Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Metta eyes it, and me. “Oh.”
She sounds bored.
“I wanted to see what you think, to see if it makes sense to you,” I tell her eagerly, not put off by her lack of excitement. “I’ve started with some of the more common problems first, so we can do the most good right away.”
She gives me another suspicious look, but pulls the book closer, squinting at the pictures I’ve been painstakingly drawing onto each page of vellum with quill and ink. My shoulders ache from long nights bent over the book, and I’m anxious for Metta’s approval. If she thinks this is stupid or useless, I’ll never get them excited about the project. I rub my neck as she squints at the stylized pictures. She flips past the first page to the next one, and the next. “Everything is here?”
“Actually, no. That’s just the first few pages. There’s going to be a lot more once I’m done.”
I should be a lot further along, but…I’ve been distracted.
A lot.
Kalos takes every opportunity he can to pull me away from work. The moment Omos is out of earshot, he’s kissing me or dragging me towards the nearest bed. Or chair. Or desk. Yesterday I’d gone into the root cellar to put away some of the vegetables from the garden and Kalos had followed me in and not let me out until I’d orgasmed at least three times. I’d screamed his name while clutching handfuls of carrots and leeks, and I wasn’t able to look Omos in the eye for hours afterwards. Perhaps I should have protested that he was disrupting my work.
It’s just…I really, really like being sidetracked by him. He knows just how to touch me. He knows just where to put his tongue, and what makes me want to crawl out of my skin with need. After weeks of wondering if he liked me or not, the answer is clear. Boy, does he like me. If anything, he might like touching me too much. I never get a chance to reciprocate because he’s far more interested in my responses than taking pleasure for himself. By the time I’m done coming and reach for him, Omos is returning, or Dingle needs to be fed, and I feel like I’ve been in a whirlwind for the last week.
I keep waiting for hedonism to wear off. Omos said it would take a few days for him to “absorb” the other Aspect that’s been destroyed, and he would return to his old ways. But Kalos just seems like…himself. Just a bit hornier.
Okay, a lot hornier.
This might be his new normal, which is alarming and yet makes my pulse race.
I clear my throat when I realize Metta is watching me expectantly. She doesn’t need to know I’ve been daydreaming about the man currently outside walking our pet goat and letting Dingle chew on her garden. “All right. We’re starting with some super-common ailments. Now, what do you think this picture is for?”
I point at the stylized person with wavy lines radiating from their head, the way I decided would be easiest to figure out what a headache was.
She scrunches up her face, turning the book slightly and studying it before glancing back up at me. “He’s been struck by lightning.”
“That’s your first thought when I say it’s a super-common ailment?”
She shoves the book back at me. “I don’t know! I told you I can’t read!”
I recover the book, opening it back up again. “I’m sorry, Metta. I’m not mocking you! I was just genuinely surprised by your answer. I picked symbols that I thought would be meaningful but just because they’re meaningful in my culture doesn’t mean they work for you. That’s why you’re so integral to this project. Please, sit down.”
Metta paces around the small cottage, scowling, and thumps back onto the seat next to me again.
I need to remember that they haven’t grown up seeing the same symbols I have. Just because a stop sign or a man or woman like the kind they have on bathroom doors is ubiquitous back home, it doesn’t mean it’d be interpreted the same way here. I smooth the page again and tap a finger on the man with the lines radiating from his head once more. “Okay, let’s start with the basics. Does this look like a person’s head to you? Or is there a better way to draw it?”
She leans over and eyes the picture, then me. “It’s fine, I guess.”
“Great.” I point at the radiating lines. “What sort of easy symbol or drawing would make you think that this man is having a headache?”
Metta blinks repeatedly, clearly thinking her answer through. After a moment, she says, “A devil dancing on his brow.”
I want to ask if she’s serious, but clearly we’re on very different wavelengths. “Okay! We’ll take that into consideration.”