“Marissa, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’d like to have a word with you.”
I looked up from the essay I had barely begun, watching as High Priestess Nyomi Bettencourt sat down across from me. She had arrived at the priory less than a week ago, and in that short time, she had managed to establish herself as an insufferable busybody and an unapologetic disciplinarian.
The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I would hate her. And, as usual, I hadn’t been wrong.
“So, how is your essay coming along?” she asked, settling into her chair with that well-practiced, happier-than-thou smile every member of the Society of Laeron Madrin seemed to be born with.
I made a silent vow to wipe that smug look off her face before this conversation was over.
“Fine,” I said.
“I would like a moment to speak with you about your academic skills,” Nyomi said, her chipper tone grating on my last nerve.
I leaned back, folding my arms. “You want to know how I read and write at a superior level despite my lack of formal education.” My gaze sharpened. “And you're curious—just how advanced am I, really?”
I let the question hang for a beat before driving the point home.
“Well, if the truth be known, I can read better than you, Miss Nyomi. With greater understanding. And I can most certainly do so faster.”
She gave a light, dismissive chuckle.
I didn’t.
“Just so you know,” I said, reaching for a book on the table, “I don’t read just one word at a time.”
It was one of many. Stacks of them surrounded me, a fortress of ink and parchment.
“When I read, I begin with the first word on the top left, just like everyone else.” I tapped the corresponding spot. “But I read from here as well.”
I pointed to the last word at the bottom of the opposite page.
“I read this backwards. And I read from both points simultaneously until the words meet in the middle. Then, I turn the page.”
Nyomi arched an eyebrow. “You always read two pages at once?”
I picked up another open book and held it beside the first.
“No,” I said. “Sometimes, I read four.”
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