Research and Cured
A man in a crisp white robe embroidered with red along the cuffs—a symbol of his esteemed profession as a Chemist. He strode purposefully along the cobblestone road leading to the bustling heart of the cities 17th Street market. The air buzzed with life—merchant unloaded carts piled high with fresh produce, artisans displayed their finely crafted wares, and the sweet, comforting aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from nearby bakeries.
He paused before a quaint stall tucked beneath the shade of two-story building near a quiet alleyway. The vendor, an elderly woman with a weathered face and kind eyes, greeted him warmly. Her stall offered an array of honey candies, each gleaming like polished amber in the sunlight. The man handed over a few coins in exchange for a small bundle neatly wrapped in paper. With a polite nod, he tucked the package into his robe and continued toward the nearby alley.
As he stepped into alleyway, the sudden sound of his footsteps starlet cluster of birds pecking at wood chips that seemingly scattered on the ground. With a flurry wings, they scattered into the air, their sharp cries fading as they vanished over the rooftops.
The man paid them no mind, his attention drawn to the trail of wood chips leading toward a building. The ground near the entrance was covered in sawdust, and beside the door stood an unfinished wooden figure—a towering effigy of the cities renowned lord.
He continued toward the building and, stand before the door, raised his hand and gave it a light knock.
Knock Knock Knock Knock
Inside the building, a family of two was enjoying their breakfast in a quant kitchen exuded warmth and simplicity.
A mother and daughter sat at a wooden table, partaking in a modest morning meal of sausage, boiled egg and colorful assortment of vegetables. Every piece of kitchenware, from the spoons to the plates, and even the sturdy table and chairs, was crafted from wood, each adorned with unique design and intricate carvings that gave room a rustic charm.
The mother, poised and graceful, ate her breakfast with an elegance that hinted at noble upbringing. Every movement was deliberate, her table manners impeccable—each bite a testament to a life of refinement and discipline.
In stark contrast, her daughter slouched at the table, her head resting on its edge as she ate with a sluggish and lazy demeanor. Table manners were a foreign concept to her. She alternated between using a fork and a spoon with one hand, whichever seemed easiest at the moment to keep her food in place.
Tap Tap Tap Tap
Meanwhile, her other hand gripped a wooden knife, stabbing the table absentmindedly. Her bored expression was fixed on the grooves in the wood, her eyes occasionally flicking toward her food without much interest.
Tap Tap Tap Tap
They are Gustmill family, Catherine and her daughter Kimmi.
Kimmi was at her lowest point, her spirit deeply shaken. The events of yesterday had left a profound impact on her, even if her mother did not seem to notice. She was still struggling to accept the unsettling truth—that some unknown force had taken control of her body, overriding the very will she had been fighting so hard to master since waking up in this place. To her, it was a mystery that demanded immediate answers, yet the more she pondered, the deeper the questions became.
At first, she thought the restless urges were a remnants of her lost memories, shadows of a past she could not recall. But the more she examined them, the less sense it made. These impulses were to powerful, sometimes overwhelming her willpower and reasoning entirely. This realization led her to wonder if the urges were alive in some way—an entity as conscious as she was. Perhaps she had a dual personality, one controlling her mind and the other her body—or perhaps something more complex was at play.
'Maybe... maybe that's where the voices come from...' Kimmi mused. But then she frowned, her logic wrestling with her own theory. 'No, that still doesn't explain how my body moved on its own. The voices... they're something else.'
What frustrated her most was the inexplicable nature of her thoughts. 'How could she, a mere child with no prior education or learning—conceive of such intricate theories?' She wondered, the question looped endlessly in her mind, an unrelenting tide of doubt and self-scrutiny. The absence of facts to support her ideas made her question not just her theories, but her own sanity.
"Speculation without evidence is no better than a madman plea," Kimmi muttered under her breath. She stopped fidgeting with her wooden knife and turned her hand over examining the bruises on her knuckles.
Catherine, noticing Kimmi preoccupied expression, leaned closer. "What's wrong, dear?" she asked gently, her voice laced with concern. "Does your hand still hurt?"
Kimmi glanced at her mother and shook her head, gesturing No. She slouched back over the table, her eyes distant as she returned back to her mind palace.
