[trans]

xxxx

──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
user. trans ` name. eris delancey vaughn ` gender. female ` favorite riddle. ↴
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────

It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.
It lies behind stars and under hills,
And empty holes it fills.
It comes out first and follows after,
Ends life, kills laughter.

──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
have you ever met a ghost? a cold touch, like a icicle from the glacier's of antarctica. icy hands, reaching through your chest and stringing out your soul, your life, your secrets. a yowl, like a thousand dogs, the voice of hell, screaming, absolutely barking mad, as it claws into your skin, threatening to drag you back down with it. and a darkness so empty, so dark, that you forget every light you've ever seen in your life, what light even is. and it drowns you as you whirl around in the dark of your room, bed shaking like shivering children in the snow, a leaf quivering in the midst of autumn. you cannot see it, cannot feel it, but it is there. a darkness so powerful, it extinguishes light, banishes it from the world and every other, and not even your own hands can be seen, despite right in front of you. there is no warning, it seizes your body like a snake, poison seeping into your bones, and you feel... nothing.

and during this, you think about a riddle. a riddle your grandmother told you; her dying words. on her deathbed, surrounded by flowers; a snow white even in death, shiny lips and pretty, frilly dress. and you think about every other thing she said; harsh words, strong opinions, criticism that scared the wits of even the toughest critics. and you realize it is not your favorite, yet so strongly imprinted into your mind it is, you are able to delude yourself it holds any meaning.

nostalgia. clinging desperately to familiarity. sentimental value. there are many names for it. favorite doesnt explain it, but in a way, you guess it is. so alone, yet so alive do you feel, consumed by darkness. consumed by something cold, and uncaring, yet with it, you feel like a living being. you feel like you can breathe, even while you suffocate. and truly, that is the most grand irony of all.

sometimes you wonder if she is the ghost, clinging to your back as you walk through like, a mere specter, watching the world pass you by, the riddle a mantra you have grown to repeat subconsciously.
───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
it happens with a flash; a light so bright, you dare say you've been swallowed by the sun. lights so bright, like stars, fill your vision, frame it, consume the world in a burst, a bang. your mind blanks, your heart pains, and you stare with bright pink eyes at the thing that made this happen. the person who made this happen.

a face so calm, it unnerves. eyes of violet; a royal purple that inflicts a sense of confidence and regal air, a prowess scarce possessed by many. hair white as snow, flowing in streams down light skin and flowy, draping fabric of fine silks and pretty pretty lace. she mutters words you do not understand, utters chants and whispers mantras you dont know, and her hand, poised, raises. in an eruption of puff and smoke, you are stunned, and fall limp.

fur grows longer, hair sprouts, body becomes thinner, taller. hooves no more, now paws. ears droop, no longer alert. you do not recognize yourself in the gaze of the lake, criticizing you, mocking. like the does back at the clearing. yet your eyes remain the same, a piercing pink that disgusts and repulses you. the cursed things that have ruined any sense of normality you might have otherwise had in you.

you realize you are alone, after some time, and in the witch's place is a sole sparkly trinket; a watch on a pendant; an amulet with a clock at the end. you grab it clumsily, the glow frightening you no longer, and with shaky hands and trembling shoulders, and you run. you do not know where, but anywhere... surely is better than here.

[ 277 words ]

───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
your hand grips the teacup angrily, threatening to shatter it in your stoney grip. face contorted into unnatural anger, an expression raw with emotion that is often scrutinized and judged for being ugly, and by which you might regularly be embarrassed by, if you had it in you to care. the beads around your neck serve as outlet, and you rip them off your neck with a violent snap that echoes, looking the target of your aggression in the eyes.

the mirror remains still, unflinching, even as you stare at it in disgust. humorless. repulsed. anger and hostility rivaling a hell hound. a savage pack of dogs, even wolves. you grab the butter knife off your plate and stab the mirror viciously, a scream tearing from your throat as if it's ripping itself apart from the inside out, and next you throw the cup at the wall with the velocity of a speeding baseball being hurled at the batter, and then the plate, smashing it to bits at your feet, and for good measure, crushing the shards into irreparable bits underneath your shiny red heels.

though how you hate the color, it permeates your life. red underneath your skin, in your veins; on your clothes, your shoes; your ugly, disgusting, hideous eyes. it's a repulsive, angry color, you think, as the red liquid from your glass stains the wall and dribbles down in a fashion similar to that found on a crime scene, if only it lacked less of an opaque form.

