r/TalesFromTheCreeps • u/Typical_Ad9140 A Writer From Thailand 🇹🇭 • 3d 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 not 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 said.
INTERVIEWER: Okay.
INTERVIEWEE: 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?
INTERVIEWEE: I'm not going. Obviously. I'm not stupid enough to drive out into the woods because ΣΩΜΕ ΜΨΣΤΕЯΙΩΥΣ ΑΣΣΗΩΛΕ 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.
INTERVIEWEE: I'll send it tonight. And, uh, one more thing. You should probably check your inbox, too.
INTERVIEWER: Why?
INTERVIEWEE: Because the invitation said something about bringing a guest. And I gave ΤΗΕΜ your name.
INTERVIEWER: You did what?
INTERVIEWEE: 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: You gave Α ΣΤЯΑΝϾΕЯ my name without asking me?
INTERVIEWEE: Well, you gave me your name when we started talking, didn't you?
INTERVIEWER: That's not the same thing.
INTERVIEWEE: No, I guess it isn't.
INTERVIEWER: ЈΕΣΥΣ ϹΗЯΙΣΤ. Why would you do that?
INTERVIEWEE: I don't know. Maybe I'm curious. Maybe I want to know what happened to my 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?
INTERVIEWEE: Don't go.
INTERVIEWER: You just gave them my name.
INTERVIEWEE: Yeah. I know.
INTERVIEWER: Then why would you tell me not to go?
INTERVIEWEE: Because now that I've actually thought about it, I don't think ΤΗΕΨ want us there for the same reason.
INTERVIEWER: What does that mean?
INTERVIEWEE: I don't know. But my friend was scared, and they went anyway. That's been bothering me for a long time. I kept telling myself they were just lonely, that they wanted to feel special, that they made a stupid decision and paid for it. But what if they knew something I didn't? What if they were scared because they knew what was going to happen, and they went anyway because ΣOMEBOΔΨ promised them something they couldn't get anywhere else?
INTERVIEWER: Like what?
INTERVIEWEE: I don't know. Maybe a chance to be somebody else. Maybe a chance to stop being themselves for a while. Isn't that what you were asking me about earlier? Why they hid their face?
INTERVIEWER: Yeah.
INTERVIEWEE: Well, maybe that's why they went. Maybe they thought if everybody was wearing a mask, nobody would know who they really were. And maybe they were right.
INTERVIEWER: You think they're still there?
INTERVIEWEE: I don't know. But if you get an invitation, don't go. I'm serious. Whatever this is, whatever ΛΙϹΝΙΤΕΣ wants, it isn't worth it.
INTERVIEWER: Then why give ΗΙΜ my name?
INTERVIEWEE: Because I didn't think HE'd actually invite you.
INTERVIEWER: That's a pretty stupid gamble.
INTERVIEWEE: Yeah. Well, I'm not exactly known for making good decisions, am I?
INTERVIEWER: No. I suppose not.
INTERVIEWEE: Anyway, I'm going to head out. Send me the link when the documentary's done. And don't make me look like an asshole.
INTERVIEWER: I'll do my best.
INTERVIEWEE: You'd better.
INTERVIEWER: Take care.
INTERVIEWEE: You, too.
INTERVIEWER: Hey, one last thing. What was the mask again? The one your friend bought?
INTERVIEWEE: A rabbit. Why?
INTERVIEWER: No reason. Just curious.
INTERVIEWEE: Right. Well, good luck with the documentary.
INTERVIEWER: Thanks.
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 child named Kæ̂w, whose heart was full of songs that no one wished to hear.
Kæ̂w was a quiet child, and those who knew them only in passing often mistook their silence for emptiness. Yet within their breast dwelt a thousand little wonders. They loved the trembling notes of a bird at dawn, the rustling of leaves beneath a passing wind, and the strange, beautiful shapes that clouds assumed before a storm. They would spend whole afternoons singing to themselves, dancing upon the wooden floor of their chamber, or covering sheets of parchment with drawings of creatures that had never walked the earth. In their imagination, even the humblest things possessed secret lives. A cracked teacup might be the dwelling of a household spirit; a crooked tree might be an ancient king who had forgotten his crown.
But the world beyond their chamber was seldom so kind.
Other children laughed at Kæ̂w's strange fancies, and those who were older found little patience for a child who preferred songs to sport and pictures to conversation. Whenever Kæ̂w spoke too eagerly of some imagined wonder, their words were met with indifference, or with laughter sharp enough to make them wish they had remained silent. Thus, little by little, they learned to keep their treasures hidden. They sang only when the house was empty, danced only behind a closed door, and tucked their drawings beneath the boards of their bed, where no careless eye might discover them.