'The mystery of the two boys… the voice in my head…' The fragments swirled in her mind like pieces of a puzzle she could not yet comprehend.
It was the fight with Logan and Ruben that left her so dispirited. She had believed she was on the brink of uncovering the truth behind her relentless urges, perhaps even finding a way to overcome them. But now her thoughts felt disturbed, clouded by the possibility of a higher power intervention.
The idea of a god—an all-seeing, all-powerful being—interfering in her life was terrifying enough. But the notion that such a god might be personally involved with the struggles of a mere child like her felt utterly overwhelming.
'Why me?' she wondered, fear twisting her insides.
Kimmi could not explain the reasons behind it all, she was afraid—afraid of a god praying into her mind and life, afraid of losing control of one self. Even thinking about their motive felt dangerous, as though it could unravel her completely.
'I can't question a god power… but maybe I can test its limits,' she thought, her heart pounding at sheer boldness of the idea. For now, she resolved to hold onto this fragment of determination, a single thread to cling to in the chaos.
Tap Tap Tap Tap
The sound of Kimmi wooden knife stabbing the kitchen table echoed softly in the stillness of the room.
Tap Tap Tap Tap—Knock Knock Knock Knock
Kimmi froze, her hand stopping mid-stab as her ears perked up. A faint sound reached her—a knock at the back door. She tilted her head, visualizing where the sound might be coming from.
"Moooom…" Kimmi drawled lazily, glancing at her mother. "I hear someone knocking at the back door. Want me to see who it is?"
"No, finish your food first," Catherine replied with a warm smile as she started to rise from her seat.
Before Catherine could take another step, Kimmi grabbed her fork and, in one quick motion, stabbed each vegetable on her plate, stacking them haphazardly at the tip of her fork. Without warning, she dashed out of the kitchen with her fork in hand, leaving her mother staring after her, dumbfounded.
"Kimmi…" Catherine let out a low sigh. "This child," she muttered under her breath.
Meanwhile, Kimmi burst into her bedroom, flung open the window, and leaned out to get a better look. Her eyes immediately caught sight of a man standing by the back door. He was dressed in a robe of white and red, his dark hair and brown eyes unmistakable.
Kimmi recognized him instantly—the healer who had taken her away during her father funeral. He was also the one who had frequently visited to treat her during those overwhelming episodes of mental shock.
"Finally! Kimmi, my girl," the healer called up to her with a bright smile. "Can you let your mother know I'm here? He asked.
Kimmi stared at him for a moment, while eating her remaining vegetable on a fork. She considering his words, and once she finished her food, she turned and bolted back down the hallways. She skidded into the kitchen just as Catherine was walking toward the staircase, presumably heading for the back door.
"Mom! The healer here at the back entrance," Kimmi announced hurriedly, nearly bumping into her.
"Oh, he's already here?" Catherine said, surprise flickering across her face. "Why did he arrive so early in the morning?" she murmured to herself, her brow furrowing.
Kimmi, catching her mother musings, shrugged dramatically, raising her shoulders and hands as if to say, how would I know?
Catherine smirk. Her tone soft yet demanding. "Kimmi, my dear, would you be so kind as to assist your mother with tidying up the kitchen?" she asked, her words carrying both warmth and quiet authority.
Kimmi did not seem bothered by the request. She nodded and immediately headed toward the kitchen.
Catherine watched her daughter with a warm expression, as though a weight on her heart had been lifted. Then, with a small sigh, she turned and descended the stairs, heading straight for the back entrance. As she approached, she heard a familiar voice calling from the other side.
"Catherine, are you in there? Quickly, open the door!" The tone was filled with excitement.
Catherine shook her head lightly, exhaling in resignation, and opened the door to find the Chemist standing there, his face lit with a wide smile.
"Ah. Mr. Hartmann, do come in," Catherine greeted with poised warmth, her tone refined and gracious. "Your presence is always a welcome here." She regarded him with the air of someone who understood his significance to her family well-being.
"Thank you!" Hartmann stepped inside, looking around eagerly. "Where's Kimmi?" he asked, his eyes scanning the space behind her.
"She's upstairs cleaning the kitchen," Catherine replied, a hint of pride in her voice. "Why? What's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing serious," he said with a wave of his hand, though his excitement was apparent. "I just heard—from my son, no less—that Kimmi shown some remarkable improvement."
