Speech, Monster, Nature

Sydne: I don't know why you're so keen on understanding monster speech. It's all gibberish.

Mavis: Gibberish. Listen to you. You really think all that groaning, sputtering, and teeth gnashing is gibberish?

Sydne: How can it not be?

Mavis: There's the intention behind all these sounds! There's actual meaning. Syntax, grammar, it's all there!

Sydne: Oh? And there are little differences between the tongues of zombies, ghouls, wraiths, and all those other horrible beings? The only difference is the degree to which their tongues have rotted. And there sure isn't a difference when they're hauling people off into the lost woods!

Mavis: Maybe if we understood their languages, we can understand them.

Sydne: I understand that they want to kill us all off! We all do. Except you.

Mavis: If we understand their language, we understand their nature. Then we can find out why they hate us so much.

Sydne: Because they're different. We're human, they're not human. Maybe they envy our humanness, that we're alive, that we can enjoy lemonade on bright summer days and they can only enjoy cold brains in their dark, rotting graves.

Mavis: We are different, yes. Understanding them doesn't mean agreeing with them. It doesn't even mean liking them. It means knowing how they work and how we can protect ourselves as a result of gaining that knowledge.

Sydne: Fine, Miss Monster Tongue, how do you plan on using this knowledge once you've finally translated monster speech?

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Ice, Eternal, Unfortunate

The Ice Queen clicked her tongue as her newest guest, yet another in the long line of daring if dense adventurers, stood frozen in the foyer. Not frozen in fear. Literally frozen.

She was rather impressed with the curse; anyone not invited warmly into the castle would be immediately and eternally encased in ice. Her court magician was very good at her job. A little too good. And a bit unsettling, if the Queen was honest, for every frozen prisoner, though immobile, remained conscious of their surroundings. As she approached the young man, his eyes flitted about in alarm. His fingers made the barest twitching motion.

Her collection of unfortunate adventurers was growing at a ridiculous rate, however. Now that she thought about it, the whole withdrawn royal with the power over ice was very much played out.

The man's lips quivered. The Queen chewed her lip, thinking.

Perhaps it was time to change things up.

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Fault, Tiger, Isolation

Ever since the earthquake divided the land, the jungle was mostly safe from poachers and development. In newfound isolation, the wildlife flourished in ways observers had never imagined. None were more captivating than the tigers.

Over three of their generations, the beasts changed colors. Stripes took on the colors of flowers. Different hues: yellows, reds, blues, and even the occasional greens. They almost seemed chameleonic. Even with our most powerful binoculars and telescopes, sometimes we couldn't make out the big cats as they wandered through the leafy haven.

We envied their beauty and desired to see them up close. It was no longer enough to view them from afar.

One day, we decided to cross the fault that separated our two worlds.

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Dash, Rebel, Harvest

It was a gorgeous sight, that mountain of fragrant squashes. All the warm hues of autumn with the pumpkin spice flavor already grown in. This was the best harvest our village had had in years.

Then they dropped in on us. Like a cloud of produce-loving gnats, the Organic Produce Liberation Squad made a nuisance of our festival: noisemakers, crackling confetti, trite slogans screamed across the field ("Squash the bourgeois!" "Food imprisonment is no delicata matter!"), and dumping ketchup in our pumpkin pudding cups.

But before they could spirit away the crowns of our harvest...

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Testify, Cow, Field

Being a judge of the farm fields wasn't exactly a dream job, but someone has to help keep order in this land of sapient animals.

You take the bench and look over the court. A field of woodland animals and farm animals: squirrels, hogs, rabbits, horses, deer, cattle, and other critters once divided by the electric fence. All come together to see justice served.

You call the defendant to the stand. The Highland steer moseys up to the stand, assuming a special kind of dignity only a bovine can have.

Before the steer can testify, a shout rings across the court.

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Looting, Denial, Mind

"Quit reading my thoughts."

You take another sip of your wine and give your date a reassuring smile. "I'm not," you say. "It's just a trick. Anyone can do it. See, it's called cold reading. Once you've mastered the basics, you can do it on the spot. I'll show you..."