"ms. eris? is something wrong?" another girl, you forget her name at this moment, knocks, but you dont reply. only smash the rest of your things and stab the wooden dresser, an heirloom from your father's side of the family. the girls are hard-pressed to remove you, only achieving it by dragging you kicking and screaming from the room.

[ 311 words ]

───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
they wave at you, but not for you. the ballgown you wear flutters listlessly in the ballroom, and the smell of too much perfume overtakes any other smell you might find in such an establishment. it reeks of excess money spent on useless things in life. like your red dress, a gift from a gentleman you no longer know nor ever cared for, and the shiniest, most expensive item in this whole court; a glittering, diamond crown , fashioned in a way that each diamond emphasizes each other and sparkles even in the dullest of light.

a charming young lady asks for your hand, hair cut short and eyes an electric blue that reveals an ocean of possibilities yet hides any meaning to it behind an aura of mystery and deception. her dress is simple; white with black, glitter in places meant to outline her figure, and her flats, you notice, not heels, do not click nor clack.

she carries you away, drifts you to and fro, weaving through dancing couples, even as many stare at her and you, and she talks yet expects no answer. she talks about her day, how she was so fortunate to be here, receiving an invitation last minute, how she works as an enchantress and potion maker two streets away from the palace, how she's always admired your tenacity and brutal honesty and ambition. you finally answer her, after some time of nothing but cold silence, and she grins at you like you just made her day, dare you say her whole week. foolish is what it is, but you keep that to yourself, and continue to indulge her.

somehow you end up in the gardens, both of you laying on your back, while the music from the ballroom travels even way out here, a soft melody much more soothing now that it isnt erupting your eardrums consistently and constantly.

"do you have a dream, your highness? any dream at all. surely even someone like you..." she says, in whisper; her tone is so confidential, and that american accent of hers, or really, a lack thereof, is so strong in this moment, you nearly choke on your own tongue in laughter. yet she is unfazed, and continues as if you had said nothing. "must have a dream too?" her eyes in that moment are so wide, so big, it is childishly comical, yet strangely endearing. your heart leaps inside your chest, and you dont know how to feel.

you turn away from her to gaze at the stars, wondering that question to yourself. "as an adolescent, i dreamed of reaching the stars, just so i could paint them." you finally say, and she smiles in that coy way again, like she knows something you dont, and you scowl. she laughs at that, and you scowl even more, but it is more playful this time, less anger and hatred.

"let me take you there. promise?" she says, flats laid messily next to yours, seated perfectly, as royalty ought to. it is your turn to laugh again, and you do, right to her face, but she just keeps grinning at you, wider and wider. you feel an urge to remove it, but not in a traditional way... more intimate than that. not fitting of someone of your status ought to be thinking. yet you think it. think about it very hard.

"perhaps you will." and you do what you thought about doing earlier; you poke at her cheek until her smile is not gone, but merely hidden behind strong, calloused hands, yet so thin and long and dare you say frail, they rival even your own. "we will see."

