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.