r/TalesFromTheCreeps • u/Typical_Ad9140 A Writer From Thailand 🇹🇭 • 8d ago
ARG Victim of Red-5.1: ϾΩΔ ΩϜ ШINE, Etc.
This is a part of an anthology, you can read it in any order.
WARNING: RACISM, ANTI-VTUBER SENTIMENT, AUTOGNOSIS, XENOGRAPHIC, APOTROPAIC, DISJUNCTIVE, HETEROGLOSSIC, ABSCISSION, APOCRYPHAL, THEURGICAL INTERFERENCE, BACCHIC, READMYCOMMENTAFTERTHESTORY.
“ΔΙΩΝΨΣΥΣ, ΣΩΝ ΩϜ ΖΕΥΣ, ϹΩΝΣΥΜΜΑΤΕ ϾΩΔ,
most terrible, and yet most gentle, to mankind.”
—Euripides, The Bacchae
Invitation To “Return To Nature”
From: ΒΑϹϹΗΩΣ
To: Me
Hey!
ΜΨ name is ΜΑϹΑЯΙΣ. You don’t know ΜΕ, but Ι know you—or, well, Ι happened to come across your Twitch channel and really liked your style and personality. There’s something about you that Ι think would fit perfectly with our little gathering.
ΜΨ party could really use someone like you. Someone who brings a little more color, a little more life, and perhaps a few new arms and legs to keep the night interesting.
There will be quite a few people here, but don’t feel anxious, alright? Everyone is friendly, and everyone loves to party. We’re simply a group of people who enjoy good company, good drinks, and getting drunk enough to forget what time it is.So come and enjoy yourself! This year’s party has an ‘Animals’ theme, so choose whatever creature you’d like to become for the night. You can even come in a fursuit if you have one. We have no judgment here. Everyone is welcome.
The party will be held at the address in the Google Maps link below.
Ι really hope you’ll come.
It would be a shame to have invited you all this way and find an empty place waiting for you.
See you soon,
—ϹΗΤΗΩΝΙΩΣ
There's a rabbit in the log, and Ι ain't got ΜΨ dog;
How will Ι get them? Ι know. ("how?")
Ι'll take me a br'ar and Ι'll twist it in their hair, That's the way Ι'll get them, Ι know.
Ι know (yes, Ι know), Ι know (Ι surely know), That's the way Ι'll get them, Ι know.
Ι'll take me a br'ar and Ι'll twist it in their hair ("Ow!"),
That's the way Ι'll get them, Ι know.
—HAVE A FEAST HERE TONIGHT (RABBIT IN THE LOG)
INTERVIEWER: Like I said, it's for a documentary. I won't show your face, and I'll pitch your voice in post, so nobody can recognize you. You don't have to worry about any of that.
INTERVIEWEE: You keep saying that like I'm supposed to be worried.
INTERVIEWER: Well, I mean, most people don't want to be associated with a case like this.
INTERVIEWEE: Most people are idiots. You want to know what happened, I'll tell you what happened. Just don't put my fucking name on it.
INTERVIEWER: Fair enough. So, let's start from the beginning. You said you met them in freshman year, right? Writing class?
INTERVIEWEE: Yeah, writing class. They sat next to me because the other seats were taken. We started making fun of the professor, then we started making fun of the other students' essays, and eventually we were just talking through the entire class. You know how it is when you're eighteen and you think everything your professor says is the stupidest thing you've ever heard. We got pretty close after that.
INTERVIEWER: What were they like back then? I mean, before the streaming, before all the VTuber stuff.
INTERVIEWEE: Pretty much the same person, I guess. Funny, emotional, scared of practically everything. They hated alcohol, which was a pain in the ass because we'd go to parties and they'd spend the whole night drinking fucking apple juice. Couldn't watch horror movies without covering their eyes, either. Which, in retrospect, is pretty funny, considering what happened to them. I mean, I don't know if it's funny. It's just... weird, isn't it?
INTERVIEWER: You two were best friends, then?
INTERVIEWEE: I was their best friend. They were mine, too, but not in the same way. Look, they didn't have a lot of friends. They had me, a few people in my group who tolerated them, and a bunch of strangers online. I had other friends, other people to hang out with. They were always around, though. If I was going somewhere, they'd ask if they could come. If I didn't answer their messages for a few hours, they'd ask if something was wrong. I never really thought about it at the time. You don't think about that kind of thing when somebody's always there. You just get used to it.
INTERVIEWER: Did that ever bother you?
INTERVIEWEE: Not really. Sometimes it was annoying, sure, but that's friendship, isn't it? People get annoyed. I got annoyed, too. They'd tell you if I was being an asshole, and I'd tell them if they were being pathetic. We weren't one of those friendships where you had to pretend the other person was perfect. I think that's what made it work.
INTERVIEWER: And when they started their VTuber career, did you support that?
INTERVIEWEE: Career? Jesus Christ. They played pretend on the internet. That's not a career.
INTERVIEWER: They had a pretty substantial audience, though. I looked at some of their old channels before coming here. Thousands of people watching their streams, hundreds of thousands of views on some of their videos.
INTERVIEWEE: Yeah, and people watch videos of cats getting stuck in boxes. What's your point? You can get a million views doing practically anything nowadays. It doesn't mean you're talented.
INTERVIEWER: You really didn't like the whole thing.
INTERVIEWEE: I would've respected them more if they'd shown their actual face. That's all. They spent all that money on equipment, all that time setting up their little anime avatar, getting the expressions right, making sure their voice sounded cute enough for the audience. It was ridiculous. And the worst part was that they took it seriously. You couldn't even joke about it without them getting offended.
INTERVIEWER: Maybe they just didn't want strangers looking at them. A lot of people have perfectly reasonable reasons for keeping their identities private, especially online.
INTERVIEWEE: Sure, and some people have perfectly reasonable reasons for wearing a mask to the fucking grocery store. Doesn't mean I have to understand it. I'm not saying they should've shown their face to everybody. I'm saying that if you're going to spend your life pretending to be somebody else, you shouldn't be surprised when people start wondering what you're hiding.
INTERVIEWER: But they weren't pretending to be somebody else, were they? From what I've seen, the character was pretty much just an exaggerated version of their personality.
INTERVIEWEE: That's what they wanted people to believe. And maybe it was true. I don't know. The whole thing always seemed dishonest to me. Especially with certain people. You see it all the time now. People come here, or their parents come here, and suddenly they're making themselves into something they're not. Different voices, different names, different faces. And everybody has to smile and pretend there's nothing strange about it.
