The Kanteratti Sphinx’s only riddle is silence. What appears to be hair are the finger bones of his unfortunate victims, which it glares in morbid lure to eventual death. The bones ooze and boil at the top of his fiery forehead where a tattered mask is set, bruised and battered that bubbles sickly a bit.
In order to keep the precocious predator at bay, one must sing from the heart, a true love. Only then will the creature retreat in bitter anguish.