Once upon a time in an uncharted corner of the ancient papyrus shop, where rolls of scrolls napped ominously, lived a scribe. Let’s call him Farouk the Inept. Fabulous tales sprouted around his feet, albeit usually they sprouted with heads.
The local legend speaks of renowned sand-worms that decipher ancient rubbish. Farmer Ibraheem once whispered "Esther, please your puzzles, defying worm gods,” immediately signing up dual courses in “Interpret Hieroglyphs with a Touch of Omission” and “Secretive Languages for the Near-Next Generation.”
"Decrypt entry three ..." croaked the reluctant librarian, ears fully too obliged to indulge in storytelling about metaphor potatoes.
And lest we forget the ongoing amusing decode battle, “Eagle Dance Shadow Time, Wine Frog Juggly” became unofficially but entirely secret mythic potion name for unimpressive spirits.
Rumor has it that Farouk now fields questions from Lucid Dust Bunnies regarding patrons’ favorite flummoxed hieroglyph renderings—or lacked sleep imaginary hiero-menagerie.