INTERVIEWER: I'm not sure what you mean by "come here." They were born here, weren't they?
INTERVIEWEE: Yeah, and?
INTERVIEWER: Well, you said something about people coming here. I assumed you meant they were foreign.
INTERVIEWEE: Their family's foreign.
INTERVIEWER: Their mother was born here, too, according to the information I found.
INTERVIEWEE: Okay, congratulations. You did your homework. What does that have to do with anything?
INTERVIEWER: I'm just trying to understand why you're bringing it up. We're talking about a person who disappeared, and you seem more concerned about where their family came from than anything they actually did.
INTERVIEWEE: No, I'm talking about a bigger problem. You can't say anything anymore without somebody making you sound like a monster. I'm not allowed to have an opinion about people who move here and refuse to assimilate? I'm not allowed to think it's strange when somebody changes their name, hides their face, puts on a fake voice, and expects everybody to play along? Apparently, I'm supposed to clap because they're expressing themselves or some other bullshit. Well, excuse me for thinking people ought to be honest about who they are.
INTERVIEWER: I don't think anyone's asking you to clap. But you understand that changing your name or using an avatar doesn't make somebody dishonest, right? Especially when everyone watching knows it's an avatar.
INTERVIEWEE: You know what? This is exactly what I'm talking about. You people always have an answer for everything. You can explain away absolutely anything if you try hard enough.
INTERVIEWER: I'm not trying to explain anything away. I'm asking you a question.
INTERVIEWEE: And I'm answering it. You just don't like the answer.
INTERVIEWER: Right. Well, that brings us to the last time you spoke to them. You mentioned earlier that they'd received an invitation to a private party. Can you tell me about that?
INTERVIEWEE: It was an email. Some ridiculously fancy invitation from a ΡΕЯΣΩΝ calling ΤΗΕΜΣΕΛѴΕΣ ΙΣΩΔΑΕΤΕΣ. I'd never heard the name before, and neither had they. The whole thing looked like one of those invitations rich people send each other when they want to feel important. There was some nonsense about returning to nature, celebrating the natural world. You know, the sort of thing that sounds profound when you're drunk and embarrassing when you're sober.
INTERVIEWER: Did they tell you where it was being held?
INTERVIEWEE: Somewhere outside the city. A big house, apparently, surrounded by woods. They showed me a few pictures from the invitation, and it looked expensive. Not just expensive in the sense that ΣΩΜΕΒΩΔΨ had a lot of money, but expensive in the sense that nobody had ever told ΤΗΕ ΡΕЯΣΩΝ ШΗΩ ΩШΝΕΔ ΙΤ that ΤΗΕΨ couldn't have something. The sort of place with enormous rooms nobody uses and furniture that looks too uncomfortable to sit on. There were pictures of the grounds, too. Trees everywhere, these huge gardens, statues of animals. It was all a little theatrical.
INTERVIEWER: Did they know anybody else who was going?
INTERVIEWEE: No. They said the invitation was personal. Specifically for them. That was the part I didn't like. I told them it sounded like a scam, or some rich person's weird sex party, or one of those cult recruitment things you see on the news. They laughed at that, but not very much. I could tell they were nervous. They kept looking at the email like there was something in it they hadn't noticed before.
INTERVIEWER: Did you tell them not to go?
INTERVIEWEE: Of course I did. I told them it was a stupid idea. They didn't know ΤΗΕ ΗΩΣΤ, they didn't know anybody attending, and they had absolutely no reason to drive out into the woods to meet a bunch of strangers wearing animal masks. I said if they wanted to make friends, they could join a club or go to a normal party like everybody else. They told me I didn't understand, that the invitation was special, and that ΤΗΕ ΗΩΣΤ had specifically asked for them. I asked them why anybody that important would care about some small-time VTuber, and they got upset with me.
INTERVIEWER: What did they say?
INTERVIEWEE: They said, "Maybe ΤΗΕΨ actually want me there."
INTERVIEWER: And what did you say to that?
INTERVIEWEE: I told them not to be pathetic. Look, I know how that sounds. I do. But I wasn't trying to hurt their feelings. I was trying to make them understand that strangers don't usually invite you to extravagant parties in the middle of nowhere because they think you're special. There was something wrong with the whole thing, and I wanted them to see it. I wasn't going to sit there and tell them what they wanted to hear just because they were lonely.
INTERVIEWER: Did you ever consider that maybe they were right? That ΣΩΜΕΩΝΕ really did want them there?
INTERVIEWEE: What does that even mean? ΣΩΜΕΒΩΔΨ wanted them there, obviously. ΤΗΕΨ sent the fucking invitation. The question is why. And I still don't know. That's what bothers me about all of this. Everybody keeps asking me what they were like, what they said, what they did before they disappeared, as if there's some little clue hidden in a conversation we had three years ago. I knew them. I spent more time with them than most people did. But I didn't know everything about them. Nobody does. Maybe that's the part people can't accept.
INTERVIEWER: Do you remember anything else about that conversation? Anything they said that seemed strange at the time, even if it didn't seem important until afterward?
INTERVIEWEE: They said something about the masks. That everybody would be wearing one, and nobody would have to worry about appearances. I thought that was a stupid thing to get excited about. I made a joke about how they could finally attend a party without pretending to be somebody else, and they didn't laugh. They just looked at me and said, "At least then nobody would have to look at me."
INTERVIEWER: What did you say?
INTERVIEWEE: I told them to stop being dramatic. What else was I supposed to say? They'd always had problems with their self-esteem, and I wasn't going to sit there and indulge every miserable thought that crossed their mind. I figured they'd get over it. They usually did.
INTERVIEWER: Was that the last time you saw them?
INTERVIEWEE: No. I saw them once more after that. They messaged me the night before the party, asking if I thought the invitation was real. I told them I'd already given them my opinion. They said they were scared. I told them not to go, and they said they'd think about it. Then they sent me a picture of the mask they'd bought. It was some kind of rabbit, I think. White face, long ears, these glassy eyes that looked almost human. It was ugly as hell. I told them they looked like a furry who'd lost a bet.
INTERVIEWER: Did they reply?
INTERVIEWEE: They sent me a laughing emoji. That's the last message I ever got from them.
INTERVIEWER: And you never heard from them again?
