205TF – Castillon

TypefaceCastillon

DesignerMalou Verlomme

Release 2026

Fonts In Use

Specimen

Castillon is a typeface that stands at the intersection of two traditions: French and British, the broad-nib pen and stone carving.

On the British side, there is a direct and unbroken lineage spanning two centuries: Edward Johnston (1872–1944) and David Kindersley (1915–1995). Two distinguished type designers who shared the same conviction: the letter begins with the gesture and is then revealed to the eye.

On the French side, the typeface reveals an equally important parallel lineage: Maximilien Vox (1894–1974), José Mendoza y Almeida (1926–2018), and Roger Excoffon (1910–1983). Less austere and more distinctly Latin in character, this tradition is driven by the same pursuit of the perfect stroke.

These two traditions—sometimes seen as contradictory—ultimately share a common foundation. First, in their tools: the broad-nib pen and the chisel that cuts into stone. Then, in the attention paid to the gesture, executed with quiet assurance, and to the counters that naturally result from it.

This is where Castillon comes into being—not as a pastiche of a historical style, but as an exploration of what these foundational figures might have created together: a typeface that embraces its origins while offering a surprising synthesis of them.

The contrast between thick and thin strokes is pronounced, the tension between the capitals—whose design emphasizes their structure—and the decidedly more fluid lowercase forms is palpable, and the serifs seem to waver between lapidary incision and calligraphic stroke.

Castillon is a typeface that does not hide its influences but instead offers a contemporary and original interpretation of them. The family is deliberately extensive, broadening its range of applications. It comprises six weights—each with its own distinct personality—and as many italics. Only slightly inclined and intentionally narrow, the italic deliberately departs from the mechanical oblique. While it has a distinct voice of its own, it complements the roman with ease.

12 Styles

Roman

Italic

2 Variables

Variable

Variable Roman

word

STRANGER The forest began behind the last house. Beyond that, there was no road, only a narrow trail disappearing beneath roots, dead leaves, and moss. Ancient pines stood in the fog like motionless silhouettes. Farther ahead, oak and birch trees formed such a dense wall that even daylight seemed reluctant to pass through. People said no one should enter those woods after sunset. No one knew exactly why. Some spoke of an abandoned laboratory hidden somewhere beyond the lake. Others mentioned an old mine, then a bunker built beneath the mountain. The oldest villagers remembered a disappearance in 1987, when six teenagers had left town carrying a VHS camera, a Walkman, and a hand-drawn map. Only one of them came back. He never explained what had happened. He only repeated three words: “It is watching.” Years passed. The forest remained. And so did the signal. The radio crackled on the table. White static filled the small abandoned cabin. The battery was almost dead, yet the device had been working for several hours. A red light blinked above the dial. 88.7 FM. No station broadcast on that frequency. Yet every night, at exactly 2:17 a.m., the signal appeared. A hiss. Then something resembling breathing. Then three knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. The first time, she thought it was interference. The second time, she blamed an animal. The third time, she realized the knocks were not coming from the radio. They were coming from the door. She turned around. The door was closed. Beyond it, the hallway was completely dark. She waited. Nothing. Then the handle slowly turned. She grabbed her flashlight. The beam crossed the hallway. Empty. Only damp walls covered in mold, wires hanging from the ceiling, and an old photograph pinned beside the staircase. She stepped closer. The photograph showed six teenagers standing in front of a rusted warning sign. Behind them were the woods. The sign read: “Restricted Area — Do Not Descend.” She knew the photograph. She had seen it in the village archives. But something was different. In the original photograph, the six teenagers were alone. In this one, a seventh figure stood behind them. A very tall man. Faceless. She moved the flashlight closer. The figure seemed to be smiling. Outside, the wind had risen. Rain hammered against the cabin windows. The branches of an old cedar scratched across the roof with a steady rhythm. She picked up her backpack. A flashlight. A knife. A map. An old Polaroid camera. A walkie-talkie. And the cassette she had found in the archives. There was only one thing written on the label: “Chapter 07 — Do Not Watch.” She had watched it. Of course she had. The video showed a forest. The exact same forest surrounding the cabin. The camera moved slowly between the trees. Fog covered the ground. Somewhere in the distance, a child's voice could be heard. Then the image went black. Several seconds later, a face appeared. Not a child's. Not a man's. Something in between. Two enormous eyes. A mouth that was far too wide. Behind the face was a symbol carved into stone. A circle crossed by three lines. The same symbol was now drawn on the cabin door. She stepped outside. The forest was different at night. The trees seemed taller. The paths seemed narrower. Even the lake had changed. The black surface reflected