Catherine eyes widened slightly as she realised, she had not informed him about Kimmi progress yet. Their next review was not due until next month. "Ah, yes! She's made a lot of progress over the past few days," she admitted.
"That's amazing! Can I meet her?" he asked eagerly but then caught himself. "Of course, only if it's not a bother."
Catherine hesitated, but before she could respond, a small voice chimed in from upstairs.
"I'm here, Mom."
Both Catherine and Hartmann turned toward the staircase. There, peeking through the wooden rails of the staircase, was Kimmi. She lay on the floor, her head the only thing visible through the gaps, quietly observing them like a stalker.
"Is that her?" Hartmann eyes widened with delight as he crouched slightly, his cheerful smile widening. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a amber color piece of candy, holding it up enticingly. "Come here, Kimmi! Look what I have for you!"
But Kimmi did not move. She stared at him blankly, as if silently questioning, 'Who do you think I am?' Her gaze shifted to her mother, waiting for a signal.
"Kimmi, dear, come here," Catherine encouraged softly.
Obediently, Kimmi climbed down the stairs, walking straight to her mother side and standing quietly next to her. But the urges stirred restlessly within her, their demand clear--take the candies. Slowly, Kimmi raised her hand, palm open and expectant, toward Hartmann.
With a warm chuckle, Hartmann obliged, dropping a few brightly wrapped candies into her waiting hand.
"Th-thank you..." she muttered, her voice barely heard, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she quickly glanced down at the sweets in her hand.
Catherine could not help but puff up with pride. "Did you see that? She's so much more responsive now."
"Indeed!" Hartmann said, his excitement palpable. "This is wonderful progress, Catherine. When did you first notice the change in her behaviour?" He quickly pulled a notebook from his pocket and began jotting down notes.
"Mr. Hartmann," Catherine began with a poised smile, her tone carrying the grace of someone accustomed to commanding attention, "I believe it would be best for us to continue this conversation while seated." She gestured lightly toward the stairs with an elegant wave of her hand.
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and led the way toward the kitchen, her heels clicking softly against the polished tiled floor. Mr. Hartmann followed behind her, his notebook still clutched in his hand, while Kimmi trailed behind them, her step light but curious.
Stories unravel, tales retold, Time slips away, more precious than gold.
Hours had passed, and it was already noon. Kimmi sat quietly, listening as her mother and Mr. Hartmann continued their lengthy conversation, she found it unbearable, but she forced herself to endure, hoping to glean some insight into her condition or perhaps catch a glimpse of news about the event that occur that happen in the cities or the country beyond it.
However, the restless urges within her had other plans. They pushed at her consciousness, longing for something—anything—that would draw her attention away from the monotony of the kitchen. Though the urges did not know what it wanted yet.
Desperate to distract herself and quiet the incessant pull, Kimmi eyes landed on a leather pouch sitting on the kitchen table, one her mother had brought in earlier. An idea sparked in her mind. She decided to use the pouch as distraction, and, to her surprise, the urges agreed.
Kimmi reaches out, grabbed the pouch, and began fiddling with it, turning it over in her hands and tugging at its strings.
"Kimmi, dear, don't play with that," Catherine said with a soft yet firm tone, giving her daughter a warning look.
Before Kimmi could react, Mr. Hartmann chuckled warmly and waved a dismissive hand. "It's alright, Catherine. Let the girl be."
Kimmi wasted no time pulling open the pouch, drawstring loose. A handful of metallic coin spilled onto the wooden table, clinking as they scattered. Her eyes lit up with curiosity as she immediately spread the coins out, arranging them unto small piles and patterns.
Catherine hesitated but relented, her gaze softening as she returned her attention to their conversation. She thought for a moment before replying. "About your question earlier this morning… It started a few days ago. You should've seen it—she called me Mother."
Hartmann eyes softened at the thought. "And her mental health? How is she coping?"
"She still struggles," Catherine admitted, her tone tinged with sadness. "But it's manageable. Although…" Her gaze drifted to Kimmi bruised knuckles. "She had a fight with her friends yesterday and hurt herself."
