aLaPasta
"Would you prefer to be eaten?" Ala said. "I suppose I could. If you really wanted. But you don't look tasty at all. And I'm trying to stick to my diet."
The boy sort of quivered incoherently. None of the youngest-sons-off-to-make-their-fortune were ever really prepared to meet her.
"I'm not the riddle sort of sphinx. Those are rather one-trick ponies. And then they die if you guess their riddle--entirely ridiculous, if you ask me."
"What--what kind of sphinx are you?" the boy managed.
"I'm so glad you asked," Ala purred. "I'm a gift sphinx. We clothe ourselves in light and deposit small balloon-borne gifts upon the doorsteps of lucky recipients."
"You have gifts?" he said, getting braver.
Ala sighed. That had done it. "Yes," she said reluctantly.
Out of nowhere (clearly this one had a generous fairy godmother, because dimensional pockets were expensive), he pulled a sword and charged at her, screaming some girl's name, or something.
"Well," she said after, picking her teeth. "There goes my diet."
