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In the heart of a misty, moonlit swamp, three creatures gathered around a rickety wooden pallet. Cards fluttered in their claws, paws, and wings as they played their favorite game—poker. But instead of chips, a prize of body parts from an unfortunate victim. Tonight’s stakes included a liver, a pair of eyes, a severed hand, and a chunk of thigh.
“Three card hands? Tis not fair!” squawked the witch, her hair flaring in agitation. Her talons gleamed in the dim light, tapping the table in irritation. “The beast has three heads, but only one stomach! It should play with one card hand like the rest of us!”
The chimera, lounging across from her, gave a low rumble of amusement. Its lion head grinned toothily, while the goat head snorted in indignation. The snake head, at the end of its tail, stared blanky into the distance, not realizing its cards were facing the wrong way.
“Indeed,” the bat chimed in, perched calmly on the edge of the table. “Though to be fair, it’s not exactly a strategic advantage. Look at the snake—it’s showing its cards for all to see. Hardly a mastermind, that one.”
The snake hissed weakly, still clueless.
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“Bah! A minor setback!” the lion head roared. “I’m still winning, and that liver’s mine, witch!”
“Ha! Mayhap you are right, bat. Tis obvious now that the three heads share the same dumb brain if the lion wishes for the liver,” the witch retorted, flicking her hair in disdain. “A liver’s no prize—tis too slippery, too delicate!”
The bat’s leathery wings rustled as he shook his head. “Nonsense. The thigh is more valuable. Stronger, tastier. You can do more with a good piece of muscle.”
They bickered for a few minutes, each making their case, while the chimera’s goat head rolled its eyes. “Bah! You’re both wrong. The eyes are the true prize—delicate, juicy, and still fresh!”
Their argument grew louder, and just as the witch opened her mouth to screech a final insult, a hooting voice echoed through the swamp.
“Silence, fools,” called the demon owl, perched within the hollow of a gnarled tree. Its glowing eyes shone through the dark like twin orbs of fire. “I shall settle this petty squabble. The liver may be slippery, but it nourishes the soul, and the thigh may be strong, but the flesh is common. The true prize, however, lies in what is seen.”
The creatures fell silent.
“The eyes,” the owl continued. “For they are the windows to terror.” It blinked it’s own big eyes.
“Bah, owl’s wisdom is overrated,” the witch muttered, but she grudgingly slid her cards across the table. “Fine. Take the eyes.”
The snake head hissed in joy, finally realizing its own triumph.
And so, they resumed their game, cards shuffled once more, as the swamp's fog thickened. Another night of monstrous poker—arguing over body parts and their worth.