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Searing 'cross the pitch­-black skies, I scream in celebration, Yet moments later, my outburst through, I am naught but imagination.



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Scythe of darkness, Shadow’s light. Guiding eye of thirteenth sight.

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People like this usually live in rural areas, unless they are lucky enough to strike oil and move to Beverly Hills.

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To unravel me you need a simple key, no key that was made by locksmith's hand. But a key that only I will understand.

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Riddle of the Day

Dec 05, 2025

What never gets any wetter no matter how hard it rains?

👀 Reveal Answer

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