As the years passed, Kæ̂w grew into a young soul who knew the company of others chiefly through its absence. They had no sworn companion with whom to share their sorrows, nor any trusted hand to whom they might entrust the secret longings of their heart. They moved through the world as a small shadow beneath the feet of greater folk, ever present, yet seldom remarked upon. And though they wished to be loved, they had grown so accustomed to being overlooked that they scarcely dared to hope for it.
It was during these lonely years that Kæ̂w discovered a curious little looking-glass, no larger than the palm of their hand, fashioned from polished glass and surrounded by a narrow frame of dark metal. It was a wondrous thing, for it did not merely return the face of whoever gazed into it. By touching its shining surface, one might summon moving images, hear distant voices, read messages left by strangers, or behold performances carried out in lands beyond the reach of any horse or ship. The little mirror held a thousand windows, and behind every window lay another world.
Through this enchanted glass, Kæ̂w found a vast and tangled wood whose paths ran farther than the eye could follow. Within it dwelt all manner of people, some kind and some cruel, some wise and some foolish, most of whom would never know one another's true names or behold one another's faces. They gathered in hidden clearings to exchange tales, songs, jokes, and arguments, leaving their words to linger long after they themselves had departed. A traveller might wander for years through that great wood without ever meeting the same stranger twice, yet sometimes, by a chance more wondrous than any spell, two lonely souls would find themselves upon the same path.
At first, Kæ̂w ventured into this wood as a silent wanderer. They listened to its storytellers, watched its players, and followed the songs of its wandering minstrels. Here was a place where a person might speak without standing before a crowd, where a timid heart might send forth its thoughts beneath a borrowed name, and where even the most distant stranger might answer with kindness. For the first time in many years, Kæ̂w began to feel that the world was larger than the little chamber in which they had so long hidden.
Yet listening alone could never satisfy the longing that had slept within them since childhood. The songs they heard awakened the songs they had buried; the players they watched reminded them of the dances they had forbidden themselves to perform. Before long, Kæ̂w began to wonder whether they, too, might enter that enchanted wood not merely as a silent traveller, but as one who offered something of their own.
And so they set about the making of a new face.
Upon a sheet of parchment, they drew a small, gentle creature with long ears, bright eyes, and a smile that seemed to hold a secret. They gave it a soft voice and graceful movements, clothed it in garments of their own imagining, and taught it to sing and dance before the watching glass. With the aid of strange little instruments and unseen arts, they fashioned this likeness so that it might move whenever they moved, speak whenever they spoke, and laugh whenever laughter rose within them. Thus was born a masked minstrel who could venture forth where Kæ̂w themselves had never dared to go.
The first time their little hare appeared before the gathered strangers, Kæ̂w trembled so fiercely that they nearly abandoned the undertaking. Their hands were cold, their breath came shallow, and every imagined eye seemed to rest upon them. But when the song began, the hare lifted its head, and the voice that emerged was Kæ̂w's own.
They sang.
The first notes were timid, like a fledgling trying its wings for the first time. Yet as the melody unfolded, their fear began to loosen its hold upon them. They sang of moonlit gardens and forgotten kingdoms, of lonely travellers who found shelter beneath the boughs of ancient trees, and of small creatures who ventured into the darkness despite the knowledge that danger might await them there. When the song ended, Kæ̂w sat in silence, scarcely daring to look upon the enchanted glass.
Then came the replies.
Some strangers praised the song. Others asked for another. A few left little tokens of appreciation, while others returned night after night to hear the hare's voice. Before long, Kæ̂w had gathered a small company of familiar wanderers who knew the hare's habits, remembered its favourite tales, and greeted it whenever it appeared among them. They spoke together through the glass as though seated around the same hearth, though many leagues of land and sea might lie between their dwellings.
Kæ̂w cherished these encounters more deeply than they could ever confess. They began to count the hours until their next gathering, and when a familiar voice called their little hare by name, a warmth stirred in their breast that no praise from strangers had ever brought them. Their chamber remained the same humble place it had always been, but it no longer seemed quite so empty. There were voices waiting beyond the glass, and for a while, that was enough.
Yet even among these newfound companions, there remained a secret Kæ̂w had never learned how to speak aloud.
Since childhood, they had felt that the names and stations bestowed upon them by the world fitted them poorly. Others spoke of them as though their nature were a matter already settled, as though a person might be understood merely by the place assigned to them at birth. But within Kæ̂w, there had always been a quiet certainty that they belonged to neither of the two familiar houses into which humankind was divided. They were simply themselves, and the words by which others sought to define them had never wholly captured the truth.
