Chameleon Magazine

Long ago, in the Kingdom of Evermouth, there lived a people who loved words more than bread or gold. They traded sayings like coins, polished them like jewels, and passed them down as gifts from their grandparents’ tongues.

In the heart of that kingdom stood the Hall of Origins, where the Keeper of Sayings sat. He was an old man with ink-stained fingers who claimed to know how every word and proverb had been born.

One morning, a young scribe named Lira came to him, carrying a bundle of notes. “Master,” she said, “I have gathered the stories of our phrases — how men beat their wives with thumb-thick sticks, how nobles forbade ladies from golf, how kings in cards were real, how sleeping tight came from ropes.”

The Keeper smiled, a slow smile like the opening of a dusty book. “Ah,” he said, “the whispers of words. Tell me, child, who told you these tales?”

“Everyone,” she said proudly. “They are the truths of the tongue.”

The old man rose and led her to the window. Outside, sunlight fell on a courtyard where dozens of people were speaking all at once — each one repeating something they had merely heard.

“Do you see?” the Keeper said softly. “Words grow like vines — but vines cling to whatever they find. Some twine around truth, others around wind.”

He handed Lira a quill made of glass. “Go out,” he said, “and seek not the prettiest story, but the one that stands even when you lean upon it.”

Lira wandered for years. She found that many sayings she’d loved were woven from half-truths and guesses. Yet she also found that even false stories carried light — for they revealed what people wished had been true.

When she returned, the Keeper was gone. On his chair lay a single phrase, carved into the wood:

“A beautiful lie can feed the heart — but only truth can feed the world.”

And so the Hall of Origins fell silent, until the next curious soul came listening for the whisper of words.

“Not every story that sounds true is — but every false tale shows what truth we hunger for.”