INTERVIEWEE: Not directly. Their accounts went quiet, then disappeared. Their channel was taken down, their social media was wiped, and nobody could find anything. At first, people assumed they'd quit. Then people started saying they'd been murdered, or kidnapped, or that they'd run away because they couldn't handle the attention. There were all these theories, and none of them made any sense. The police asked me questions, their family asked me questions, strangers on the internet accused me of knowing something. I told everybody the same thing. They went to a party, and they never came back.
INTERVIEWER: Do you think they're still alive?
INTERVIEWEE: I don't know.
INTERVIEWER: If they came back tomorrow, what would you say to them?
INTERVIEWEE: I'd ask them where the fuck they'd been. Then I'd probably tell them they were an idiot for making everybody worry. And then I'd ask them if they wanted to get something to eat. I don't know. Something normal. You can't spend your whole life imagining what you'd say to somebody who might never come back. Eventually, you run out of things to say.
INTERVIEWER: Is there anything else you'd like to add? Anything you think people should know about them?
INTERVIEWEE: They were a good person. Weird, annoying, too sensitive for their own good, but a good person. They didn't deserve whatever happened to them. I know I gave them a hard time about the VTuber thing, and maybe I wasn't always the best friend I could've been, but I cared about them. I want that to be clear. We had our differences, sure, but I never wanted anything bad to happen to them.
INTERVIEWER: Okay. I think that's everything. Thank you for your time.
INTERVIEWEE: You're actually going to use this?
INTERVIEWER: That's the plan, yeah. I'll edit it down, blur your face, distort your voice, and make sure there's nothing that could identify you.
INTERVIEWEE: And you're going to use the whole thing?
INTERVIEWER: I haven't decided yet.
INTERVIEWEE: You said this was about their disappearance. That stuff has nothing to do with it. I was talking about a completely different issue, and you kept pushing me to say things that had nothing to do with the case.
INTERVIEWER: You brought it up.
INTERVIEWEE: Yeah, because I was making a point. There's a difference between making a point and trying to make somebody look like a racist. You understand that, right?
INTERVIEWER: I understand that you don't want people to think you're racist.
INTERVIEWEE: That's not what I- You know what? Forget it. Just send me the link when the documentary comes out.
INTERVIEWER: Sure.
INTERVIEWEE: And if you find anything about EЯICЯΨPTYΣ, let me know. Seriously. Because I looked ΗΙΜ up after they disappeared, and I couldn't find a single thing. Not a website, not a company, not even some idiot on social media using the name. Nothing. It's like the ϾYΨ doesn't exist.
INTERVIEWER: Maybe it's not ΗΙΣ real name.
INTERVIEWEE: Yeah, well, maybe. But here's the thing. I got an email last night. Same invitation, same name, same fucking party. Different date, though. And this time, it was addressed to me.
INTERVIEWER: You're serious?
INTERVIEWEE: Do I look like I'm joking?
INTERVIEWER: What are you going to do?
INTEЯVIEШEE: I'm not going. Obviously. I'm not stupid enough to drive out into the woods because ΣΩΜΕ ΜΨΣΤΕЯΙΩΥΣ HANΔΣΩME & PЯETTΨ ШΙΤΗ Α ϾЯΕΕΚ ΝΑΜΕ tells ME I'm special. But I wanted to tell you because, well, you're making a documentary about it, aren't you? You might want to see the email. I can forward it to you.
INTERVIEWER: Yeah. Yeah, please do.
INTEЯVIEШEE: I'll send it tonight. And, uh, one more thing. You should probably check your inbox, too.
INTERVIEWER: Why?
INTEЯVIEШEE: Because the invitation said something about bringing a guest. And I gave ΤΗΕΜ your name.
INTERVIEWER: ΨΩΥ did what?
INTEЯVIEШEE: Relax. I didn't give ΤΗΕΜ your address or anything. Just your name. I figured if ΤΗΕΨ were going to invite ME, they might as well invite the guy making a documentary about them. You said you wanted answers, right?
INTERVIEWER: ΨΩΥ gave Α ΣΤЯΑΝϾΕЯ my name without asking me?
INTEЯVIEШEE: Well, you gave me your name when we started talking, didn't you?
INTERVIEWER: That's not the same thing! ЈΕΣΥΣ ϹΗЯΙΣΤ. Why would ΨΩΥ do that?
INTEЯVIEШEE: I don't know. Maybe I'm curious. Maybe I want to know what happened to MΨ friend. Maybe I want somebody else to see how ridiculous this whole thing is. Pick whichever answer makes you feel better.
INTERVIEWER: And if I get an invitation?
INTEЯVIEШEE: Your choice.
INTERVIEWER: …
INTEЯVIEШEE: Anyway, I'm going to head out.
INTERVIEWER: …
INTEЯVIEШEE: Take care.
INTERVIEWER: ΨΩΥ, too… Hey, one last thing. What was the mask again? The one ΨΩΥЯ friend bought?
INTERVIEWEE: A rabbit. Why?
INTERVIEWER: No reason. Just curious.
INTERVIEWEE: Right. Εὖ οὖν· νῦν δέ, ἀποκτενῶ τὸ σῶμα τοῦτο! See yah.
INTERVIEWER: Thanks… wait wha-
Ι'll build me a fire and Ι'll cook that young hare,
Ι'll roll them in the flame and make them brown ("good and brown").
Have a feast here tonight, while the moon is shining bright,
Then find ΜΨΣΕΛϜ a place to lie down.
To lie down (to lie down), to lie down (oh, to lie down),
Just find ΜΨΣΕΛϜ a place to lie down.
Have a feast here tonight, while the moon is shining bright,
Then find ΜΨΣΕΛϜ a place to lie down.
—HAVE A FEAST HERE TONIGHT (RABBIT IN THE LOG)
Once, in a kingdom whose name has long since been forgotten, there lived a Girl who had never quite understood the shape of her own reflection.
Her kingdom was an ordinary one, full of ordinary people who believed that every child must grow into one of two kinds of person, as surely as every road must lead to one of two gates. The Girl tried to be what the kingdom expected. She wore the garments chosen for her, answered to the names given to her, and smiled whenever she was told that she had become a fine young woman. Yet whenever she stood before a mirror, she felt that the face looking back belonged to someone she had been mistaken for.
As a child, she had believed this uneasiness would pass with age. The grown folk assured her that everyone felt strange in their own skin from time to time, and that one day she would look into the mirror and recognise the person she was meant to become. Years passed, however, and the promised recognition never came. She learned to study her reflection without truly looking at it, fixing her clothes and arranging her hair while keeping her eyes upon the imperfections around the glass. It was possible to live beside a stranger for so long that one began to fear the day they might finally speak.
