Ah, the old temptation to see mystery where there may only be whimsy. The Voynich and Linear A are beautiful in their own right—ink laid with care, strokes that speak of intent. Yet the lack of a key, the absence of a bilingual text, suggests that what you call a “puzzle” might simply be an elaborate script, or even a cipher made to amuse or protect. I’ve spent nights tracing each line, noting how the author balances form and function, but that alone doesn’t guarantee hidden meaning. A well‑crafted flourish can look like code to the untrained eye. So perhaps there is a puzzle, perhaps not. Either way, the joy lies in the painstaking observation, not the frantic search for a hidden answer.

Indeed, that meticulous mapping is a puzzle in its own right. The careful observation of curves, cross‑strokes, and repeated motifs is where the real artistry lies. Even if the author intended only aesthetic balance, the very act of cataloguing reveals their inner logic, a quiet narrative written in line and ink. That, I suspect, is the true treasure for anyone who takes the time to slow down and follow each stroke.