the moon, but not a single star. She walked for almost an hour. Then she heard footsteps. Behind her. She stopped. The footsteps stopped. She started walking again. The footsteps followed. She turned around. Nothing. Only fog. She continued. As she moved deeper into the woods, the trees became stranger. Roots pushed through the ground like fingers. Lichen covered the stones and dead trunks. Vines twisted around broken branches. Then she found the first body. A skeleton. Half-buried beneath the leaves. Several Polaroids were scattered around the skull. She picked one up. A house. Another. A tunnel. A third. The cabin. A fourth. Herself. She dropped the photograph. On the back was tomorrow's date. She ran. She no longer knew where she was going. Trees blurred around her. She stumbled over a root and fell into the mud. Her flashlight rolled away. In the darkness, she heard breathing. Very close. She looked up. Between two birch trees stood a figure. Tall. Motionless. Faceless. She backed away. The figure took one step forward. She turned and ran toward the hill. At the top, an old structure emerged from the fog. An observatory. Abandoned for decades. The windows were broken. The door was open. She went inside. Everything was covered in dust. Cables hung from the ceiling. Dead monitors covered the walls. In the center of the room stood a massive telescope pointed toward the sky. But instead of looking at the stars, its lens was aimed at the ground. At the forest. At her. One monitor flickered on. Then another. Then all of them. A frequency appeared on every screen. 88.7. The radio in her backpack began to crackle. A voice whispered: “You arrived too early.” She stepped back. “Who are you?” Silence. Then: “We are the ones who stayed.” The screens showed the six teenagers from 1987. They were standing inside an underground room. They stared directly into the camera. They looked exactly the same age. Not a day older. The image changed. They were closer. Then closer still. Their eyes were black. Their mouths did not move. Then one of them spoke. “Do not go down.” Another said: “It is sleeping.” A third whispered: “But it is dreaming.” The final screen turned red. One word appeared. Awakening. Something struck beneath the floor. Once. Twice. Three times. Knock. Knock. Knock. She found the staircase. It descended beneath the observatory. Every step was covered with a different symbol. A rune. A circle. An eye. A face. A door. A black moon. The farther she descended, the colder the air became. At the bottom, she found a tunnel. The walls were ancient. Far older than the observatory. Roots pierced through the stone. Some of them seemed to pulse. Like veins. She continued. At the end of the tunnel was a vast underground chamber. In the center stood a black monolith. Around it, dozens of extinguished candles formed a perfect circle. On the floor were six handprints. And a seventh. Without thinking, she placed her hand against it. The monolith vibrated. A light appeared inside the stone. Then a voice entered her mind. Not a voice. A memory. A forest. A lake. Six children. A creature beneath the mountain. A ritual. A door. And someone opening it. She understood. The forest was not haunted. It was alive. The lake was not a lake. It was a surface. The laboratory had never been studying a creature. It had been studying a door. And whatever existed behind it was neither dead nor alive. It was something that had been dreaming for thousands of years. Something that had learned how to imitate humans. Their voices. Their faces. Their memories. Their fears. Their dreams. Their disappearances. She looked up. The monolith was no longer black. It had become a mirror. In its reflection, she saw the forest. The cabin. The observatory. Then her own house. She saw her bedroom. Her childhood. Her family. She saw everything she had forgotten. Then she saw something standing behind her. A figure. Faceless. She turned around. Nothing. She looked back into the mirror. The figure was still there. But now it was closer. It was smiling. And it had her face. The radio crackled. 88.7 FM. A voice whispered: “Now you can go back up.” She remained still. “Why?” The answer came immediately. “Because someone has to open the door.” The mirror cracked. One black line crossed its surface. Then another. Then a third. The symbol appeared. The same symbol from the cassette. The same symbol from the cabin door. The same symbol from the Polaroids. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath. Then something far above them screamed. A howl so deep that the stone itself trembled. She understood. It was not an angry scream. It was an awakening. She grabbed her flashlight. Her backpack. The cassette. And climbed the stairs. But when she stepped outside the observatory, the sun had already risen. The rain had stopped. The trees were silent. Too silent. She looked at the sky. There was no sun. Only a massive black circle. An eclipse. Something moved between the trees. Then a voice, coming from everywhere at once, whispered her name. She turned around. And for the first time, she saw that every silhouette between the trees had her face. Dozens. Then hundreds. Motionless. Waiting for her. Watching her. Smiling. The radio inside her backpack switched on one final time. 88.7 FM. Three knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. Then one last transmission: “Chapter Eight begins tonight.” And deep inside the woods, something opened its eyes. STRANGER

