The Head

He wondered where the rest of the body was.
But the head was a treasure itself, with emeralds for eyes, sapphires for cheekbones, rubies for a forehead.
He stared at it mesmerised, as it stared at him. It glowed, pulsing in the dark. White smoke hissed from it, curling round his body, tightening as he struggled. He shrieked, as It blistered his skin, ice cold. He couldn't move, his body setting. He couldn't breathe, his lungs solidifying. He couldn't see, his eyes crystallising. All he could do was scream, and turn to stone.
The head needed a body, after all.