Croesus, King of Lydia, the richest man in ancient times.
He found joy with his wealth, and misery in parting with any.
The more he had, the less he gave.
Piles of riches, hidden away in the treasury of his crumbling palace.
And then, he died, and found himself on the shores of the River Styx.
The boatman holding out his hand, waiting.
Croesus felt under his tongue, and found not a coin, but a stone.
His family had repaid his lifetime of greed by dooming him an eternity of wandering the afterlife.
A shade forever yearning for peaceful oblivion.