"Oh, that's terrible." Hartmann expression darkened with concern. He scribbles something on his notebook. "Hmmm, I wonder, I wonder…," He was in deep thought, "Catherine, have you tried teaching her any lessons?"
"Not yet," Catherine admitted, then added, "But I did try teaching her how to read once. She barely paid attention, though."
Harmann nodded thoughtfully, scratching his chin. "Hmm, I see," he murmured, still scribbling. "Interesting…" He trailed off, his mind clearly deep in thought. "Catherine… How about tried it again… teach her. I believe she could now focus… I hope" He high hope for Kimmi.
Both of their gazes shifted to Kimmi, who remained engrossed in her game with the coins. She carefully rearranged them, grouping them by colour—green, brown, yellow, and silver. Her brow furrowed slightly as she inspected them more closely.
The yellow metal caught her attention first—it was a single gold coin, though tarnished and dulled, likely from prolonged exposure to the elements. Beside it were 23 gleaming silver coins, their metallic silver still gleamed faintly. The largest pile was the brown ones—30 copper coins with their characteristic earthy hue, a testament to their more common nature.
"Typical… gold, silver, and bronze," Kimmi muttered under her breath, her tone laced with a mix of curiosity and quiet disdain.
She now understood that the coins were some forms of currency used in this place, though it was the first time she had examined them so closely. As she turned one over in her fingers, she noticed that all the coins bore the same intricate glyphs—a symbol etched into each surface. There were no numbers she could comprehend, at least none she recognized. Perhaps the markings represented values in a way she could not yet decipher, or maybe the meaning was buried in the glyphs themselves.
"Oh, what are you doing there?" Hartmann leaned in, curiosity glinting in his eyes as he addressed Kimmi.
Kammi barely acknowledged him, still engrossed in her task. "Calculating and sorting," she replied matter-of-factly, her gaze fixed on the coins in front of her.
"How much is it?" Hartmann pressed further, watching her nimble hands at work.
Kimmi paused, finally looking up at him. "I don't know…" she admitted with a shrug, though her tone suggested she did not particularly care for the interruption.
Hartmann chuckled, his eyes examine the pile of coins. He quickly did the math in his head and was about to share the result when Kimmi interrupted him with a question.
"How much are copper and silver worth?" she asked, tilting her head curiously. "If ten copper equals one silver… does ten silver equal one gold?"
Harmann froze, surprised by her logic. It was not she did not understand the value—it was clear she simply did not know the conversion rate.
Smiling warmly, he answered, "Eighteen copper equals one silver, and seven silver equals one gold."
Kimmi nodded, absorbing the information. She turned back to the pile of coins, her eyes scanning them with precision. After a brief moment, she announced confidently, "Then it's worth four gold three silver, and twelve copper."
Hartmann eyes widened in delight. He clapped his hand loudly, startling both Kimmi and Catherine. "Amazing! You got it exactly right!" He turned to Catherine, whose eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Catherine, your daughter is brilliant! Most children her age would not even grasp the concept of currency values, let alone calculate them so quickly!"
Kimmi blinked, taken aback by the sudden applause, but her focus was pulled back when Hartmann pointed to the pile of coins. "But wait, Kimmi—how can that be? That coin over there… it's green," He smirk and continue "How much that worth?"
She frowned and inspected the pile of copper coins she had sorted earlier. Picking up one of the green coins, she scraped its surface with another coin. Beneath the tarnished green exterior was familiar brown hue of copper. She held it up to Hartmann. "It's just copper. The surface changed colour."
Hartman nodded, impressed yet again. "Ah, I see! So it is copper. But why did it turn green? Did you colour it, Kimmi?" he teased playfully, clearly trying to test her knowledge further.
Kimmi narrowed her eyes at him, instantly recognizing the bait. She glanced at her mother, who was watching her with quiet anticipation, and let out an exaggerated sigh. Rolling her eyes in mild annoyance, she answered, "Because copper reacts when exposed to air and water, in times causing it to naturally turn green."
Hartmann jaw dropped in astonishment. "Oh my, Kimmi, my girl… where did you learn that?" he asked, genuinely curious.
Catherine leaned forward slightly, equally eager to hear the answer.
"I… I heard it somewhere," Kimmi said quickly, though the truth was, she did not know where the knowledge had come from—it was just there.
