T̲h̲e̲ P̲r̲o̲m̲pt̲ː ،Wager of the Damned، At your feet, there is a man on his knees excusing his means, promising a solution, and begging for his own life’s mercy through substance-less eyes. In the last month he has lost his wife, been kicked out of his own home, had his car impounded on suspicion of tax evasion, been beaten up by your men, and the worst charge—lost over forty thousand dollars, gambling on borrowed money in your casino and now he owes you.
You’ve been through this formality before—with an ultimatum—yet when the barrel of your gun touched his wrinkled forehead, only then does he get it.
“I understand that luck has been eluding you lately, man, but when you owe some- one, you gotta see it through.”
His trembling hands assured you he’d do anything to keep you from being his exe- cutioner tonight. Inside his rotten lungs, the air stopped. “If this would clear my debt with you, I’d even cut my own finger off for you.”
You let a pocketknife slide across the desk. The man looks at you with quivering he- art and defeaning fear. His internal monologue is way too thunderous—what if it’s going to cause an infection? What if you coated the blade in a substance that will seep into his veins and dry him out inside until he disintegrates? What if, what if, what if... You’ve done nothing to the knife.
When he slams the blade down, the defeaning room fills with a prolonged howl as blood spurts like an artesian foutain.
“Does that prove how loyal I’m going to be to you?” “It might prove mental illness.”
The shock on the man’s face is worth more than the pain he felt at the thoughtless act. “But you said—”
“Man,” you say derisively. “No one asked you to cut your finger off. Most certainly, not myself. This is me giving you the means, since you said you’ll cut off a finger. Just because you see the temptation, does not mean you f–cking jump at it.”
ᴿᵁᴸᴲ˙¹⁾ Pick a number, 1 to 11, choose your face-claim (m), rename your muse. ²⁾ Eliminate the least fitting protagonist of the story. You will be met with an appearance look and a l̲i̲t̲t̲l̲e̲ s̲e̲c̲r̲e̲t̲―the secret is actually the detail changing the course of the actions, deciding on the winning character. ᵉˣᵗʳᵃ ⁱⁿᶠᵒ˙ Everything is completely randomized, you make your luck along the way.
It’s rumored that, ccasionally, Ṇọṿẹḷḷị́ạ Ṣṭụṭẓ catches herself in a reflection with nothing staring back at her. Her reflection fades, but only when she’s dressed as Audrey does the image return. Without the costume, she’s invisible to the world. What actually happened? Just as she vanishes from reflections entirely, something pul- ls her back—her reflection reappears, but it is distorted, unrecognizable. She cannot become Audrey fully, nor can she return to herself. The reflection is caught in an eternal in-between, a twisted reminder of what she tried and failed to become.
The Denouement, C̣ḷạụḍẹ C̣ḥạṛṛịẹṛ finds a Polaroid photograph of herself, dressed as Audrey, but the date scri- bbled in the corner is from decades before she was born. As she stares at it, the edges of her face blur, slowly being replaced by Audrey’s, until the image no longer resembles her at all.
Unmask the Ⲋẹc̣ṛẹṭ, who changed the course of actions?
It’s rumored that Ạụṭụṃṇ Ṃạḷḳọẉịṭẓ began to see lines of dialogue that weren’t in the script, written in faded ink. Old conversations, moments from Hepburn’s life that no one else notices. When she repeats them, people around her nod, unaware that they weren’t part of the original screenplay. What actually happened? The strange, ghostly lines of dialogue that weren’t originally in the script begin to fade and blur. She can no longer read them, no matter how hard she tries. These lost conversations reveal the limits of memory and time— Audrey’s life is gone, and no amount of reenacting can revive it fully.
Unmask the Ⲋẹc̣ṛẹṭ, who changed the course of actions?
It’s rumored that when Ḅṛịẹḷḷẹ Ṛọṣẹ looks in the mirror, her reflection becomes colder, more distant. It’s her face, but the eyes that stare back at her hold a sadness that do- esn’t belong to her—a weight from another time. What actually happened? The mirror that once showed her transformation in- to Audrey shatters under the weight of conflicting identities. Each shard reflects a diff- erent version of herself, none of them whole. With no clear reflection, both identities disintegrate, and she is left with fragments—neither Audrey nor herself.
Unmask the Ⲋẹc̣ṛẹṭ, who changed the course of actions?
