could disappear.
I could leave the dungeon, you know.
Even without working, all the gold in my chest could buy me a quiet little life.
You know what's funny? These coins—they're like fingernails.
When I tell humans that, they get all grossed out.
Can't blame them.
I'd probably react the same if I met a monster surrounded by cream pies…
and then found out the pies came from its body.
Yeah. Ew.
Despite all the time that's passed since I was born,
I haven't moved much from my original spot.
Maybe five or six corridors at most.
Still, I miss my old roommate.
She was an Arachne.
You know, those spider women with a human torso?
She lived just across from me, in a big, cozy web.
Once, she wove a web over me while I was sleeping—said it made me look "more decorative."
I spent two months with silk stuck between my hinges.
One day, she tried to drag me over to her nest.
She barely made it a few feet before giving up.
I don't think I'm that heavy.
I haven't seen her in years.
Maybe she left the dungeon too.
With a human, perhaps?
Or found another mimic to replace me?
Who knows.
Maybe she married a human and moved to the surface.
She had a pretty face—it's possible.
I would've loved to be her maid of honor, but with all the kids she had every season,
I'm sure those spots were already taken.
I even shared a room with one of her children once.
She called him Terry.
Cute little guy—black body, red mark on his back shaped like a tomato.
Then one day, I woke up, and he was gone.
...Now that I think about it, maybe Arachne thought the same about me.
Maybe I should try going back someday.
It'll take me a while, sure, but even if she's not there anymore—
at least I'll be closer to the dungeon's entrance.
Just a little closer.