“Do you have a riddle for me?” The Reversed Sphinx had asked - with a quiet voice that rumbled through your ears. You studied the cloth upon their body. The rough knotted chestpiece, the fabric knotted around their waist - stained by the perpetually blowing red sands. You stood in front of the spirit as they slowly began to smile. Not many had thought so deeply before, they told you. Most had blurted out a half-thought that was only loosely a riddle. Some had even used the riddle from the Sphinx fable.

They walked past you - grazing your hand and pulling it lightly - asking you to follow. You did as they asked and walked. First trailing behind and slowly moving to be beside them. The red sand, and the dark sky behind the flashes of colours, and the spirit moving quietly beside you.

“What happened to the mages that asked you those riddles?” You asked, matching the soft tone that The Reversed Sphinx had used.

“Is that your riddle for me?” They asked looking at you out of the corner of their eye, grazing your hand again. You shook your head, just a question you told them. They smiled once more.

“I did what Sphinx are known to do.” They said firmly. You and the Reversed Sphinx continued on, through the gently undulating dunes. The soft swish of fabrics and gentle creaking of leather the only sounds in the night. Your breathing soft and the Reversed Sphinx’s undetectable.

“Do you think me a monster?” The rumble of the Reversed Sphinx was deeper now, the question clear in their voice.

“Is that your riddle for me?” You answered cheekily, the Reversed Sphinx caught off guard and letting out a lilting laugh. They seemed to walk lighter beside you at the comment. The wind whipping through the dunes softened.

You wondered vaguely if there was a destination you were walking towards, if your time with them was almost over. You pushed the thought away and slowly moved your hand to brush against theirs again. Gently moving your fingers together and pressing against their palm. The leather of their arm wrap soft and supple in the warmth of your grip. Mages were raised on cradle songs warning of the dream-realm. Of the beauty and the danger. Stories of spirits and their quickly changing fancies, of the spirits whose interactions followed a script. You had been taught these too. You knew that trading riddles with a Sphinx, Reversed or not, was dependant on their fancy and the mages cunning. That many a mage had crossed paths with Sphinx kind and merely acknowledged them and declined to play - allowed to pass safely.

Those that they had dealt with had known the game. Had known the possible outcomes. Had lost the throw of the dice.

“I have no riddle for you, and I don’t think you have one for me -” you said to them as they gripped your hand tightly “but I do have a question for you.”

They gently came to a stop - holding your hand between the pair of you - and looked solemnly at you, their face losing it’s glow.

“When is a monster not a monster?”

They laugh like chiming bells and the glow returns, and then brightens, they sway gently towards you and pull you to walk again. The dunes seem to flatten as you look in the distance and you can make out some sort of oasis. Vague and far and seemingly impossible.

You lean gently into the Reversed Sphinx as you walk now, and they stroke their thumb along your hand playfully.

Mages were always warned of the spirits. Of their changeable fancies and the mages that are subject to them - those that waste their lives away for the love of a spirit.

Maybe you’ll be one of the lucky ones, you think. When is a monster not a monster?

Oh, when you love it.

(Borrowed a quote from a poem by Caitlyn Siehl)