As you spout off the old spiel, you keep digging through your target's mind. It's the perfect distraction. Your special talent has given you access to some wonderful minds... some awful minds... some very boring minds. But they've all yielded something valuable.

Now you just need to figure out what to do with these little treasures you've looted from these minds.

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Kick, Window, Happen

"I wonder what would happen?..."

Without finishing the thought, you kick out the window pane.

The air wooshes past you...

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Museum, Bag, Coffee

"Say, you! Over there!"

You peer up from the amber depths of your handcrafted honey-infused, almond milk macciatto-or-latte-or-whatever drink with soy whipped cream and catch the stranger's eyes. You don't normally socialize with complete strangers, but the older woman looks so sincere. Maybe she needs help. Maybe she's lonely. You've been feeling more lonely than usual these days. What could it hurt to humor a stranger for a few minutes? At least until you're finished with your drink.

You cross the empty coffeehouse floor. The woman smiles and sits up straighter. On her lap is a carpet bag. The cherry red fabric features yellow peacocks and green roses. It's colorful, at least, you think kindly.

"Want to see my museum?" asks the woman.

She opens the bag.

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Create, Wood, Export

Your creations are known for their ingenuity and usefulness; so popular are they that you've begun to export them to countries as far away as Japan and as near as Canada. The best part is, these wonderful tools are made from locally sourced wood.

From the cursed tree in your backyard.

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Space, Hardware, Van

It took over a year of dedicated searching. You scoured every junkyard, patronized every yard sale, and even dropped a few hundred on online auctions, but it was worth it.

You have all the hardware needed to modify your camper van to travel to space.

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Ivory, Ancestor, Endure

There it is, locked away in the basement for generations. It's a shame... and a mystery. The ivory sculpture of your matriarch, the woman who established your family's grand estate, surely belongs elsewhere. The manor courtyard where she enjoyed reading. The botanical gardens she helped cultivate. Even the town square where everyone would look up and remember the person who brought their beloved city to life.

You weave around the maze of dusty boxes and covered furniture. When you reach the statue, you begin to survey its dimensions and possible weight. Getting this thing out shouldn't be too difficult; just make a path to the door and have six strong men lift it onto a wheeled platform.

Your finger goes to wipe off some dust from the statue's cheek. As skin touches ivory, a shock runs down from your fingertip to your heart.

Do not fear.

You pause. There's no one else in the room. You're sure of it. But... it's not true. The stories can't be true...

I have remained to help my lineage continue my work. You are the next to assume the mantle.

You can't pull your finger away. The voice becomes louder. The statue's eyes have come to life. Your gaze is caught within the pale orbs.

Endure this and you will know your future.

The visions come.

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Peel, Meet, Trust

You're going to meet your contact under the tree. You normally wouldn't be meeting this fellow, but you need answers and nobody else is willing to give them.

As you near the magnolia tree, you see him standing in the shade, almost a part of the shadows. He's fiddling with something in his hands. You can't help watching the slender, peeling fingers turn it over and over. You wonder what might have ravaged the skin. A disease? A life of manual labor? You hope you won't have to shake hands. Then you feel awful for thinking such a thing about the one person who's gone out of their way to help you.

You come to a stop before him. He looks up. He hands over the object, nestled in a hand that looks so much like a ravaged paper sculpture.

"This is a matter of trust," he says, and he drops the object in your hands.

You catch it.

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Scatter, Quote, Kit

You've bought yourself one of those big magnetic word kits from the bookstore. As you happily take it across the room to your workspace, a fierce breeze blows through the open window. You fumble the kit, scattering all the words across the floor.

Cursing and ranting, you bend down to start the punishing task of picking up 500 individual pieces of varying sizes when you stop. There's a message spelled out at your feet.

It seems like it's a quote you've heard somewhere before, or maybe someone in your life had said something profound. This quote feels... well, you don't really know right away. You're more surprised than anything right now.

But as you hone in on the underlying meaning, you find that the quote is...

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