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Percival Pondercup, a rather ordinary teacup, had a most extraordinary secret: he could talk! Not only that, but he only spoke in riddles. This made tea time at the Widdershins family’s rather… perplexing. The family’s grand old manor, nestled among rolling hills and surrounded by a riotous garden of blooms, echoed with laughter and the occasional frustrated groan, all thanks to Percival’s enigmatic charm.

One sunny afternoon, Mrs. Widdershins, a woman who adored order almost as much as she adored her prize-winning petunias, tried to ask Percival where she’d left her reading spectacles. She approached the dusty old tea shelf where Percival resided, her hands on her hips.

Percival’s tiny handle wiggled with anticipation. “I have cities, but no houses; forests, but no trees; and water, but no fish. What am I?”

Mrs. Widdershins tapped her chin thoughtfully, her brow furrowing beneath her impeccably styled hat. “A map, Percival? Is that where my spectacles are?”

Percival remained silent, which meant “no.” She sighed dramatically and went on to search the house, muttering about impractical teacups.

Later, young Timothy Widdershins, an energetic lad with an impressive collection of mismatched socks, tried to find his missing toy dinosaur, Rexy. His face scrunched in determination as he approached Percival, hoping for a straightforward answer.

Percival’s delicate porcelain surface gleamed in the afternoon sun as he chimed, “What has an eye, but cannot see?”

Timothy, being a clever lad, immediately guessed, “A needle! But Rexy isn’t a needle, Percival.”

The teacup just chuckled, a delicate clinking sound, as if bemused by Timothy’s logic. The Widdershins family spent their days in a state of amused confusion, constantly trying to decipher Percival’s cryptic clues.

Weeks passed with more riddles and even more perplexing disappearances—socks vanishing, keys relocating themselves, and once, an entire pie seemingly spirited away. Each time, Percival offered a riddle, and each time, the family embarked on an impromptu treasure hunt around the sprawling manor.

One evening, as the moon peeked through the window, casting silver patterns on the walls, Percival whispered softly, “What is full of holes but still holds water?”

Mr. Widdershins, who had cultivated a stern patience over time, finally snapped. “A sponge, Percival! Are my slippers under the sponge?”

Suddenly, a tiny, glittering object tumbled from inside Percival with an unexpected clink. It was Mrs. Widdershins’s reading spectacles! And clinging to them, a very small, very green object that was Rexy the dinosaur. The family gasped in unison.

It turned out Percival wasn’t just telling riddles; he was a tiny, riddle-speaking treasure chest! His hollow interior cleverly concealed small objects, and his riddles were hints—though delightfully convoluted ones.

From that day on, the Widdershins family never knew if they were getting a riddle or a surprise, but they always knew it would be an adventure. They even hosted "Riddle Tea Tuesdays," inviting neighbors to join the fun. Percival, perched proudly among the finest china, relished his role, his riddles weaving magic into the fabric of everyday life, ensuring that the Widdershins manor was always filled with laughter, curiosity, and just a pinch of delightful mystery.