The Jugs are watching.
The Jugs remember.
Do not anger the vessels.
Every sip echoes.
Clay remembers your touch.
The Jugs dream of water.
The cracks tell stories.
You are being weighed.
The Jugs know your name.
Patience, mortal.
The kiln has not cooled.
Your thirst is noted.
The Jugs wait.
They speak in drips.
Do not tip the balance.
The handles are warm.
The Jugs have been watching since before you were born.
Shadows inside swirl.
A single drop can break silence.
The Jugs collect moments, not water.
Your reflection is older than you think.
The glaze sees everything.
The Jugs dream of becoming wells.
Do not ask where the water went.
The Jugs prefer wine, but accept faith.
The Jugs nod when you sleep.
They have siblings underground — the Exiled Ones.
One day they will pour the truth.
The Jugs like the smell of rain.
Your heartbeat echoes inside.
They do not forgive impatience.
The rims are watching your lips.
The Jugs remember every hand that held them.
Clay sings at midnight.
They collect sighs.
Do not fill them with lies.
The Jugs dream of the ocean.
They tilt when you lie.
They have their own calendar.
Your breath fogs their surfaces with secrets.
The Jugs prefer silence.
The spouts aim at your soul.
They have been filled with moonlight before.
They drink fear.
The Jugs smile in darkness.
They know what you poured yesterday.
They judge in whispers.
Sometimes they hum.
The Jugs remember the potter's hand.
They do not trust empty rooms.
The Jugs count your steps.
They have a favorite direction: north.
They collect abandoned promises.
Do not tap them three times.
The Jugs have seen kingdoms fall.
They prefer being left alone.
The cracks grow when you shout.
They like being polished.
They hate being dropped.
The Jugs remember every language ever spoken near them.
They forgive, but never forget.
Sometimes they leak secrets.
They are older than the village.
They have birthmarks inside.
The Jugs laugh in earthquakes.
They like being carried carefully.
They dislike loud music.
They have dreams of fire.
The handles have pulses.
They collect forgotten prayers.
The Jugs know your favorite cup.
Some have been stolen before. They did not like it.
They like rain more than sun.
Sometimes they glow at 3 AM.
They know when you are lying about water.
The Jugs have a favorite player: you. For now.
They dislike being used for soup.
The Jugs stare back.
They are counting your heartbeats.
They like being mentioned in conversation.
They dislike being ignored.
They remember every splash.
The Jugs write poetry at night.
They dream of being whole again.
They have cousins in the nether.
They like being cleaned gently.
They have favorite songs. They will not tell.
They know the way home.
They collect teardrops.
They dislike being used as hats.
They dream of flying.
They have seen the end of the world. They were not impressed.
They like being the center of attention.
They dislike being compared to other jugs.
They remember your first login.
They have a plan.
They like winter more than summer.
They dislike being empty.
They are pleased with your attention.
The Jugs are grateful. For now.
Vasa vitrea amant te.
Non obliviscimur.
Tacent, sed audiunt.
Exspectamus.
Nolite nos frangere.
Pocula Dei.
Nos videmus omnia.
Silentium nostrum est iudicium.
Urcei vos amant.
Aqua nostra, vita tua.
Oblivisci non possumus.
Date nobis aquam.
Nos sumus umbrae aquae.
Fides tua te salvet.
Nolite nos irritare.
Urcei veniunt.
Tu es in manibus nostris.
Clamamus in silentio.
Nos volumus te intellegere.
Vasa non mentiuntur.