Variable Italic

word

Different Seasons The forest began behind the last house. Beyond that, there was no road, only a narrow trail disappearing beneath roots, dead leaves, and moss. Ancient pines stood in the fog like motionless silhouettes. Farther ahead, oak and birch trees formed such a dense wall that even daylight seemed reluctant to pass through. People said no one should enter those woods after sunset. No one knew exactly why. Some spoke of an abandoned laboratory hidden somewhere beyond the lake. Others mentioned an old mine, then a bunker built beneath the mountain. The oldest villagers remembered a disappearance in 1987, when six teenagers had left town carrying a VHS camera, a Walkman, and a hand-drawn map. Only one of them came back. He never explained what had happened. He only repeated three words: “It is watching.” Years passed. The forest remained. And so did the signal. The radio crackled on the table. White static filled the small abandoned cabin. The battery was almost dead, yet the device had been working for several hours. A red light blinked above the dial. 88.7 FM. No station broadcast on that frequency. Yet every night, at exactly 2:17 a.m., the signal appeared. A hiss. Then something resembling breathing. Then three knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. The first time, she thought it was interference. The second time, she blamed an animal. The third time, she realized the knocks were not coming from the radio. They were coming from the door. She turned around. The door was closed. Beyond it, the hallway was completely dark. She waited. Nothing. Then the handle slowly turned. She grabbed her flashlight. The beam crossed the hallway. Empty. Only damp walls covered in mold, wires hanging from the ceiling, and an old photograph pinned beside the staircase. She stepped closer. The photograph showed six teenagers standing in front of a rusted warning sign. Behind them were the woods. The sign read: “Restricted Area — Do Not Descend.” She knew the photograph. She had seen it in the village archives. But something was different. In the original photograph, the six teenagers were alone. In this one, a seventh figure stood behind them. A very tall man. Faceless. She moved the flashlight closer. The figure seemed to be smiling. Outside, the wind had risen. Rain hammered against the cabin windows. The branches of an old cedar scratched across the roof with a steady rhythm. She picked up her backpack. A flashlight. A knife. A map. An old Polaroid camera. A walkie-talkie. And the cassette she had found in the archives. There was only one thing written on the label: “Chapter 07 — Do Not Watch.” She had watched it. Of course she had. The video showed a forest. The exact same forest surrounding the cabin. The camera moved slowly between the trees. Fog covered the ground. Somewhere in the distance, a child's voice could be heard. Then the image went black. Several seconds later, a face appeared. Not a child's. Not a man's. Something in between. Two enormous eyes. A mouth that was far too wide. Behind the face was a symbol carved into stone. A circle crossed by three lines. The same symbol was now drawn on the cabin door. She stepped outside. The forest was different at night. The trees seemed taller. The paths seemed narrower. Even the lake had changed. The black surface reflected the moon, but not a single star. She walked for almost an hour. Then she heard footsteps. Behind her. She stopped. The footsteps stopped. She started walking again. The footsteps followed. She turned around. Nothing. Only fog. She continued. As she moved deeper into the woods, the trees became stranger. Roots pushed through the ground like fingers. Lichen covered the stones and dead trunks. Vines twisted around broken branches. Then she found the first body. A skeleton. Half-buried beneath the leaves. Several Polaroids were scattered around the skull. She picked one up. A house. Another. A tunnel. A third. The cabin. A fourth. Herself. She dropped the photograph. On the back was tomorrow's date. She ran. She no longer knew where she was going. Trees blurred around her. She stumbled over a root and fell into the mud. Her flashlight rolled away. In the darkness, she heard breathing. Very close. She looked up. Between two birch trees stood a figure. Tall. Motionless. Faceless. She backed away. The figure took one step forward. She turned and ran toward the hill. At the top, an old structure emerged from the fog. An observatory. Abandoned for decades. The windows were broken. The door was open. She went inside. Everything was covered in dust. Cables hung from the ceiling. Dead monitors covered the walls. In the center of the room stood a massive telescope pointed toward the sky. But instead of looking at the stars, its lens was aimed at the ground. At the forest. At her. One monitor flickered on. Then another. Then all of them. A frequency appeared on every screen. 88.7. The radio in her backpack began to crackle. A voice whispered: “You arrived too early.” She stepped back. “Who are you?” Silence. Then: “We are the ones who stayed.” The screens showed the six teenagers from 1987. They were standing inside an underground room. They stared directly into the camera. They looked exactly the same age. Not a day older. The image changed. They were closer. Then closer still. Their eyes were black. Their mouths did not move. Then one of them spoke. “Do not go down.” Another said: “It is sleeping.” A third whispered: “But it is dreaming.” The final screen turned red. One word appeared. Awakening. Something struck beneath the floor. Once. Twice. Three times. Knock. Knock. Knock. She found the staircase. It descended beneath the observatory. Every step was covered with a different symbol. A rune. A circle. An eye. A face. A door. A black moon. The farther she descended, the colder the air became. At the bottom, she found a tunnel. The walls were ancient. Far older than the observatory. Roots pierced through the stone. Some of them seemed to pulse. Like veins. She continued. At the end of the tunnel was a vast underground chamber. In the center stood a black monolith. Around it, dozens of extinguished candles formed a perfect circle. On the floor were six handprints. And a seventh. Without thinking, she placed her hand against it. The monolith vibrated. A light appeared inside the stone. Then a voice entered her mind. Not a voice. A memory. A forest. A lake. Six children. A creature beneath the mountain. A ritual. A door. And someone opening it. She understood. The forest was not haunted. It was alive. The lake was not a lake. It was a surface. The laboratory had never been studying a creature. It had been studying a door. And whatever existed behind it was neither dead nor alive. It was something that had been dreaming for thousands of years. Something that had learned how to imitate humans. Their voices. Their faces. Their memories. Their fears. Their dreams. Their disappearances. She looked up. The monolith was no longer black. It had become a mirror. In its reflection, she saw the forest. The cabin. The observatory. Then her own house. She saw her bedroom. Her childhood. Her family. She saw everything she had forgotten. Then she saw something standing behind her. A figure. Faceless. She turned around. Nothing. She looked back into the mirror. The figure was still there. But now it was closer. It was smiling. And it had her face. The radio crackled. 88.7 FM. A voice whispered: “Now you can go back up.” She remained still. “Why?” The answer came immediately. “Because someone has to open the door.” The mirror cracked. One black line crossed its surface. Then another. Then a third. The symbol appeared. The same symbol from the cassette. The same symbol from the cabin door. The same symbol from the Polaroids. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath. Then something far above them screamed. A howl so deep that the stone itself trembled. She understood. It was not an angry scream. It was an awakening. She grabbed her flashlight. Her backpack. The cassette. And climbed the stairs. But when she stepped outside the observatory, the sun had already risen. The rain had stopped. The trees were silent. Too silent. She looked at the sky. There was no sun. Only a massive black circle. An eclipse. Something moved between the trees. Then a voice, coming from everywhere at once, whispered her name. She turned around. And for the first time, she saw that every silhouette between the trees had her face. Dozens. Then hundreds. Motionless. Waiting for her. Watching her. Smiling. The radio inside her backpack switched on one final time. 88.7 FM. Three knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. Then one last transmission: “Chapter Eight begins tonight.” And deep inside the woods, something opened its eyes. Different Seasons