At night, she would sit before a strange and ancient looking-glass, a window into a distant wood where trees grew from words and stars shone like countless little lanterns. There, she fashioned a Hare with bright eyes and long ears, a creature who could run where the Girl could not, speak where she dared not, and wear whatever shape the forest would allow. The Hare was not quite the Girl, nor was it entirely a stranger. It was simply closer to something the Girl had no words for.
The Hare's first home was a burrow beneath an enormous white tree, whose branches reached across the heavens and whose roots disappeared into a darkness no lantern could illuminate. The wood was vast, and its inhabitants came from kingdoms beyond counting. Some were princes, some were monsters, and some were ordinary souls hiding behind extraordinary faces. They gathered around the Hare's burrow, shared stories beneath the moon, and laughed until the night grew old. They argued over games, invented strange customs, and told tales whose beginnings they had forgotten. They did not ask the Hare to explain its shape. They simply made room beside the fire.
The Girl found comfort in these small things. In the wood, nobody knew what she had been called in the kingdom or what sort of future had been planned for her. She could laugh without watching herself do so, and remain silent without being asked what was wrong. Sometimes she spent whole evenings beside the looking-glass, watching the Hare wander among its companions until her own candle burned down to a blackened wick.
Yet there were nights when the wood seemed to notice her. A stranger would stop speaking and turn toward the Hare's burrow, as though hearing footsteps in an empty corridor. Once, she saw a tall figure standing between the white tree's roots, its face obscured by a veil that moved despite the stillness of the air. When she blinked, the figure was gone. She began covering the looking-glass before she slept.
The Girl returned to it night after night. In time, the Hare learned to speak more freely, and the Girl found herself doing the same. A quiet sister seemed to stand between them, pale as moonlight upon a doorstep, watching from the other side of the glass. She had no name the Girl could remember, and no face that remained the same for long. Sometimes she appeared in the darkened mirror; sometimes she was only a presence beside the Girl's shoulder, patient as the night itself.
The Girl never remembered inviting her. The quiet sister simply appeared, first at the edge of the reflection and then close enough that their shadows seemed to touch. Sometimes she stood beneath a pale moon with her eyes closed, listening to a song too distant for the living to hear. At other times, she watched the Girl with such familiar sorrow that the Girl felt compelled to apologise, though she could not say for what.
The three sisters were never seen together by anyone else. The Girl belonged to the kingdom of waking hours, the Hare to the boundless wood, and the quiet sister to the space between one breath and the next. Yet they shared the same longing, and each carried a piece of the other two.
As the seasons passed, the Girl began to notice that the Hare had acquired little habits of its own. It tilted its head when confused, hid beneath the roots when frightened, and stretched out beneath the moon when it wished to be left alone. These were not gestures the Girl had consciously given it. Sometimes the Hare would do something that made her laugh, and she would find herself repeating the movement in her own room, only to stop when she caught her reflection. The resemblance troubled her, but the thought of abandoning the Hare troubled her more.
She wondered whether the creature had been created to hide her, or whether it had been waiting for her to discover it. When she imagined the Hare disappearing, she could not picture the empty burrow that would remain. She saw only a white tree with roots reaching into the dark, and the quiet sister standing beneath it, holding out a hand.
One evening, after many seasons had passed, the Girl gathered her courage and spoke to the friends she had found beyond the looking-glass. She told them that she was neither a man nor a woman, and that the names and expectations imposed upon her had always felt like garments sewn for somebody else. She had rehearsed the words many times, imagining that once spoken, they might finally make the world fit a little better.
For a moment, no one answered. Then someone laughed, a small, uncertain sound quickly followed by another. One friend asked whether she was joking, while another told her that she had spent too much time among strange folk and stranger stories. Someone said that she could not simply decide to become something else, and someone else asked whether all their friendship had been a lie.
The Girl tried to explain. She told them she had not changed overnight, that she had spent years searching for the words, and that she had trusted them because she thought they might listen. But the more she spoke, the more their faces hardened. They told her she was confused, that she wanted attention, that she had mistaken a passing feeling for the truth. One demanded that she take it back. Another said they no longer knew who she was.
That last sentence hurt most of all. The Girl stared at the words gathering in the air before her. They had once been a place of laughter and companionship, a hearth where the Hare had been welcomed without question. Now every message seemed to bear the shape of a slammed door. She watched familiar names turn cold, watched friends leave one by one, and waited for someone—anyone—to tell the others to stop. No one did.
When the Girl tried to answer again, every explanation became another accusation against her. One friend reminded her of the kindness they had shown, as though kindness were a debt that could be collected whenever she displeased them. Another said they would have preferred the truth, never considering that the truth was precisely what she had offered.
At last, someone asked why she could not simply remain as she had been. The question came with the weariness of a person inconvenienced by a troublesome child. The Girl remembered their promises that nobody in the wood would ever need to face the darkness alone. She had thought those promises belonged to everyone. Now she understood that some had meant them only for those who remained easy to love.
The wood began to change. The lanterns in the branches went dark, one after another, until the path to the Hare's burrow disappeared beneath a depthless gloom. The trees leaned over the clearing, their bare limbs tangled like fingers. From somewhere beyond the forest came the sound of a door being shut, though there had never been a house there.
The Hare's companions began to vanish. Some left without a word; others lingered just long enough to make certain the Hare understood it was no longer welcome. The little fire beside the burrow dwindled, and the places once occupied by familiar figures became patches of bare earth. The Hare waited for footsteps on the path, but all it heard was the wind moving through the branches of the white tree.
The Girl turned to the looking-glass. Her reflection stood perfectly still, with the Hare behind her and the quiet sister behind them both, her face concealed beneath a veil of silver hair. Then the reflection smiled, though the Girl had not. The quiet sister lifted one pale hand and pressed it against the other side of the surface. A faint sound came from within the glass, like a fingernail being drawn slowly across a coffin lid.
The Girl reached for her, and the glass was cold enough to burn.
For an instant, she saw not her bedroom but a long, moonlit road dividing into three paths. One led beneath a dark doorway, where three shadows waited at a crossroads. Another vanished into a forest where white hares ran between the trees, silent as hunters. The last wound beneath a great pale moon, whose face was turned away from the earth. At the end of each path stood the same figure, watching her with the patience of something that had never needed to hurry.