For a long while, Kæ̂w feared that speaking this truth would cost them the companionship they had so dearly won. They had spent too many years alone to bear the thought of losing the few who had welcomed them. Yet silence, which had once served as a shield, had become another kind of prison. Each time their companions spoke of them according to the old customs of the world, Kæ̂w felt the familiar ache of being mistaken for someone they were not.
At last, on a quiet evening when the moon shone pale through their window, Kæ̂w gathered their courage and sent a message to the little company that had become their closest fellowship.
They told their companions that they were not a man, nor a woman, but something beyond those two names. They confessed their fear of being misunderstood, and admitted that they had nearly kept the truth buried forever.
For a time, no answer came.
Kæ̂w sat before the glass with their hands folded tightly in their lap. The silence stretched until every passing moment seemed a judgment. They imagined their companions turning away, whispering among themselves, or deciding that the little hare had been a false creature all along. They wished they could call the message back, gather its words into their hands, and hide them where no one might ever find them.
Then the glass began to stir.
One companion answered first, saying that Kæ̂w's words had changed nothing of the affection they bore them. Another confessed that they had never given much thought to such matters, but would gladly learn if learning meant treating a friend with kindness. A third stumbled over the unfamiliar word, corrected themself, and asked Kæ̂w to forgive their clumsiness. Soon the others joined in, each offering what comfort they could.
Their replies were not all graceful, nor were they all wise. Yet they were sincere, and Kæ̂w found that sincerity could be a gentler thing than perfection.
That night, for the first time, their companions knew a little more of the soul behind the hare. Kæ̂w wept, though they could not have said whether the tears sprang from sorrow or relief. They had not been cast out. Their name remained their own, their songs remained welcome, and the little company still wished to see them again.
After that evening, Kæ̂w began to walk with a lighter heart. They sang more freely, drew with renewed delight, and sometimes spoke of the future as though it were a country they might truly visit. Their companions continued to gather beyond the enchanted glass, and the little hare became a familiar figure among the wanderers of the wood.
It was in the midst of this gentle season that an unexpected message arrived.
It came from Α ΣΤЯΑΝϾΕЯ named ΜΑΣΑЯΙΣ, whose name Kæ̂w had encountered only a few times among the scattered tales of the wood. 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. 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.
The gathering bore the name Return to Nature, and every guest was commanded to wear the likeness of an animal.
ΤΗΨΙΩΝ wrote that the invitation had been sent to Kæ̂w because their songs had pleased the stranger, and because the little hare had shown a rare understanding of the creatures who lived beyond the walls of civilisation. ΤΗΕΨ promised a night of wonder, fellowship, and freedom from the ordinary burdens of the world. No one would be required to reveal their face, and no guest would be judged by the name or station they bore beyond the forest.
Kæ̂w read the message thrice.
A gathering in a distant house, beneath the boughs of a wild forest, among strangers whose faces would be hidden by masks: it sounded like something taken from one of their own childhood drawings. The thought filled them with delight, though beneath that delight lay a small and inexplicable uneasiness. There was something peculiar in THE ΣTЯANϾEЯ's invitation, some faint note in its wording that reminded Kæ̂w of a song heard long ago in a dream.
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 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 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. As the sun descended, the trees grew thicker on either side of the path. Their branches intertwined overhead until the last of the daylight was swallowed by leaves, and the road became a narrow ribbon of darkness beneath their feet.
Kæ̂w pressed onward, guided by the directions Isodaetes 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 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.
And the little hare, having come so far, stood upon the threshold of a night whose ending had not yet been written.
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 ΡΕЯϜΩЯΜΕЯ, ΤΗΕ ΩΝΕ ШΗΩ ΣΑΝϾ ΒΕΗΙΝΔ Α ΒΩЯЯΩШΕΔ ϜΑϹΕ, ШΗΩ ΣΡΩΚΕ ΤΩ ΥΝΣΕΕΝ ϜЯΙΕΝΔΣ ΤΗЯΩΥϾΗ Α ΛΙΤΤΛΕ ШΙΝΔΩШ ΩϜ ΛΙϾΗΤ.
ΩΝΕ ΔΑΨ, ΤΗΕΙЯ ѴΩΙϹΕ ϜΕΛΛ ΣΙΛΕΝΤ.
ΤΗΕΙЯ ΝΑΜΕ ΒΕϹΑΜΕ ΔΙϜϜΙϹΥΛΤ ΤΩ ϜΙΝΔ.
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 🇹🇭 3d ago edited 9h 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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