"It must've been Mr. Goran!" Catherine exclaimed suddenly, a mix of shock and sadness washing over her face. She remembered the conversations Goran had told her about, where he claimed Kimmi had been unusually attentive. To think that Kimmi had actually been listening to him, even learning from him, stirred an unexpected pang of envy in her heart.
"She's learning!" Hartmann exclaimed, his excitement was clear. "This is wonderful progress. I truly think it's time she started formal schooling," he advised with a hopeful smile. "You should consider getting her a tutor."
Catherine expression faltered slightly. "I'm not sure if Kimmi can handle that, Mr. Hartmann…" she admitted, her voice tinged with concern.
"How about this," Hartmann suggested, leaning forward slightly, "you begin teaching her yourself. Start with the basics. Seeing her progress today, I believe she's ready. And since she's already quite capable with numbers, why not begin with reading again? Just like you did last time."
Catherine hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, Mr. Hartmann. Thank you for your encouragement."
Hartman smiled warmly, standing from his seat. "Well, it's about time I took my leave," he said, straightening his robe. He glanced at Catherine and then at Kimmi, his gaze thoughtful.
"I think Il'll pay Mr. Goran a visit on my way back," he added, a hint of curiosity in his tone. "He seems to have some insight into Kimmi progress. Perhaps he can shed light on how she's come so far."
Catherine tilted her head slightly, a mix of surprise across her face, but she nodded politely.
Hearing that, Kimmi quickly began gathering the scattered coins, carefully sliding each one back into the leather pouch. Once she had collected them all, she pushed the pouch across the table toward her mother without a word.
Catherine noticed Kimmi thoughtful gesture and smiled softly. She picked up the pouch and handed it to Hartmann.
"Don't you need to count it?" Catherine asked as he took it.
Hartmann chuckled, tucking the pouch into his robe. "No need," he replied, glancing down at Kimmi. "She's already counted it for me. "With a warm smile, he placed a gentle hand on Kimmi head, giving her hair a playful tousle.
Kimmi blinked at the unexpected gesture but did not move away. she looked up at Hartmann with her usual quiet self, saying nothing but clearly curious herself.
'What will he learn about me from this person named Goran... and who is this person to her?' Kimmi wondered.
Catherine walked Hartmann to the front door, the two sharing a few parting words in hushed tones. Finally, Hartmann bid his farewells and disappeared down the path, leaving the house enveloped in a tranquil silence.
Kimmi watched her mother from across the room, her expression contemplative. She noticed the way Catherine lingered by the doorway, staring out as if lost in her own thoughts. For a moment, Kimmi felt a pain of something unspoken—was her mother lonely? Perhaps they both were.
Silence spread, where no words were fed.
The Weaving Twig and Sculpt Store brimmed with life, its rustic interior bustling with the of laughter, haggling, and the clatter of coins on the counter. Its wooden shelves, lined with handcrafted wares that spoke of both function and artistry.
The store bestseller—sturdy wooden shoes—flew off the shelves as workers and farmers eagerly purchased them. Renowned for their durability and affordability, the shoes were a staple for labourers seeking protection and practicality.
Catherine, ever the diligent shopkeeper, barely had time to pause. Her smiled greeted every customer, her soft voice carrying through the busy shop as she skilfully negotiated prices and wrapped purchases. Her hands moved with swiftness of someone well-versed in the art of commerce, though her eyes occasionally darted toward the staircase, where Kimmi remained upstairs, with her own devices.
Upstairs, down the hallways, a sound echoed from the end. It came from Kimmi bedroom.
Tinkle Tinkle Tinkle Tinkle
The sound of something being thrown to the floor.
Inside, Kimmi sat cross-legged on the floor of her room, with a handful of dice on hand—a gift from her mother, Catherine for her excellent behaviour. Her mother had hoped the dice would help her practice math, turning learning into a playful activity. But Kimmi had other plans for them.
Tinkle Tinkle Tinkle Tinkle
Instead of solving equations, she used the dice as ammunition, targeting a cockroach flailing helplessly on its back in the corner of the room.