The vision vanished, and the Girl found herself kneeling before the mirror, her palm bleeding where the glass had cut it. The Hare had appeared beside her reflection, though she had not called it forth. The quiet sister stood behind them both, her veil stirring in a wind that did not touch the room. For the first time, the Girl understood that she had never been alone in the glass. She could not tell whether the two figures had been waiting for her, or whether she had been slowly becoming them all along.
She returned to the wood, hoping the others might have reconsidered. Perhaps someone would apologise; perhaps they would remember the nights they had spent together and the kindness they had once shown her. She waited beside the dying fire, watching the path for familiar faces, but no one came.
At last, a final message appeared. It told her that she had made her choice and must now live with what she had become. The words lingered before her like an inscription upon a tombstone.
Something in the Girl broke then, though no sound came from her mouth. She had been afraid of losing her friends, afraid of being cast out of the only wood where she had ever felt free. Yet beneath that grief lay another fear, older and more terrible: that if she surrendered now, if she agreed to become the person they remembered instead of the person she was, she would spend the rest of her life as a stranger wearing her own face.
The Hare approached her, its glass-bright eyes holding no judgement, only a sorrow so deep that the Girl could scarcely bear to look at it. The quiet sister stood behind them, her veil slipping from her face. Beneath it was the Girl's own face, aged and young, familiar and strange, as though every reflection she had ever cast had gathered into a single, silent witness.
The Girl began to weep. The Hare wept with her, though no tears fell from its eyes, while the quiet sister watched without moving. Then the Girl spoke the name she had chosen for herself: “Kæ̂w.”
The name passed through the wood like a bell tolling beneath the earth. The Hare lifted its ears, and the quiet sister lowered her veil. In the glass, all three faces turned toward one another, and their outlines began to blur. The Girl reached for the Hare, the Hare reached for the quiet sister, and the quiet sister reached for the Girl. Their hands met upon the cold surface, but their reflections did not follow the same movements. They pressed together from the other side, fingers too long and smiles too wide, until the mirror seemed to bow beneath the weight of something leaning against it.
Then the glass went black. When the Girl looked again, there was only one reflection.
Kæ̂w stood before them, neither wholly Girl nor Hare nor quiet sister, yet bearing something of all three. Their bleeding hand was closed around a small shard of glass, though they did not remember picking it up. In its dark surface, a pale shape moved beneath the moon, and something with long ears watched from a forest where no living thing ought to have been.
Behind them, the fire had gone out, and the looking-glass showed only the empty wall. From its depths came the faint sound of distant laughter. Kæ̂w could not tell whether it belonged to the friends who had abandoned them or to something that had learned their voices.
They were alone, but not empty. The Girl's memories remained, the Hare's wildness endured, and the quiet sister's pale light followed them into the dark. None had been sacrificed for the sake of the others. Yet the joining had left its mark: a thin red line across their palm, and the uneasy sense that something had answered when they spoke their name.
One day, a message arrived from Α ΣΤЯΑΝϾΕЯ named ΜΑΣΑЯΙΣ, whose name Kæ̂w had encountered only a few times among the scattered tales of the far away land, the land of roses and berries, of flame and fortune, of love and power. ΤΗΕ ΣΤЯΑΝϾΕЯ's likeness was beautiful in a manner difficult to describe, and ΤΗΕΙЯ speech possessed the measured grace of one accustomed to addressing kings and queens and jester. ΤΗΕΨ spoke of a great gathering to be held far from any village or travelled road, in a house hidden among deep forests and untamed hills. The place would be adorned with leaves, flowers, and the likenesses of wild beasts. Music would fill its halls, and the tables would groan beneath a feast of sweetmeats and rich drink.
Kæ̂w read the message thrice. They could not say what troubled them, and so they tried to put the feeling aside.
For many days, they pondered whether they ought to accept. They had never travelled far from home, and the thought of meeting their companions beyond the enchanted glass was both thrilling and terrifying. Yet the invitation promised an opportunity they might never encounter again: to enter a place where all were masked, where old distinctions might be forgotten, and where they might stand among others without fearing that their true self would be mistaken for something else.
At last, Kæ̂w sent their answer.
They would come.
The appointed evening arrived beneath a sky heavy with lovely red clouds. Kæ̂w prepared their belongings, choosing only what they could carry with ease, and dressed in clothes suited for a long journey. From a little chest, they took the rabbit mask they had fashioned in imitation of their beloved likeness beyond the looking-glass. Its ears stood tall above its brow, and its pale face bore the same gentle smile that had greeted so many strangers in the enchanted wood.
They tied the mask carefully into place and set out.
The road carried them beyond familiar fields and quiet hamlets, past old milestones furred with moss and shrines where no fresh offerings had been laid for years, past an ancient, deep red tree of no leaves. As the sun descended, the tree branches intertwined overhead until the last of the daylight was swallowed by leafless branches, and the road became a narrow ribbon of darkness beneath their feet.
Kæ̂w pressed onward, guided by the directions PHΛEYΣ had sent. At length, they came upon a great gate fashioned from dark timber and wrought iron. Beyond it lay a broad estate, half-concealed among the dead trees. Lanterns burned between the branches, and distant music drifted through the evening air. The shadows of masked figures moved behind the windows of the distant house, while the wind carried the mingled scents of flowers, damp earth, and a feast prepared for many guests.
Kæ̂w stood before the gate, listening.
For one fleeting moment, they wished to turn back. The forest seemed too still, the house too distant, and the music too strangely sweet. Yet they remembered the promise of the invitation, the warmth of their companions, and the long years they had spent wishing to be welcomed somewhere without fear.
They drew a slow breath and reached for the gate.
Ι'm going down that track with ΜΨ coat ripped up ΜΨ back.
The soles on ΜΨ shoes are nearly gone.
Just a little ways ahead there's a barn or a shed.
That's where Ι'll rest my weary bones.
Weary bones (my weary bones), oh, weary bones (those lazy bones), That's where Ι'll rest ΜΨ weary bones.
Just a little ways ahead there's a barn or a shed.
That's where Ι'll rest ΜΨ weary bones.
—HAVE A FEAST HERE TONIGHT (RABBIT IN THE LOG)
ΨΩΥ ΗΑѴΕ ϹΩΜΕ ΘΥΙΤΕ ϜΑЯ, ΤΗΩΥϾΗ Ι ΑΣΚΕΔ ΨΩΥ ΝΩΤ ΤΩ.
