I've developed an official Sphinx of ??? emote for you all. Prepare yourself:
Thanks for reading.
The vice principal cracked a sinister smile. String began to swirl in her open palm, weaving and converging into a shimmering orb of tangled thread. Then, suddenly...
“Hup!” Devilora lobbed the ball of yarn across the pool. Both sphinxes leapt to catch it, crashing back to the ground in a flurry of feathers. They wrestled for control of the prize for several minutes, meowing and hissing and batting at it playfully. The vice principal watched in patient silence. There was simply no substitute for the spectral string that she could make, not when it took weak spirits like the sphinxes immense poltergeist focus just to touch the mundane craft store kind.
“...And my truth? My prophecy?”
The spirits froze in place. With one last tug, Truth claimed the ball for herself, pinning it beneath her paw. “Ahem,” she squeaked, struggling to regain her sphinxly dignity. “Vewwy well.”
DuNacht’s spectacles sparkled in the sunset, glimmering with grim anticipation. She could speak this most vital truth herself, but... she had to stay on the sphinxes’ good side, at least for now. That, and she’d secretly started to enjoy the theater of it all, this ritual of weekly reassurance.
The Sphinx of Truth spread her wings wide. “The Witch yet weigns supweme in Mayview Middle School.”
Devilora Demonelle DuNacht grinned a diabolical grin. “...And?”
“...And wiffin the next week, she will cwaim the pwize she seeks.”
Three pairs of eyes went wide as the truth tumbled unbidden from the tiny sphinx’s mouth; this was not the answer they’d expected.
The vice principal lurched forward, letting out a frustrated screech when the rule forbidding running by the pool immediately tugged her backwards. Her spine made a sound like the finale of a fireworks show. “KEEYARGGH!! CURSE this feeble body!!” DuNacht cried, collapsing to the ground. With painful effort, she reached a quivering talon towards the Sphinx of Truth. “A name, sphinx! Give me a name!”
Truth’s claws dug deep into the ball of string, which she began to knead with wicked relish. “That twuth,” she purred, “demands a gweater pwice.”
Devilora shrieked several ancient curse words long thought lost since the burning of the Library of Alexandria. “I’ll do it MYSELF, then! The one the Witch will claim is...! It’s...! It’s...!!”
Try as she might, though, the truth wouldn’t emerge the way it had just moments previous.
The vice principal turned with shaky disbelief to face the soft clinking of the chain link fence behind her.
The spirit perched atop it scratched his mane apologetically. “Sorry,” said the golden sphinx, newly returned from his patrol. “I got lonely.”
Devilora caught a glimpse of smug cunning in the shadow of the spirit’s placid smile. “Tch!” she hissed, turning away.
She found the Sphinx of Truth waiting just inches from her face, having flown without a sound across the pool.
Kitten fangs flashed as the last sliver of sunlight dipped below West Hill. “This, I bewieve, is an oppowtunity for evewyone. Wet’s make a widdle deal.”