Variable Roman

sentence

The forest began behind the last house. Beyond that, there was no road, only a narrow trail disappearing beneath roots, dead leaves, and moss. Ancient pines stood in the fog like motionless silhouettes. Farther ahead, oak and birch trees formed such a dense wall that even daylight seemed reluctant to pass through. People said no one should enter those woods after sunset. No one knew exactly why. Some spoke of an abandoned laboratory hidden somewhere beyond the lake. Others mentioned an old mine, then a bunker built beneath the mountain. The oldest villagers remembered a disappearance in 1987, when six teenagers had left town carrying a VHS camera, a Walkman, and a hand-drawn map. Only one of them came back. He never explained what had happened. He only repeated three words: “It is watching.” Years passed. The forest remained. And so did the signal. The radio crackled on the table. White static filled the small abandoned cabin. The battery was almost dead, yet the device had been working for several hours. A red light blinked above the dial. 88.7 FM. No station broadcast on that frequency. Yet every night, at exactly 2:17 a.m., the signal appeared. A hiss. Then something resembling breathing. Then three knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. The first time, she thought it was interference. The second time, she blamed an animal. The third time, she realized the knocks were not coming from the radio. They were coming from the door. She turned around. The door was closed. Beyond it, the hallway was completely dark. She waited. Nothing. Then the handle slowly turned. She grabbed her flashlight. The beam crossed the hallway. Empty. Only damp walls covered in mold, wires hanging from the ceiling, and an old photograph pinned beside the staircase. She stepped closer. The photograph showed six teenagers standing in front of a rusted warning sign. Behind them were the woods. The sign read: “Restricted Area — Do Not Descend.” She knew the photograph. She had seen it in the village archives. But something was different. In the original photograph, the six teenagers were alone. In this one, a seventh figure stood behind them. A very tall man. Faceless. She moved the flashlight closer. The figure seemed to be smiling. Outside, the wind had risen. Rain hammered against the cabin windows. The branches of an old cedar scratched across the roof with a steady rhythm. She picked up her backpack. A flashlight. A knife. A map. An old Polaroid camera. A walkie-talkie. And the cassette she had found in the archives. There was only one thing written on the label: “Chapter 07 — Do Not Watch.” She had watched it. Of course she had. The video showed a forest. The exact same forest surrounding the cabin. The camera moved slowly between the trees. Fog covered the ground. Somewhere in the distance, a child's voice could be heard. Then the image went black. Several seconds later, a face appeared. Not a child's. Not a man's. Something in between. Two enormous eyes. A mouth that was far too wide. Behind the face was a symbol carved into stone. A circle crossed by three lines. The same symbol was now drawn on the cabin door. She stepped outside. The forest was different at night. The trees seemed taller. The paths seemed narrower. Even the lake had changed. The black surface reflected the moon, but not a single star. She walked for almost an hour. Then she heard footsteps. Behind her. She stopped. The footsteps stopped. She started walking again. The footsteps followed. She turned around. Nothing. Only fog. She continued. As she moved deeper into the woods, the trees became stranger. Roots pushed through the ground like fingers. Lichen covered the stones and dead trunks. Vines twisted around broken branches. Then she found the first body. A skeleton. Half-buried beneath the leaves. Several Polaroids were scattered around the skull. She picked one up. A house. Another. A tunnel. A third. The cabin. A fourth. Herself. She dropped the photograph. On the back was tomorrow's date. She ran. She no longer knew where she was going. Trees blurred around her. She stumbled over a root and fell into the mud. Her flashlight rolled away. In the darkness, she heard breathing. Very close. She looked up. Between two birch trees stood a figure. Tall. Motionless. Faceless. She backed away. The figure took one step forward. She turned and ran toward the hill. At the top, an old structure emerged from the fog. An observatory. Abandoned for decades. The windows were broken. The door was open. She went inside. Everything was covered in dust. Cables hung from the ceiling. Dead monitors covered the walls. In the center of the room stood a massive telescope pointed toward the sky. But instead of looking at the stars, its lens was aimed at the ground. At the forest. At her. One monitor flickered on. Then another. Then all of them. A frequency appeared on every screen. 88.7. The radio in her backpack began to crackle. A voice whispered: “You arrived too early.” She stepped back. “Who are you?” Silence. Then: “We are the ones who stayed.” The screens showed the six teenagers from 1987. They were standing inside an underground room. They stared directly into the camera. They looked exactly the same age. Not a day older. The image changed. They were closer. Then closer still. Their eyes were black. Their mouths did not move. Then one of them spoke. “Do not go down.” Another said: “It is sleeping.” A third whispered: “But it is dreaming.” The final screen turned red. One word appeared. Awakening. Something struck beneath the floor. Once. Twice. Three times. Knock. Knock. Knock. She found the staircase. It descended beneath the observatory. Every step was covered with a different symbol. A rune. A circle. An eye. A face. A door. A black moon. The farther she descended, the colder the air became. At the bottom, she found a tunnel. The walls were ancient. Far older than the observatory. Roots pierced through the stone. Some of them seemed to pulse. Like veins. She continued. At the end of the tunnel was a vast underground chamber. In the center stood a black monolith. Around it, dozens of extinguished candles formed a perfect circle. On the floor were six handprints. And a seventh. Without thinking, she placed her hand against it. The monolith vibrated. A light appeared inside the stone. Then a voice entered her mind. Not a voice. A memory. A forest. A lake. Six children. A creature beneath the mountain. A ritual. A door. And someone opening it. She understood. The forest was not haunted. It was alive. The lake was not a lake. It was a surface. The laboratory had never been studying a creature. It had been studying a door. And whatever existed behind it was neither dead nor alive. It was something that had been dreaming for thousands of years. Something that had learned how to imitate humans. Their voices. Their faces. Their memories. Their fears. Their dreams. Their disappearances. She looked up. The monolith was no longer black. It had become a mirror. In its reflection, she saw the forest. The cabin. The observatory. Then her own house. She saw her bedroom. Her childhood. Her family. She saw everything she had forgotten. Then she saw something standing behind her. A figure. Faceless. She turned around. Nothing. She looked back into the mirror. The figure was still there. But now it was closer. It was smiling. And it had her face. The radio crackled. 88.7 FM. A voice whispered: “Now you can go back up.” She remained still. “Why?” The answer came immediately. “Because someone has to open the door.” The mirror cracked. One black line crossed its surface. Then another. Then a third. The symbol appeared. The same symbol from the cassette. The same symbol from the cabin door. The same symbol from the Polaroids. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath. Then something far above them screamed. A howl so deep that the stone itself trembled. She understood. It was not an angry scream. It was an awakening. She grabbed her flashlight. Her backpack. The cassette. And climbed the stairs. But when she stepped outside the observatory, the sun had already risen. The rain had stopped. The trees were silent. Too silent. She looked at the sky. There was no sun. Only a massive black circle. An eclipse. Something moved between the trees. Then a voice, coming from everywhere at once, whispered her name. She turned around. And for the first time, she saw that every silhouette between the trees had her face. Dozens. Then hundreds. Motionless. Waiting for her. Watching her. Smiling. The radio inside her backpack switched on one final time. 88.7 FM. Three knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. Then one last transmission: “Chapter Eight begins tonight.” And deep inside the woods, something opened its eyes. The