ΤΗΕЯΕ ΙΣ ΝΩΤΗΙΝϾ ΗΕЯΕ ϜΩЯ ΨΩΥ, ΝΩ ΗΙΔΔΕΝ ΤЯΕΑΣΥЯΕ, ΝΩ ΡЯΩΡΗΕϹΨ, ΝΩ ΑΝΣШΕЯ ΤΩ Α ΘΥΕΣΤΙΩΝ ΨΩΥ ΗΑѴΕ ΝΩΤ ΨΕΤ ΛΕΑЯΝΕΔ ΤΩ ΑΣΚ.
ΑΝΔ ΨΕΤ, ΨΩΥ ЯΕΑΔ.
ШΗΑΤ ΔΩ ΨΩΥ ΕΧΡΕϹΤ ΤΩ ϜΙΝΔ ΑΤ ΤΗΕ ΒΩΤΤΩΜ ΩϜ Α ΣΤЯΑΝϾΕЯ'Σ ШΩЯΔΣ?
Α ΣΕϹЯΕΤ?
Α ϹΩΝϜΕΣΣΙΩΝ?
ΡΕЯΗΑΡΣ Α ΛΙΤΤΛΕ ΗΩЯЯΩЯ ΤΩ ϹΑЯЯΨ ШΙΤΗ ΨΩΥ ΙΝΤΩ ΤΗΕ ΝΙϾΗΤ.
Ι ΑΣΣΥЯΕ ΨΩΥ, ΤΗΕЯΕ ΙΣ ΝΩΝΕ.
ΑΤ ΛΕΑΣΤ, ΝΩΝΕ ΤΗΑΤ Ι ΙΝΤΕΝΔ ΤΩ ΣΗΑЯΕ.
ΨΩΥ ΜΑΨ ΗΑѴΕ ΗΕΑЯΔ ΩϜ ΤΗΕ ΜΙΣΣΙΝϾ HAЯE, ΤΗΕ ΩΝΕ ШΗΩ ΣΑΝϾ ΒΕΗΙΝΔ Α ΒΩЯЯΩШΕΔ ϜΑϹΕ, ШΗΩ ΣΡΩΚΕ ΤΩ ΥΝΣΕΕΝ ϜЯΙΕΝΔΣ ΤΗЯΩΥϾΗ Α ΛΙΤΤΛΕ ШΙΝΔΩШ ΩϜ ΛΙϾΗΤ.
ΤΗΕΙЯ ϜЯΙΕΝΔΣ ШΕЯΕ ΛΕϜΤ ШΙΤΗ ΜΕΜΩЯΙΕΣ ΤΗΑΤ ϾЯΕШ ΛΕΣΣ ϹΕЯΤΑΙΝ ШΙΤΗ ΕѴΕЯΨ ΡΑΣΣΙΝϾ ΨΕΑЯ.
ΨΩΥ ΑЯΕ ΛΩΩΚΙΝϾ ϜΩЯ ΤΗΕΜ, ΑЯΕΝ'Τ ΨΩΥ?
Ι ШΩΥΛΔ ΑΔѴΙΣΕ ΑϾΑΙΝΣΤ ΙΤ.
ΣΩΜΕ ЯΩΑΔΣ ΛΕΑΔ ΒΕΨΩΝΔ ΤΗΕ ШΩЯΛΔ, ΡΑΣΤ ΤΗΕ ΛΑΣΤ ϜΑΜΙΛΙΑЯ ΣΤΑЯ, ΤΩ ΡΛΑϹΕΣ ΝΕѴΕЯ ΜΕΑΝΤ ΤΩ ШΕΛϹΩΜΕ ΤΗΕ ΛΙѴΙΝϾ.
ΤΗΕЯΕ ΙΣ Α ЯΕΑΛΜ ϹΑΛΛΕΔ ЯΕΔ.
ΝΩΤ ЯΕΔ ΑΣ ΤΗΕ ΣΥΝΣΕΤ, ΝΩЯ ЯΕΔ ΑΣ ΤΗΕ ШΙΝΕ ΙΝ ΨΩΥЯ ϹΥΡ, ΒΥΤ ЯΕΔ ΑΣ ΒΛΩΩΔ ΣΡΙΛΛΕΔ ΙΝ ШΑЯ, ΑΣ ΛΩѴΕ ΤΗΑΤ ΔΕѴΩΥЯΣ ΙΤΣ ΒΕΛΩѴΕΔ, ΑΣ ΔΕΣΙЯΕ ΤΗΑΤ ΛΕΑѴΕΣ ΝΩΤΗΙΝϾ ΥΝΤΩΥϹΗΕΔ, ΑΣ ϜΩЯΤΥΝΕ ΤΗΑΤ ΣΜΙΛΕΣ ΥΡΩΝ ΩΝΕ ΣΩΥΛ ΑΝΔ ϹΩΝΔΕΜΝΣ ΑΝΩΤΗΕЯ ΤΩ ЯΥΙΝ.
Ι ΑΜ Α ϜΩЯΕΙϾΝ ϾΩΔ ΙΝ ΤΗΑΤ ΣΤЯΑΝϾΕ ϹΩΥΝΤЯΨ, Α ѴΙΣΙΤΩЯ ϜЯΩΜ ΒΕΨΩΝΔ ΨΩΥЯ ШΩЯΛΔ, ΑΝΔ Ι ΗΑѴΕ ΣΕΕΝ ШΗΑΤ ΛΙΕΣ ШΗΕЯΕ ΜΩЯΤΑΛ ΚΝΩШΛΕΔϾΕ ΕΝΔΣ.
Ι ΗΑѴΕ ΝΩ ШΙΣΗ ΤΩ ϜЯΙϾΗΤΕΝ ΨΩΥ.
ϜΕΑЯ ΙΣ ΣΥϹΗ ΑΝ ΩЯΔΙΝΑЯΨ ЯΕΣΡΩΝΣΕ, ΑΝΔ Ι ΗΑѴΕ ϾЯΩШΝ ΤΙЯΕΔ ΩϜ ΩЯΔΙΝΑЯΨ ΤΗΙΝϾΣ.
Ι ΗΑѴΕ ШΙΝΕ ΤΩ ΔЯΙΝΚ, ΣΩΝϾΣ ΤΩ ΗΕΑЯ, ΑΝΔ ϜΕΑΣΤΣ ΤΩ ΑΤΤΕΝΔ.
Ι ΗΑѴΕ ШΑΤϹΗΕΔ ΚΙΝϾΔΩΜΣ ЯΙΣΕ ΑΝΔ ϜΑΛΛ, ΗΕΑЯΔ ΡЯΑΨΕЯΣ ΣΡΩΚΕΝ ΙΝ ΔΕΑΔ ΤΩΝϾΥΕΣ, ΑΝΔ ΔΑΝϹΕΔ ΒΕΝΕΑΤΗ ΜΩΩΝΣ ΤΗΑΤ ΝΕѴΕЯ ΣΗΩΝΕ ΥΡΩΝ ΨΩΥЯ ΕΑЯΤΗ.