It’s rumored that Ạụṛẹ́ḷịẹ Ṣṭ.̣ C̣ḷạịṛ’s own voice becomes softer, frailer, as if something is slowly choking her presence. But when she speaks in Audrey’s accent, the strength re- turns, as though her true voice can no longer be heard. What actually happened? As her voice becomes softer, it eventually fades to nothing, leaving her mute. Audrey’s voice cannot take hold, and without her own, she is left voiceless. No words, no lines—her identity collapses into silence. The power of voi- ce, lost, renders the transformation incomplete.
Unmask the Ⲋẹc̣ṛẹṭ, who changed the course of actions?
It’s rumored that a small, antique music box appears in Ṃẹṛẹḍịṭḥ Ḅṛọọṃf̣ịẹḷḍ’s dressing room, playing the exact melody of Audrey’s favorite tune. No matter where she hides it, it reappears, always playing when she feels the most vulnerable, like a lullaby from ano -ther life. What actually happened? The haunting music box that once appeared and re- appeared now falls silent. The tune fades mid-melody, the mechanism breaking down, as though the force behind it has run out of power. With no song to guide her, the girl loses her way between identities, left adrift in a silence that can’t be undone.
Unmask the Ⲋẹc̣ṛẹṭ, who changed the course of actions?
It’s rumored that Ạṣṭọṛịạ Ḳạṛṇṣṭẹịṇ’s modern clothes began to disappear. One by one, they vanish from her closet, replaced by replicas of Audrey’s famous outfits. Soon, her entire wardrobe is filled with vintage dresses, and she no longer remembers what she used to wear. What actually happened? Her vintage clothes, which once seemed like a se- amless part of Audrey’s life, begin to decay. The fabric frays, falls apart, and what re- mains of the elegant outfits unravels before her eyes. Without the costumes, the girl can no longer embody Audrey. Stripped of her appearance, she is left in a liminal sta- te, neither Audrey nor herself.
Unmask the Ⲋẹc̣ṛẹṭ, who changed the course of actions?
It’s rumored that C̣ḥạṛḷọṭṭẹ Ḍạṿịṣ started having vivid memories of events she has never lived—red carpets, meeting Hollywood icons, film sets she’s never stepped on. The me- mories feel more real than her own past, overwhelming her with a strange nostalgia. What actually happened? The vivid, borrowed memories become fragmented. They loop endlessly, repeating the same moments, but now they play out like scenes in a broken film reel. The girl starts to notice inconsistencies—people who never existed, events that couldn’t have happened. The illusion cracks, revealing the hollowness of the memories.
Unmask the Ⲋẹc̣ṛẹṭ, who changed the course of actions?
It’s rumored that slowly, Ẹḷịẓạḅẹṭḥ C̣ọọp̣ẹṛ begins forgetting her own name. People call out to her, and she hesitates, unable to recall who she is anymore. Her own name sou- nds foreign, as if it belonged to someone else, while “Audrey” feels like home. What actually happened? Just as she’s fully absorbed into Audrey’s life, her true name returns, like a whisper she can’t ignore. This reminder of who she once was breaks the illusion, unraveling the threads of the identity she’s been stitched into. The persistence of her original name pulls her back from the brink of total loss.
Unmask the Ⲋẹc̣ṛẹṭ, who changed the course of actions?
It’s rumored that Ạạḷịỵạḥ Ṛọḅịṇṣọṇ’s handwriting starts to change. As she practices her lines, she notices it morphing into Audrey’s looping, delicate script, as if her own hand is losing control and being guided by someone else’s. What actually happened? Though her handwriting began to match Audrey’s, it begins to falter, caught between two identities. Words tremble on the page, half in her own style, half in Audrey’s, as if the two personas are fighting for dominance. Neither handwriting wins, leaving her unable to write coherently at all, stuck between the two selves.
Unmask the Ⲋẹc̣ṛẹṭ, who changed the course of actions?
It’s rumored that Ạṃẹ́ḷịẹ Ṛẹṇạṛḍ started noticing a shadow that doesn’t quite align with her movements. It flickered, slightly delayed, and its silhouette seems more slender, poised— like Audrey’s. It haunted her, following her even when no light should cast a shadow. What actually happened? As the girl’s transformation nears completion, the sha- dow that once followed her starts to vanish. Without a shadow, there’s nothing left to an- chor her to reality, making her invisible to the world—even to herself. The shadow, once an echo of Audrey, can no longer exist in a world where both Audrey and the girl fade into nothingness.