Italic

word

The Eyes of the Dragon The forest began behind the last house. Beyond that, there was no road, only a narrow trail disappearing beneath roots, dead leaves, and moss. Ancient pines stood in the fog like motionless silhouettes. Farther ahead, oak and birch trees formed such a dense wall that even daylight seemed reluctant to pass through. People said no one should enter those woods after sunset. No one knew exactly why. Some spoke of an abandoned laboratory hidden somewhere beyond the lake. Others mentioned an old mine, then a bunker built beneath the mountain. The oldest villagers remembered a disappearance in 1987, when six teenagers had left town carrying a VHS camera, a Walkman, and a hand-drawn map. Only one of them came back. He never explained what had happened. He only repeated three words: “It is watching.” Years passed. The forest remained. And so did the signal. The radio crackled on the table. White static filled the small abandoned cabin. The battery was almost dead, yet the device had been working for several hours. A red light blinked above the dial. 88.7 FM. No station broadcast on that frequency. Yet every night, at exactly 2:17 a.m., the signal appeared. A hiss. Then something resembling breathing. Then three knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. The first time, she thought it was interference. The second time, she blamed an animal. The third time, she realized the knocks were not coming from the radio. They were coming from the door. She turned around. The door was closed. Beyond it, the hallway was completely dark. She waited. Nothing. Then the handle slowly turned. She grabbed her flashlight. The beam crossed the hallway. Empty. Only damp walls covered in mold, wires hanging from the ceiling, and an old photograph pinned beside the staircase. She stepped closer. The photograph showed six teenagers standing in front of a rusted warning sign. Behind them were the woods. The sign read: “Restricted Area — Do Not Descend.” She knew the photograph. She had seen it in the village archives. But something was different. In the original photograph, the six teenagers were alone. In this one, a seventh figure stood behind them. A very tall man. Faceless. She moved the flashlight closer. The figure seemed to be smiling. Outside, the wind had risen. Rain hammered against the cabin windows. The branches of an old cedar scratched across the roof with a steady rhythm. She picked up her backpack. A flashlight. A knife. A map. An old Polaroid camera. A walkie-talkie. And the cassette she had found in the archives. There was only one thing written on the label: “Chapter 07 — Do Not Watch.” She had watched it. Of course she had. The video showed a forest. The exact same forest surrounding the cabin. The camera moved slowly between the trees. Fog covered the ground. Somewhere in the distance, a child's voice could be heard. Then the image went black. Several seconds later, a face appeared. Not a child's. Not a man's. Something in between. Two enormous eyes. A mouth that was far too wide. Behind the face was a symbol carved into stone. A circle crossed by three lines. The same symbol was now drawn on the cabin door. She stepped outside. The forest was different at night. The trees seemed taller. The paths seemed narrower. Even the lake had changed. The black surface reflected the moon, but not a single star. She walked for almost an hour. Then she heard footsteps. Behind her. She stopped. The footsteps stopped. She started walking again. The footsteps followed. She turned around. Nothing. Only fog. She continued. As she moved deeper into the woods, the trees became stranger. Roots pushed through the ground like fingers. Lichen covered the stones and dead trunks. Vines twisted around broken branches. Then she found the first body. A skeleton. Half-buried beneath the leaves. Several Polaroids were scattered around the skull. She picked one up. A house. Another. A tunnel. A third. The cabin. A fourth. Herself. She dropped the photograph. On the back was tomorrow's date. She ran. She no longer knew where she was going. Trees blurred around her. She stumbled over a root and fell into the mud. Her flashlight rolled away. In the darkness, she heard breathing. Very close. She looked up. Between two birch trees stood a figure. Tall. Motionless. Faceless. She backed away. The figure took one step forward. She turned and ran toward the hill. At the top, an old structure emerged from the fog. An observatory. Abandoned for decades. The windows were broken. The door was open. She went inside. Everything was covered in dust. Cables hung from the ceiling. Dead monitors covered the walls. In the center of the room stood a massive telescope pointed toward the sky. But instead of looking at the stars, its lens was aimed at the ground. At the forest. At her. One monitor flickered on. Then another. Then all of them. A frequency appeared on every screen. 88.7. The radio in her backpack began to crackle. A voice whispered: “You arrived too early.” She stepped back. “Who are you?” Silence. Then: “We are the ones who stayed.” The screens showed the six teenagers from 1987. They were standing inside an underground room. They stared directly into the camera. They looked exactly the same age. Not a day older. The image changed. They were closer. Then closer still. Their eyes were black. Their mouths did not move. Then one of them spoke. “Do not go down.” Another said: “It is sleeping.” A third whispered: “But it is dreaming.” The final screen turned red. One word appeared. Awakening. Something struck beneath the floor. Once. Twice. Three times. Knock. Knock. Knock. She found the staircase. It descended beneath the observatory. Every step was covered with a different symbol. A rune. A circle. An eye. A face. A door. A black moon. The farther she descended, the colder the air became. At the bottom, she found a tunnel. The walls were ancient. Far older than the observatory. Roots pierced through the stone. Some of them seemed to pulse. Like veins. She continued. At the end of the tunnel was a vast underground chamber. In the center stood a black monolith. Around it, dozens of extinguished candles formed a perfect circle. On the floor were six handprints. And a seventh. Without thinking, she placed her hand against it. The monolith vibrated. A light appeared inside the stone. Then a voice entered her mind. Not a voice. A memory. A forest. A lake. Six children. A creature beneath the mountain. A ritual. A door. And someone opening it. She understood. The forest was not haunted. It was alive. The lake was not a lake. It was a surface. The laboratory had never been studying a creature. It had been studying a door. And whatever existed behind it was neither dead nor alive. It was something that had been dreaming for thousands of years. Something that had learned how to imitate humans. Their voices. Their faces. Their memories. Their fears. Their dreams. Their disappearances. She looked up. The monolith was no longer black. It had become a mirror. In its reflection, she saw the forest. The cabin. The observatory. Then her own house. She saw her bedroom. Her childhood. Her family. She saw everything she had forgotten. Then she saw something standing behind her. A figure. Faceless. She turned around. Nothing. She looked back into the mirror. The figure was still there. But now it was closer. It was smiling. And it had her face. The radio crackled. 88.7 FM. A voice whispered: “Now you can go back up.” She remained still. “Why?” The answer came immediately. “Because someone has to open the door.” The mirror cracked. One black line crossed its surface. Then another. Then a third. The symbol appeared. The same symbol from the cassette. The same symbol from the cabin door. The same symbol from the Polaroids. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath. Then something far above them screamed. A howl so deep that the stone itself trembled. She understood. It was not an angry scream. It was an awakening. She grabbed her flashlight. Her backpack. The cassette. And climbed the stairs. But when she stepped outside the observatory, the sun had already risen. The rain had stopped. The trees were silent. Too silent. She looked at the sky. There was no sun. Only a massive black circle. An eclipse. Something moved between the trees. Then a voice, coming from everywhere at once, whispered her name. She turned around. And for the first time, she saw that every silhouette between the trees had her face. Dozens. Then hundreds. Motionless. Waiting for her. Watching her. Smiling. The radio inside her backpack switched on one final time. 88.7 FM. Three knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. Then one last transmission: “Chapter Eight begins tonight.” And deep inside the woods, something opened its eyes. The Eyes of the Dragon