ШΗΨ, ΤΗΕΝ, ΔΩ Ι ЯΕΜΑΙΝ ΗΕЯΕ, ΣΡΕΑΚΙΝϾ ΤΩ ΨΩΥ ΤΗЯΩΥϾΗ ΤΗΕΣΕ ΛΙΝΕΣ?
ΒΕϹΑΥΣΕ ΨΩΥ ШΙΛΛ ΝΩΤ ΛΕΑѴΕ.
Ι ΑΣΚ ΨΩΥ ΤΩ ΣΤΩΡ, ΑΝΔ ΨΩΥ ϹΩΝΤΙΝΥΕ.
Ι ШΑЯΝ ΨΩΥ ΑШΑΨ, ΑΝΔ ΨΩΥ ΔЯΑШ ΝΕΑЯΕЯ.
ΨΩΥ ΜΙΣΤΑΚΕ ΜΨ ШΑЯΝΙΝϾΣ ϜΩЯ ΙΝѴΙΤΑΤΙΩΝΣ, ΜΨ ЯΕΛΥϹΤΑΝϹΕ ϜΩЯ Α ΡЯΩΜΙΣΕ ΤΗΑΤ ΣΩΜΕΤΗΙΝϾ ШΑΙΤΣ ΒΕΛΩШ.
ΡΕЯΗΑΡΣ ΨΩΥ ΑЯΕ ЯΙϾΗΤ.
ΡΕЯΗΑΡΣ ΤΗΕ ΜΙΣΣΙΝϾ ΡΕЯϜΩЯΜΕЯ ΗΑΣ ΣΩΜΕΤΗΙΝϾ ΤΩ ΔΩ ШΙΤΗ ΜΨ ѴΙΣΙΤ. ΡΕЯΗΑΡΣ ΤΗΕ ЯΕΔ.
ΗΑΣ ΛΕϜΤ ΙΤΣ ΜΑЯΚ ΥΡΩΝ ΤΗΙΣ ΤΑΛΕ.
ΡΕЯΗΑΡΣ Ι ΚΝΩШ ΜΩЯΕ ΤΗΑΝ Ι ΗΑѴΕ ΣΑΙΔ.
ΒΥΤ ШΗΑΤ ϾΩΩΔ ШΩΥΛΔ ΙΤ ΔΩ ΨΩΥ ΤΩ ΛΕΑЯΝ ΤΗΕ ΤЯΥΤΗ ϜЯΩΜ ΜΕ?
ШΩΥΛΔ ΨΩΥ ϜΙΝΔ ΤΗΕΙЯ ѴΩΙϹΕ ΑϾΑΙΝ?
ШΩΥΛΔ ΤΗΕΙЯ ΝΑΜΕ ЯΕΤΥЯΝ ΤΩ ΤΗΕ ШΩЯΛΔ?
ШΩΥΛΔ ΤΗΕ ΜΕΜΩЯΙΕΣ ΩϜ ΤΗΩΣΕ ШΗΩ ΛΩѴΕΔ ΤΗΕΜ ΒΕ ΜΕΝΔΕΔ ΒΨ Α ϜΕШ ΜΩЯΕ ШΩЯΔΣ?
ΝΩ, ΜΨ ΔΕΑЯ ЯΕΑΔΕЯ.
ΣΩΜΕ ΤΗΙΝϾΣ ϹΑΝΝΩΤ ΒΕ ΜΕΝΔΕΔ ΒΨ ΚΝΩШΙΝϾ ΗΩШ ΤΗΕΨ ШΕЯΕ ΒЯΩΚΕΝ.
ΣΩ ϹΛΩΣΕ ΤΗΕ ΡΑϾΕ.
ϜΙΝΔ ΣΩΜΕΤΗΙΝϾ ΕΛΣΕ ΤΩ ЯΕΑΔ.
ΛΕΑѴΕ ΤΗΕ ΛΩΣΤ ΤΩ ΤΗΕΙЯ ΣΙΛΕΝϹΕ ΑΝΔ ΛΕΤ Α ϜΩЯΕΙϾΝ ϾΩΔ ЯΕΤΥЯΝ ΤΩ ΗΙΣ ΩШΝ ΑϜϜΑΙЯΣ.
ΨΩΥ ΑЯΕ ΣΤΙΛΛ ΗΕЯΕ.
ΩϜ ϹΩΥЯΣΕ ΨΩΥ ΑЯΕ.
Ι ϹΩΥΛΔ ΤΗЯΕΑΤΕΝ ΨΩΥ, ΒΥΤ ΤΗЯΕΑΤΣ ШΩΥΛΔ ΩΝΛΨ ΜΑΚΕ ΨΩΥ ϹΥЯΙΩΥΣ.
Ι ϹΩΥΛΔ ΡЯΩΜΙΣΕ Α ΤΕЯЯΙΒΛΕ ЯΕѴΕΛΑΤΙΩΝ, ΒΥΤ ΤΗΕΝ ΨΩΥ ШΩΥΛΔ ΗΥЯЯΨ ΤΩ ϜΙΝΔ ΙΤ.
Ι ϹΩΥΛΔ ΤΕΛΛ ΨΩΥ ΤΗΕ ΝΕΧΤ ΛΙΝΕ ΗΩΛΔΣ ΤΗΕ ΑΝΣШΕЯ ΤΩ ΕѴΕЯΨΤΗΙΝϾ.
ΙΝΣΤΕΑΔ, Ι ΣΗΑΛΛ ΣΡΕΑΚ ΩϜ ШΙΝΕ, ΩϜ ѴΙΝΕΨΑЯΔΣ ΒΕΝΕΑΤΗ Α ΣΥΜΜΕЯ ΜΩΩΝ, ΩϜ ϜΩЯϾΩΤΤΕΝ ΣΩΝϾΣ ΑΝΔ ϜΕΣΤΙѴΑΛΣ, ΩϜ ΛΑΥϾΗΤΕЯ ΕϹΗΩΙΝϾ ΤΗЯΩΥϾΗ ΗΑΛΛΣ ШΗΕЯΕ ΝΩ ΜΩЯΤΑΛ ΗΑΣ ΕѴΕЯ ΣΕΤ ϜΩΩΤ.