[ 612 words ]

───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

[img]eeeeeeeeeeeeee[/img]

───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

xxxx

[AustrianAce]

aaa

very much res <3

[messenger]

Ｉ ＮＥＶＥＲ ＷＡＳ． ＡＭ ＡＬＷＡＹＳ ＴＯ ＢＥ． ＮＯ ＯＮＥ ＥＶＥＲ ＳＡＷ ＭＥ，
ＮＯＲ ＥＶＥＲ ＷＩＬＬ． ＹＥＴ Ｉ ＡＭ ＴＨＥ ＣＯＮＦＩＤＥＮＣＥ ＯＦ ＡＬＬ
ＷＨＯ ＬＩＶＥ ＡＮＤ ＢＲＥＡＴＨＥ． ＷＨＡＴ ＡＭ Ｉ？
────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

┌─────────────────┐

│
│
│
│
│
│

i. Ataleah 'leah' Jones ii. female iii. messenger

│
│
│
│
│
│
└─────────────────┘

Riddles have always been apart of Leah's life. her father loved them, and always
told them to her. He never gave the answer, she would always have to
figure them out herself. He'd always reward her with treats when she
solved them. However, there was always one she could never figure out,
and even to this day, still can't. It was a riddle he told her time and time again.
She tried so hard to answer it, but she never could. She still ponders it,
sometimes even taking the time to write notes of what it may be. Unfortunately,
her father isn't here to say if it's correct. She'd have to say it's her favourite,
because it's one she never solved, and somehow it was her father's favourite
as well.
x
x

Leah was huddled in her love seat, head turned up towards the ceiling. It was her birthday today, she was officially an adult. A breathy sigh left her lips. Suddenly there was a knock at her bedroom door.

"Door is open!" Leah called, too lazy to push herself from her seat. The door creaked open to reveal her mother.

"I know you said no presents, but I thought this would be an exception." Her mother smiled, walking over to the brown lump. Ataleah eyed the dusty looking box before reluctantly taking it. The older woman said nothing more as she lightly padded out of the room.

The box was enclosed in lime green wrapping paper, and a thick layer of dust covered it. A hum rumbled in Leah's throat. She pushed herself up, box in tow. With haste she sat at her desk, plopping the box in front of her. Her nimble fingers tore through the wrapping paper. It revealed a very old looking brass chest with intricate designs etched into its surface. Interest swirled in her head.

On the top was a written note. Hesitantly she grabbed it, thumbing at the familiar handwriting. It read:

my dear girl,
I hoped to one day give this box to you myself, however,
my time is running short, and I fear I will not be here for
the day you become an adult. So I give this box to you in
hopes that you may continue my work, and do what I could
not. I wish you the best of luck.
-dad

Ataleah's vision blurred with tears. She hadn't heard something new from her father for four years. With a lump in her throat, she pulled the chest closer. She spun it in her hands, it wasn't big, nor heavy, and there seemed to be no lock on it. However, it was sealed shut. The only lock-like thing that was on it was a dial of the sorts. Upon studying it further, she came to realize it wasn't intricate designs on the chest, rather hieroglyphics. Her dad was an archeologist, and he often brought home little trinkets to study before they were sent off to a museum or elsewhere. This must be an artifact he found. She spun the box once more before grabbing it and making way out of her room.

"Mom?" Leah called. She received no answer. Her mother must have left. With silent footsteps, she walked to the end of the hall.
Right in front of her stood an old wooden door. Behind it was her father's office, something she hasn't stepped into for a long time. With a deep inhale she turned the knob and went in. Opening her eyes (which she didn't even know she closed),
she gazed at the messy room. Everything looked like it hadn't been touched in four years, which it hadn't.

Reluctantly she sat at the large mahogany table in the centre of the room. Her skin broke out in goosebumps, she felt like she wasn't supposed to be here. Shaking off the feeling, she set down the chest. Moments passed before she realized she has no idea what she's looking for. "What do you want me to do, pops," Leah said to the empty room. Suddenly, a cool draft blew into the room, scattering a few pages on the desk only to reveal her father's old leatherbound journal. She sat up and reached for it. "I haven't seen you for years." Leah thumbed the metal buckle.