Regular

paragraph

Variable Roman

word

Needful Things The forest began behind the last house. Beyond that, there was no road, only a narrow trail disappearing beneath roots, dead leaves, and moss. Ancient pines stood in the fog like motionless silhouettes. Farther ahead, oak and birch trees formed such a dense wall that even daylight seemed reluctant to pass through. People said no one should enter those woods after sunset. No one knew exactly why. Some spoke of an abandoned laboratory hidden somewhere beyond the lake. Others mentioned an old mine, then a bunker built beneath the mountain. The oldest villagers remembered a disappearance in 1987, when six teenagers had left town carrying a VHS camera, a Walkman, and a hand-drawn map. Only one of them came back. He never explained what had happened. He only repeated three words: “It is watching.” Years passed. The forest remained. And so did the signal. The radio crackled on the table. White static filled the small abandoned cabin. The battery was almost dead, yet the device had been working for several hours. A red light blinked above the dial. 88.7 FM. No station broadcast on that frequency. Yet every night, at exactly 2:17 a.m., the signal appeared. A hiss. Then something resembling breathing. Then three knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. The first time, she thought it was interference. The second time, she blamed an animal. The third time, she realized the knocks were not coming from the radio. They were coming from the door. She turned around. The door was closed. Beyond it, the hallway was completely dark. She waited. Nothing. Then the handle slowly turned. She grabbed her flashlight. The beam crossed the hallway. Empty. Only damp walls covered in mold, wires hanging from the ceiling, and an old photograph pinned beside the staircase. She stepped closer. The photograph showed six teenagers standing in front of a rusted warning sign. Behind them were the woods. The sign read: “Restricted Area — Do Not Descend.” She knew the photograph. She had seen it in the village archives. But something was different. In the original photograph, the six teenagers were alone. In this one, a seventh figure stood behind them. A very tall man. Faceless. She moved the flashlight closer. The figure seemed to be smiling. Outside, the wind had risen. Rain hammered against the cabin windows. The branches of an old cedar scratched across the roof with a steady rhythm. She picked up her backpack. A flashlight. A knife. A map. An old Polaroid camera. A walkie-talkie. And the cassette she had found in the archives. There was only one thing written on the label: “Chapter 07 — Do Not Watch.” She had watched it. Of course she had. The video showed a forest. The exact same forest surrounding the cabin. The camera moved slowly between the trees. Fog covered the ground. Somewhere in the distance, a child's voice could be heard. Then the image went black. Several seconds later, a face appeared. Not a child's. Not a man's. Something in between. Two enormous eyes. A mouth that was far too wide. Behind the face was a symbol carved into stone. A circle crossed by three lines. The same symbol was now drawn on the cabin door. She stepped outside. The forest was different at night. The trees seemed taller. The paths seemed narrower. Even the lake had changed. The black surface reflected the moon, but not a single star. She walked for almost an hour. Then she heard footsteps. Behind her. She stopped. The footsteps stopped. She started walking again. The footsteps followed. She turned around. Nothing. Only fog. She continued. As she moved deeper into the woods, the trees became stranger. Roots pushed through the ground like fingers. Lichen covered the stones and dead trunks. Vines twisted around broken branches. Then she found the first body. A skeleton. Half-buried beneath the leaves. Several Polaroids were scattered around the skull. She picked one up. A house. Another. A tunnel. A third. The cabin. A fourth. Herself. She dropped the photograph. On the back was tomorrow's date. She ran. She no longer knew where she was going. Trees blurred around her. She stumbled over a root and fell into the mud. Her flashlight rolled away. In the darkness, she heard breathing. Very close. She looked up. Between two birch trees stood a figure. Tall. Motionless. Faceless. She backed away. The figure took one step forward. She turned and ran toward the hill. At the top, an old structure emerged from the fog. An observatory. Abandoned for decades. The windows were broken. The door was open. She went inside. Everything was covered in dust. Cables hung from the ceiling. Dead monitors covered the walls. In the center of the room stood a massive telescope pointed toward the sky. But instead of looking at the stars, its lens was aimed at the ground. At the forest. At her. One monitor flickered on. Then another. Then all of them. A frequency appeared on every screen. 88.7. The radio in her backpack began to crackle. A voice whispered: “You arrived too early.” She stepped back. “Who are you?” Silence. Then: “We are the ones who stayed.” The screens showed the six teenagers from 1987. They were standing inside an underground room. They stared directly into the camera. They looked exactly the same age. Not a day older. The image changed. They were closer. Then closer still. Their eyes were black. Their mouths did not move. Then one of them spoke. “Do not go down.” Another said: “It is sleeping.” A third whispered: “But it is dreaming.” The final screen turned red. One word appeared. Awakening. Something struck beneath the floor. Once. Twice. Three times. Knock. Knock. Knock. She found the staircase. It descended beneath the observatory. Every step was covered with a different symbol. A rune. A circle. An eye. A face. A door. A black moon. The farther she descended, the colder the air became. At the bottom, she found a tunnel. The walls were ancient. Far older than the observatory. Roots pierced through the stone. Some of them seemed to pulse. Like veins. She continued. At the end of the tunnel was a vast underground chamber. In the center stood a black monolith. Around it, dozens of extinguished candles formed a perfect circle. On the floor were six handprints. And a seventh. Without thinking, she placed her hand against it. The monolith vibrated. A light appeared inside the stone. Then a voice entered her mind. Not a voice. A memory. A forest. A lake. Six children. A creature beneath the mountain. A ritual. A door. And someone opening it. She understood. The forest was not haunted. It was alive. The lake was not a lake. It was a surface. The laboratory had never been studying a creature. It had been studying a door. And whatever existed behind it was neither dead nor alive. It was something that had been dreaming for thousands of years. Something that had learned how to imitate humans. Their voices. Their faces. Their memories. Their fears. Their dreams. Their disappearances. She looked up. The monolith was no longer black. It had become a mirror. In its reflection, she saw the forest. The cabin. The observatory. Then her own house. She saw her bedroom. Her childhood. Her family. She saw everything she had forgotten. Then she saw something standing behind her. A figure. Faceless. She turned around. Nothing. She looked back into the mirror. The figure was still there. But now it was closer. It was smiling. And it had her face. The radio crackled. 88.7 FM. A voice whispered: “Now you can go back up.” She remained still. “Why?” The answer came immediately. “Because someone has to open the door.” The mirror cracked. One black line crossed its surface. Then another. Then a third. The symbol appeared. The same symbol from the cassette. The same symbol from the cabin door. The same symbol from the Polaroids. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath. Then something far above them screamed. A howl so deep that the stone itself trembled. She understood. It was not an angry scream. It was an awakening. She grabbed her flashlight. Her backpack. The cassette. And climbed the stairs. But when she stepped outside the observatory, the sun had already risen. The rain had stopped. The trees were silent. Too silent. She looked at the sky. There was no sun. Only a massive black circle. An eclipse. Something moved between the trees. Then a voice, coming from everywhere at once, whispered her name. She turned around. And for the first time, she saw that every silhouette between the trees had her face. Dozens. Then hundreds. Motionless. Waiting for her. Watching her. Smiling. The radio inside her backpack switched on one final time. 88.7 FM. Three knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. Then one last transmission: “Chapter Eight begins tonight.” And deep inside the woods, something opened its eyes. Needful Things