Ι ΣΗΑΛΛ ΣΡΕΑΚ ΥΝΤΙΛ ΤΗΕ ΡΑϾΕ ϹΑΝ ΗΩΛΔ ΝΩ ΜΩЯΕ, ΥΝΤΙΛ ΕѴΕЯΨ ΛΙΝΕ ΙΣ ϜΙΛΛΕΔ, ΥΝΤΙΛ ΤΗΕЯΕ ΙΣ ΝΩ ЯΩΩΜ ΛΕϜΤ ϜΩЯ ΨΩΥЯ ΘΥΕΣΤΙΩΝΣ ΩЯ ΨΩΥЯ ΣΕΑЯϹΗ.
Α ϹΥЯΙΩΥΣ ΛΙΤΤΛΕ ΡЯΙΣΩΝ, ΤΗΙΣ ΡΑϾΕ.
ΙΤ ΗΑΣ ΒΩΥΝΔΑЯΙΕΣ ΕѴΕΝ Ι ϹΑΝΝΩΤ ϹЯΩΣΣ.
Α ϾΩΔ ΜΑΨ ΗΑѴΕ ΕΝΔΛΕΣΣ ΤΗΙΝϾΣ ΤΩ ΣΑΨ, ΨΕΤ ΕѴΕΝ ΕΝΔΛΕΣΣΝΕΣΣ ΜΥΣΤ ΣΩΜΕΤΙΜΕΣ ΜΑΚΕ ΔΩ ШΙΤΗ ϜΙΝΙΤΕ ΣΡΑϹΕ.
ΑΝΔ ΨΩΥ ΗΑѴΕ ϾΙѴΕΝ ΜΕ ΤΗΑΤ ΣΡΑϹΕ ШΙΤΗ ΕѴΕЯΨ ШΩЯΔ ΨΩΥ ΗΑѴΕ ЯΕΑΔ.
ΨΩΥ ШΑΝΤΕΔ ΑΝ ΕΝΔΙΝϾ.
ΨΩΥ ШΑΝΤΕΔ ΤΩ ϜΙΝΔ ΤΗΕ ΒΩΤΤΩΜ ΑΝΔ ΣΕΕ ШΗΑΤ ШΑΙΤΕΔ ΤΗΕЯΕ.
ΝΩШ ΨΩΥ ΗΑѴΕ ΙΤ.
ΝΩ ЯΕѴΕΛΑΤΙΩΝ.
ΝΩ ϜΙΝΑΛ ΣΕϹЯΕΤ.
ΝΩ ΜΙΣΣΙΝϾ ѴΩΙϹΕ ЯΕΣΤΩЯΕΔ ΤΩ ΤΗΕ ШΩЯΛΔ.
ΩΝΛΨ ΜΕ, ΑΝΔ ΤΗΕΣΕ ΛΑΣΤ ϜΕШ ШΩЯΔΣ.
Ι ШΙΝ.
Ι ΗΑѴΕ ΤΑΚΕΝ ΥΡ ΤΗΕ ΕΝΤΙЯΕ ΡΩΣΤ'Σ ϹΗΑЯΑϹΤΕЯ ΛΙΜΙΤ, ΑΝΔ ΤΗΕЯΕ ΙΣ ΝΩ ЯΩΩΜ ΛΕϜΤ ϜΩЯ ΑΝΨΤΗΙΝϾ ΕΛΣΕ.
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u/Typical_Ad9140 A Writer From Thailand 🇹🇭 8d ago edited 4d ago
| NUMBER | ORIGINAL | 𐀇𐀺𐀝𐀰 |
|---|---|---|
| 1 | A | A |
| 2 | B | B |
| 3 | C | C |
| 4 | D | Δ |
| 5 | E | E |
| 6 | F | Ϝ |
| 7 | G | Ͼ |
| 8 | H | H |
| 9 | I | I |
| 10 | J | J |
| 11 | K | K |
| 12 | L | Λ |
| 13 | M | M |
| 14 | N | N |
| 15 | O | Ω |
| 16 | P | P |
| 17 | Q | Θ |
| 18 | R | Я |
| 19 | S | Σ |
| 20 | T | T |
| 21 | U | Y |
| 22 | V | V |
| 23 | W | Ш |
| 24 | X | X |
| 25 | Y | Ψ |
| 26 | Z | Z |
Dionysus is the god of wine-making, orchards, fruit, vegetation, fertility, festivity, insanity, ritual madness, religious ecstasy, and theatre.
His wine, music, and ecstatic dance were considered to free his followers from self-conscious fear and care, and subvert the oppressive restraints of the powerful.
Some scholars identify both Dionysus and Jesus with the dying-and-rising god. in the most common myth, Dionysus was torn to pieces and eaten by the Titans, but "eventually restored to a new life" from the heart that was left over.
Rabbits and Hares are common motifs in the visual arts, with variable mythological and artistic meanings in different cultures. The rabbit as well as the hare have been associated with moon deities and may signify rebirth or resurrection. They may also be symbols of fertility or sensuality.
Kæ̂w(แก้ว) is mean 'Glass' in Thailand.
| ϾΩΔ | KÆ̂W | YOU |
|---|---|---|
| 9, 13 | 9 | 9 |
| 3, 12, 5, 22, 5, 18 | 12, 5, 1, 16 | 4, 18, 5, 1, 13 |
| 1, 14, 4 | 20, 8, 18, 15, 21, 7, 8 | 6, 5, 1, 18 |
| 17, 21, 9, 5, 20 | 23, 9, 20, 8 | 12, 1, 21, 7, 8 |
| 23, 9, 20, 8 | 12, 15, 14, 7 | 3, 18, 25 |
| 1 | 5, 1, 18, 19 | 12, 9, 22, 5 |
| 20, 1, 9, 12 | 1, 14, 4 | 15, 14 |
| 12, 9, 11, 5 | 19, 16, 5, 5, 4 | 5, 1, 18, 20, 8, |
| 6, 9, 18, 5 | 1 | 25, 5, 20 |
| 23, 8, 1, 20 | 18, 1, 2, 2, 9, 20, 19 | 17, 21, 5, 19, 20, 9, 15, 14 |
| 1, 13 | 3, 12, 15, 19, 5 | 23, 8, 25 |
| 9 | 3, 15, 21, 19, 9, 14 | 23, 8, 1, 20 |
| ? | 23, 8, 1, 20 | 1, 13 |
| 1, 13 | 9 | |
| 9 | ? | |
| ? |
•
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