Opening the book, she flipped the pages, hoping to find something on this old chest. Without noticing she flipped right past an illustration of it. Her eyes widened as she turned back the page. There it was, the infamous chest. Wasting no time, she sat back, reading the words. So, apparently, this chest was a puzzle. The dial was a key of the sorts, you would have to use it to spell out an answer. An answer for what, Ataleah didn't know. Setting down the book, she studied the box. On the top were hieroglyphics, and suddenly it hit her. This must be a question or something. Using her rusty knowledge her father gave her she began to make out the words.

"I never was. Am always to be. No one ever saw, nor ever will. Yet I am the confidence of all you live and breathe. What am I?" Leah read out, going faster as she came to finish. "Oh my gosh." She covered her mouth. Her and her father's favourite riddle. Suddenly it made sense, why her father would repeatedly ask her this riddle, why he left the note. However, she didn't know why he waited to reveal this to her now. "He wanted me to figure it out." Leah quickly sat up and grabbed her father's journal. A small paper fell out onto the floor. Leaning down she grabbed it. It read:

If you're reading this, dear Leah,
then you have figured it out. I could never
find out the answer to this riddle, therefore,
I could never open this box. I found it on one
of my trips to Egypt, within a hidden burial
ground of ancient pharaohs. It is said one of
the rulers had taken a box with him into death.
Within the box held a map to one of the biggest
treasures in the world. I think this is the box he
hid. Find the answer. - Dad

--

For months Ataleah obsessed over this little chest, to the point of her almost never leaving her father's study. Her mother feared she was infected with the same obsession her husband was. Leah spent hours writing notes, but could never figure it out, until today.

"Tomorrow! The answer is tomorrow!" Leah sprung from her place on her bed. Almost tripping herself she flung into her father's study. The chest lay untouched on the desk. With haste she grabbed it. Months she has been dialing in an answer but it never unlocked the box. She thumbed the dial so it would spell 'tomorrow'. Suddenly the chest clicked open, freeing dust into the office and causing Leah to cough. Waving the dust away, she grabbed whatever was in the box out. It was a tightly bound scroll. Excitement swirled in her stomach as she spread it out. A map was laid before her. A happy laugh left her lips. "Mom! Mom, come here!"

head shot and fullbody by me
pixel by Gladis

[gouache]

Entering !

[Areater]

heck i don’t have time for this but i’m gonna try

ideas ::
- not as delicate as she seems

[roelian]

username; Katzuvo

name; Mara

gender; Female

favourite riddle and why; The infamous riddle from The Labyrinth. Watch Here

Mara watched this movie as a small girl and the riddle with the two guards absolutely baffled her! One guard always lies, the other tells the truth. So how do you ask them which door leads to the castle?

"Would he tell me that this door leads to the castle?"

If the guard says yes, and is telling the truth, that means the liar is wrong about the door. The opposite door is the one that leads to the castle.

If the guard says yes, and is lying, the same still applies!

It is positively baffling to Mara, who lives dreams and eats anything related to the Late David Bowie. This guard scenerio being one of the favorite sections of the old movie Bowie stared in. One day she'll be able to explain it and have it make sense.

((read more on it here))

[whimerri]

username; coffeebean,
name; lauren
gender; female
favourite riddle and why; It weighs next to nothing but no one can hold it for long. What is it? Your breath.

•quiet, almost too quiet
•lives in a snowy place
•works in a library
•is constantly telling others to "not hold their breathes"

[heart shaped box]

ohh i love this!

username; cactus;
name; mina
gender; female
favourite riddle and why; what is the only room that ghosts can't be found in? the living room.
although mina takes her profession as a ghost hunter seriously, she does like to make jokes and riddles. it helps connect her to her more skeptical friends, since they can still appreciate humor even if they don't believe in ghosts like she does.

wip

[Kyar]

!!!! Yes yes yes

[eli ayase]

username; eli ayase
name; meissa, the head star of orion
gender; female
favourite riddle and why; wip!!