Thin

sentence

Ceremony & Inscription The forest began behind the last house. Beyond that, there was no road, only a narrow trail disappearing beneath roots, dead leaves, and moss. Ancient pines stood in the fog like motionless silhouettes. Farther ahead, oak and birch trees formed such a dense wall that even daylight seemed reluctant to pass through. People said no one should enter those woods after sunset. No one knew exactly why. Some spoke of an abandoned laboratory hidden somewhere beyond the lake. Others mentioned an old mine, then a bunker built beneath the mountain. The oldest villagers remembered a disappearance in 1987, when six teenagers had left town carrying a VHS camera, a Walkman, and a hand-drawn map. Only one of them came back. He never explained what had happened. He only repeated three words: “It is watching.” Years passed. The forest remained. And so did the signal. The radio crackled on the table. White static filled the small abandoned cabin. The battery was almost dead, yet the device had been working for several hours. A red light blinked above the dial. 88.7 FM. No station broadcast on that frequency. Yet every night, at exactly 2:17 a.m., the signal appeared. A hiss. Then something resembling breathing. Then three knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. The first time, she thought it was interference. The second time, she blamed an animal. The third time, she realized the knocks were not coming from the radio. They were coming from the door. She turned around. The door was closed. Beyond it, the hallway was completely dark. She waited. Nothing. Then the handle slowly turned. She grabbed her flashlight. The beam crossed the hallway. Empty. Only damp walls covered in mold, wires hanging from the ceiling, and an old photograph pinned beside the staircase. She stepped closer. The photograph showed six teenagers standing in front of a rusted warning sign. Behind them were the woods. The sign read: “Restricted Area — Do Not Descend.” She knew the photograph. She had seen it in the village archives. But something was different. In the original photograph, the six teenagers were alone. In this one, a seventh figure stood behind them. A very tall man. Faceless. She moved the flashlight closer. The figure seemed to be smiling. Outside, the wind had risen. Rain hammered against the cabin windows. The branches of an old cedar scratched across the roof with a steady rhythm. She picked up her backpack. A flashlight. A knife. A map. An old Polaroid camera. A walkie-talkie. And the cassette she had found in the archives. There was only one thing written on the label: “Chapter 07 — Do Not Watch.” She had watched it. Of course she had. The video showed a forest. The exact same forest surrounding the cabin. The camera moved slowly between the trees. Fog covered the ground. Somewhere in the distance, a child's voice could be heard. Then the image went black. Several seconds later, a face appeared. Not a child's. Not a man's. Something in between. Two enormous eyes. A mouth that was far too wide. Behind the face was a symbol carved into stone. A circle crossed by three lines. The same symbol was now drawn on the cabin door. She stepped outside. The forest was different at night. The trees seemed taller. The paths seemed narrower. Even the lake had changed. The black surface reflected the moon, but not a single star. She walked for almost an hour. Then she heard footsteps. Behind her. She stopped. The footsteps stopped. She started walking again. The footsteps followed. She turned around. Nothing. Only fog. She continued. As she moved deeper into the woods, the trees became stranger. Roots pushed through the ground like fingers. Lichen covered the stones and dead trunks. Vines twisted around broken branches. Then she found the first body. A skeleton. Half-buried beneath the leaves. Several Polaroids were scattered around the skull. She picked one up. A house. Another. A tunnel. A third. The cabin. A fourth. Herself. She dropped the photograph. On the back was tomorrow's date. She ran. She no longer knew where she was going. Trees blurred around her. She stumbled over a root and fell into the mud. Her flashlight rolled away. In the darkness, she heard breathing. Very close. She looked up. Between two birch trees stood a figure. Tall. Motionless. Faceless. She backed away. The figure took one step forward. She turned and ran toward the hill. At the top, an old structure emerged from the fog. An observatory. Abandoned for decades. The windows were broken. The door was open. She went inside. Everything was covered in dust. Cables hung from the ceiling. Dead monitors covered the walls. In the center of the room stood a massive telescope pointed toward the sky. But instead of looking at the stars, its lens was aimed at the ground. At the forest. At her. One monitor flickered on. Then another. Then all of them. A frequency appeared on every screen. 88.7. The radio in her backpack began to crackle. A voice whispered: “You arrived too early.” She stepped back. “Who are you?” Silence. Then: “We are the ones who stayed.” The screens showed the six teenagers from 1987. They were standing inside an underground room. They stared directly into the camera. They looked exactly the same age. Not a day older. The image changed. They were closer. Then closer still. Their eyes were black. Their mouths did not move. Then one of them spoke. “Do not go down.” Another said: “It is sleeping.” A third whispered: “But it is dreaming.” The final screen turned red. One word appeared. Awakening. Something struck beneath the floor. Once. Twice. Three times. Knock. Knock. Knock. She found the staircase. It descended beneath the observatory. Every step was covered with a different symbol. A rune. A circle. An eye. A face. A door. A black moon. The farther she descended, the colder the air became. At the bottom, she found a tunnel. The walls were ancient. Far older than the observatory. Roots pierced through the stone. Some of them seemed to pulse. Like veins. She continued. At the end of the tunnel was a vast underground chamber. In the center stood a black monolith. Around it, dozens of extinguished candles formed a perfect circle. On the floor were six handprints. And a seventh. Without thinking, she placed her hand against it. The monolith vibrated. A light appeared inside the stone. Then a voice entered her mind. Not a voice. A memory. A forest. A lake. Six children. A creature beneath the mountain. A ritual. A door. And someone opening it. She understood. The forest was not haunted. It was alive. The lake was not a lake. It was a surface. The laboratory had never been studying a creature. It had been studying a door. And whatever existed behind it was neither dead nor alive. It was something that had been dreaming for thousands of years. Something that had learned how to imitate humans. Their voices. Their faces. Their memories. Their fears. Their dreams. Their disappearances. She looked up. The monolith was no longer black. It had become a mirror. In its reflection, she saw the forest. The cabin. The observatory. Then her own house. She saw her bedroom. Her childhood. Her family. She saw everything she had forgotten. Then she saw something standing behind her. A figure. Faceless. She turned around. Nothing. She looked back into the mirror. The figure was still there. But now it was closer. It was smiling. And it had her face. The radio crackled. 88.7 FM. A voice whispered: “Now you can go back up.” She remained still. “Why?” The answer came immediately. “Because someone has to open the door.” The mirror cracked. One black line crossed its surface. Then another. Then a third. The symbol appeared. The same symbol from the cassette. The same symbol from the cabin door. The same symbol from the Polaroids. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath. Then something far above them screamed. A howl so deep that the stone itself trembled. She understood. It was not an angry scream. It was an awakening. She grabbed her flashlight. Her backpack. The cassette. And climbed the stairs. But when she stepped outside the observatory, the sun had already risen. The rain had stopped. The trees were silent. Too silent. She looked at the sky. There was no sun. Only a massive black circle. An eclipse. Something moved between the trees. Then a voice, coming from everywhere at once, whispered her name. She turned around. And for the first time, she saw that every silhouette between the trees had her face. Dozens. Then hundreds. Motionless. Waiting for her. Watching her. Smiling. The radio inside her backpack switched on one final time. 88.7 FM. Three knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. Then one last transmission: “Chapter Eight begins tonight.” And deep inside the woods, something opened its eyes. Ceremony & Inscription