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Giuseppe Maggio/ Enzo de Luca, 12.
Nr 3
6
At your feet, there is a man on his knees excusing his means, promising a solution,
and begging for his own life’s mercy through substance-less eyes. In the last month
he has lost his wife, been kicked out of his own home, had his car impounded on
suspicion of tax evasion, been beaten up by your men, and the worst charge—lost
over forty thousand dollars, gambling on borrowed money in your casino and now
he owes you.
You’ve been through this formality before—with an ultimatum—yet when the barrel
of your gun touched his wrinkled forehead, only then does he get it.
“I understand that luck has been eluding you lately, man, but when you owe some-
one, you gotta see it through.”
His trembling hands assured you he’d do anything to keep you from being his exe-
cutioner tonight. Inside his rotten lungs, the air stopped. “If this would clear my debt
with you, I’d even cut my own finger off for you.”
You let a pocketknife slide across the desk. The man looks at you with quivering he-
art and defeaning fear. His internal monologue is way too thunderous—what if it’s
going to cause an infection? What if you coated the blade in a substance that will
seep into his veins and dry him out inside until he disintegrates? What if, what if, what
if... You’ve done nothing to the knife.
When he slams the blade down, the defeaning room fills with a prolonged howl as
blood spurts like an artesian foutain.
“Does that prove how loyal I’m going to be to you?”
“It might prove mental illness.”
The shock on the man’s face is worth more than the pain he felt at the thoughtless
act. “But you said—”
“Man,” you say derisively. “No one asked you to cut your finger off. Most certainly,
not myself. This is me giving you the means, since you said you’ll cut off a finger.
Just because you see the temptation, does not mean you f–cking jump at it.”
ᴿᵁᴸᴲ˙¹⁾ Pick a number, 1 to 11, choose your face-claim (m), rename your muse.
²⁾ Eliminate the least fitting protagonist of the story.
You will be met with an appearance look and a l̲i̲t̲t̲l̲e̲ s̲e̲c̲r̲e̲t̲―the secret is actually
the detail changing the course of the actions, deciding on the winning character.
ᵉˣᵗʳᵃ ⁱⁿᶠᵒ˙ Everything is completely randomized, you make your luck along the way.
© ℱrimouƨƨe.
It’s rumored that, ccasionally, Ṇọṿẹḷḷị́ạ Ṣṭụṭẓ catches herself in a reflection with nothing staring
back at her. Her reflection fades, but only when she’s dressed as Audrey does the image return.
Without the costume, she’s invisible to the world.
What actually happened? Just as she vanishes from reflections entirely, something pul-
ls her back—her reflection reappears, but it is distorted, unrecognizable. She cannot become
Audrey fully, nor can she return to herself. The reflection is caught in an eternal in-between, a
twisted reminder of what she tried and failed to become.
The Denouement,
C̣ḷạụḍẹ C̣ḥạṛṛịẹṛ finds a Polaroid photograph of herself, dressed as Audrey, but the date scri-
bbled in the corner is from decades before she was born. As she stares at it, the edges of her
face blur, slowly being replaced by Audrey’s, until the image no longer resembles her at all.
It’s rumored that Ạụṭụṃṇ Ṃạḷḳọẉịṭẓ began to see lines of dialogue that weren’t in the
script, written in faded ink. Old conversations, moments from Hepburn’s life that no
one else notices. When she repeats them, people around her nod, unaware that they
weren’t part of the original screenplay.
What actually happened? The strange, ghostly lines of dialogue that weren’t
originally in the script begin to fade and blur. She can no longer read them, no matter
how hard she tries. These lost conversations reveal the limits of memory and time—
Audrey’s life is gone, and no amount of reenacting can revive it fully.
It’s rumored that when Ḅṛịẹḷḷẹ Ṛọṣẹ looks in the mirror, her reflection becomes colder,
more distant. It’s her face, but the eyes that stare back at her hold a sadness that do-
esn’t belong to her—a weight from another time.
What actually happened? The mirror that once showed her transformation in-
to Audrey shatters under the weight of conflicting identities. Each shard reflects a diff-
erent version of herself, none of them whole. With no clear reflection, both identities
disintegrate, and she is left with fragments—neither Audrey nor herself.
It’s rumored that Ạụṛẹ́ḷịẹ Ṣṭ.̣ C̣ḷạịṛ’s own voice becomes softer, frailer, as if something is
slowly choking her presence. But when she speaks in Audrey’s accent, the strength re-
turns, as though her true voice can no longer be heard.
What actually happened? As her voice becomes softer, it eventually fades to
nothing, leaving her mute. Audrey’s voice cannot take hold, and without her own, she is
left voiceless. No words, no lines—her identity collapses into silence. The power of voi-
ce, lost, renders the transformation incomplete.
Fading voice
It’s rumored that a small, antique music box appears in Ṃẹṛẹḍịṭḥ Ḅṛọọṃf̣ịẹḷḍ’s dressing
room, playing the exact melody of Audrey’s favorite tune. No matter where she hides it,
it reappears, always playing when she feels the most vulnerable, like a lullaby from ano
-ther life.
What actually happened? The haunting music box that once appeared and re-
appeared now falls silent. The tune fades mid-melody, the mechanism breaking down,
as though the force behind it has run out of power. With no song to guide her, the girl
loses her way between identities, left adrift in a silence that can’t be undone.
It’s rumored that Ạṣṭọṛịạ Ḳạṛṇṣṭẹịṇ’s modern clothes began to disappear. One by one,
they vanish from her closet, replaced by replicas of Audrey’s famous outfits. Soon, her
entire wardrobe is filled with vintage dresses, and she no longer remembers what she
used to wear.
What actually happened? Her vintage clothes, which once seemed like a se-
amless part of Audrey’s life, begin to decay. The fabric frays, falls apart, and what re-
mains of the elegant outfits unravels before her eyes. Without the costumes, the girl
can no longer embody Audrey. Stripped of her appearance, she is left in a liminal sta-
te, neither Audrey nor herself.
It’s rumored that C̣ḥạṛḷọṭṭẹ Ḍạṿịṣ started having vivid memories of events she has never
lived—red carpets, meeting Hollywood icons, film sets she’s never stepped on. The me-
mories feel more real than her own past, overwhelming her with a strange nostalgia.
What actually happened? The vivid, borrowed memories become fragmented.
They loop endlessly, repeating the same moments, but now they play out like scenes in
a broken film reel. The girl starts to notice inconsistencies—people who never existed,
events that couldn’t have happened. The illusion cracks, revealing the hollowness of the
memories.
It’s rumored that slowly, Ẹḷịẓạḅẹṭḥ C̣ọọp̣ẹṛ begins forgetting her own name. People call
out to her, and she hesitates, unable to recall who she is anymore. Her own name sou-
nds foreign, as if it belonged to someone else, while “Audrey” feels like home.
What actually happened? Just as she’s fully absorbed into Audrey’s life, her
true name returns, like a whisper she can’t ignore. This reminder of who she once was
breaks the illusion, unraveling the threads of the identity she’s been stitched into. The
persistence of her original name pulls her back from the brink of total loss.
forgotten name
It’s rumored that Ạạḷịỵạḥ Ṛọḅịṇṣọṇ’s handwriting starts to change. As she practices her
lines, she notices it morphing into Audrey’s looping, delicate script, as if her own hand is
losing control and being guided by someone else’s.
What actually happened? Though her handwriting began to match Audrey’s, it
begins to falter, caught between two identities. Words tremble on the page, half in her
own style, half in Audrey’s, as if the two personas are fighting for dominance. Neither
handwriting wins, leaving her unable to write coherently at all, stuck between the two selves.
It’s rumored that Ạṃẹ́ḷịẹ Ṛẹṇạṛḍ started noticing a shadow that doesn’t quite align with her
movements. It flickered, slightly delayed, and its silhouette seems more slender, poised—
like Audrey’s. It haunted her, following her even when no light should cast a shadow.
What actually happened? As the girl’s transformation nears completion, the sha-
dow that once followed her starts to vanish. Without a shadow, there’s nothing left to an-
chor her to reality, making her invisible to the world—even to herself. The shadow, once
an echo of Audrey, can no longer exist in a world where both Audrey and the girl fade into
nothingness.
shadow on the wall