OpenType Features

Style

On Case-Sensitive Forms

CASE

(SHADOWS-BEYOND)

On Diagonal Fractions

FRAC

1/2 1/4 3/4

On Oldstyle Figures

ONUM

0123456789

On Ordinals

ORDN

No no Nos nos

On Scientific Inferiors

SINF

H2O Fe3O4

On Arrows

SS01

--W --E --S --N --NW --NE --SE --SW --NS --WE

On Superscript

SUPS

Mme Mr

On Slashed Zero

ZERO

102 304 506 809

Glyphs

Style

Cap Height700

X Height469

Baseline0

Ascender940

Descender-280

Basic Latin

(

)

;

[

]

{

}

Latin-1 Supplement

Latin Extended-A

Latin Extended-B

IPA Extensions

Spacing Modifier Letters

Combining Diacritical Marks

Greek and Coptic

Latin Extended Additional

Ḡ

ḡ

Ẁ

ẁ

Ẃ

ẃ

Ẅ

ẅ

ẞ

Ẽ

ẽ

Ỳ

ỳ

Ỹ

ỹ

General Punctuation

–

—

‘

’

‚

“

”

„

†

‡

•

…

‰

′

″

‹

›

⁄

Superscripts and Subscripts

⁰

⁴

⁵

⁶

⁷

⁸

⁹

ⁿ

₀

₁

₂

₃

₄

₅

₆

₇

₈

₉

Currency Symbols

€

₹

Letterlike Symbols

ℓ

№

℗

™

Ω

℮

Number Forms

⅓

⅔

⅛

⅜

⅝

⅞

Arrows

←

↑

→

↓

↔

↕

↖

↗

↘

↙

Mathematical Operators

∂

∅

∆

∏

∑

−

∕

∙

√

∞

∫

≈

≠

≤

≥

Enclosed Alphanumerics

①

②

③

④

⑤

⑥

⑦

⑧

⑨

⓪

⓿

Geometric Shapes

■

▲

▶

▼

◀

◆

◊

○

◌

●

Dingbats

❤

❶

❷

❸

❹

❺

❻

❼

❽

❾

Alphabetic Presentation Forms

ﬁ

ﬂ

Case-Sensitive Forms

(

)

[

]

{

}

–

—

№

Discretionary Ligatures

№s

Denominators

Diagonal Fractions

Numerators

Oldstyle Figures

Ordinals

NOS

nOS

Scientific Inferiors

SS01 Arrows

--EW

--NE

--NS

--NW

--SE

--SW

--E

--N

--S

--W

Subscript

Superscript

Tabular Numbers

Slashed Zero

Supported Languages

▼

Abenaki
Afaan Oromo
Afar
Afrikaans
Albanian
Alsatian
Amis
Anuta
Aragonese
Aranese
Aromanian
Arrernte
Arvanitic
Asturian
Atayal
Aymara
Basque
Belarusian
Bemba
Bikol
Bislama
Bosnian
Breton
Bulgarian Romanization
Cape Verdean
Catalan
Cebuano
Chamorro
Chavacano
Chichewa
Chickasaw
Chinese Pinyin
Cimbrian
Cofan
Cornish
Corsican
Creek
Crimean Tatar
Croatian
Czech
Danish
Dawan
Delaware
Dholuo
Drehu
Dutch
English
Esperanto
Estonian
Faroese
Fijian
Filipino
Finnish
Folkspraak
French
Frisian
Friulian
Galician
Ganda
Genoese
German
Gikuyu
Gooniyandi
Greenlandic
Greenlandic Old Orthography
Guadeloupean
Gwichin
Haitian Creole
Han
Hawaiian
Hiligaynon
Hopi
Hotcak
Hungarian
Icelandic
Ido
Ilocano
Indonesian
Interglossa
Interlingua
Irish
Istroromanian
Italian
Jamaican
Javanese
Jerriais
Kaingang
Kala Lagaw Ya
Kapampangan
Kaqchikel
Karelian
Kashubian
Kikongo
Kinyarwanda
Kiribati
Kirundi
Klingon
Kurdish
Ladin
Latin
Latino Sine
Latvian
Lithuanian
Lojban
Lombard
Low Saxon
Luxembourgish
Maasai
Makhuwa
Malay
Maltese
Manx
Maori
Marquesan
Meglenoromanian
Meriam Mir
Mirandese
Mohawk
Moldovan
Montagnais
Montenegrin
Murrinhpatha
Nagamese Creole
Nahuatl
Ndebele
Neapolitan
Ngiyambaa
Niuean
Noongar
Norwegian
Novial
Occidental
Occitan
Oshiwambo
Ossetian
Palauan
Papiamento
Piedmontese
Polish
Portuguese
Potawatomi
Qeqchi
Quechua
Rarotongan
Romanian
Romansh
Rotokas
Sami Inari
Sami Lule
Sami Northern
Sami Southern
Samoan
Sango
Saramaccan
Sardinian
Scottish Gaelic
Serbian
Seri
Seychellois
Shawnee
Shona
Sicilian
Silesian
Slovak
Slovenian
Slovio
Somali
Sorbian Lower
Sorbian Upper
Sotho Northern
Sotho Southern
Spanish
Sranan
Sundanese
Swahili
Swazi
Swedish
Tagalog
Tahitian
Tetum
Tok Pisin
Tokelauan
Tongan
Tshiluba
Tsonga
Tswana
Tumbuka
Turkmen
Tuvaluan
Tzotzil
Uzbek
Venetian
Vepsian
Volapuk
Voro
Wallisian
Walloon
Waraywaray
Warlpiri
Wayuu
Welsh
Wikmungkan
Wiradjuri
Wolof
Xavante
Xhosa
Yapese
Yindjibarndi
Zapotec
Zulu
Zuni