Tinkle Tinkle Tinkle Tinkle
One by one, she hurled the dice at the insect. Each throw missed, yet she continued, her determination unwavering. The dice flew straight at first, but as they neared the target, they veered off course as though something unseen nudged them aside. One landed near the cockroach left side and some landed at the right side, until the scattered dice surrounded it, almost forming a circle.
Frustrated but undeterred, Kimmi grabbed the last die, gripping it tightly between her fingers and threw it.
Thud!
This time, when she threw it, the die struck true. The cockroach jolted from the impact, flipping itself upright and scuttling hastily toward the door, disappearing through the small gap beneath it.
Kimmi raised an eyebrow, stunned by the unexpected turn of events, she grabbed a piece of brown paper and a stub of charcoal. Sitting back down, she began writing, her lips moving as she muttered her thoughts aloud.
"Twenty attempts, twenty misses—first try. Twenty attempt misses—second try. Twenty attempts, nineteen misses, one success—third try," she whispered, carefully recording the data.
She paused, staring at her notes, then smiled faintly. "I can hit it… it's not impossible. Maybe it's not divine intervention after all," she mused, a spark of pride lighting her expression. The anomaly that had always thwarted her felt less like an insurmountable mystery and more like a challenge she could overcome.
"Perseverance!" Kimmi exclaimed, punching the air triumphantly. "That's right, Kimmi! Pat yourself on the back. Nothing is impossible—everything can be explained!" She grinned, reassuring herself as she basked in the small but satisfying victory.
"But what was that?" Kimmi wondered, her thoughts swirling. She had just stumbled upon a clue about her strange inability to cause harm to a person earlier that afternoon, when she accidentally killed an ant with a cloth while cleaning the kitchen. The ants had been marching in and out of the empty honey jar her mother had prepared for her breakfast.
Kimmi mind raced back to the horrifying incident from yesterday—the feeling of her body being controlled by an unseen force, a sensation that made her skin crawl.
When she saw the line of ants, she could not help but to try to kill another, again and again, just to see if it was not some twisted dream. But, to her surprise, she could—she managed to kill each ant with ease.
Curious, she tried again, this time with her finger, and was shocked to find she could still do it.
'What if the ants aren't considered living beings? Could it be their size?' She mused, her mind trying to grasp at the threads of logic.
So many possibilities rushed through her head. She had witnessed her mother witchcraft countless times, and had always known that this world held mysteries beyond her understanding.
'But this… this didn't fit anything I knew.' Kimmi thought, frustration and curiosity battling within her. She could not explain it with logic alone. Suddenly, a realization struck her. 'Maybe what I'm missing isn't just answers—what I'm missing is knowledge.'
Her logic, which she had relied on so heavily, now felt insufficient. It was as though she had reached the edge of a map with no clear path forward. She had spent the past week focusing entirely on her safety, learning about the danger lurking beyond the walls of her home. Every piece of knowledge she had gathered so far was shaped by her fear of the outside world.
But now, something had change. Kimmi understood that to solve the riddles she faced, she needed to look beyond her immediate concerns. She needed to explore the unknown—not just for her safety but to uncover truths about herself. Perhaps somewhere out there lies the missing puzzle piece she need, the one that can recalibrate her understanding and push her mind beyond what she thinks she already know.
'I need to expand the boundaries of my mind,' Kimmi resolved, her determination solidifying.
In that moment, Kimmi felt a spark ignite within her. She had found a new path, one that called her to seek, to question, and to uncover. And with that, her journey began anew.
Kimmi stood up and hurried to find her mother. As she descended the stairs, she came to a halt midway. The path to the ground floor was blocked by a line of customers waiting to pay for their goods. Fortunately, the counter was right next to the staircase, where her mother was bustling about.
Leaning against the staircase railing, Kimmi peered down. She saw her mother, completely absorbed in her work, moving swiftly to handle customers. The thought of disturbing her made Kimmi hesitate.
To her surprise, Catherine noticed her.
"Kimmi? What's wrong?" her mother asked, looking up briefly form the counter.
Kimmi shook her head quickly. "Nothing... Mom," she replied softly.
Catherine smiled warmly, her motherly instincts kicking in. She knew her daughter too well—Kimmi probably wanted something but did not want to say it.
"Come sit here," Catherine said, pulling a wooden stool closer to the counter.
Kimmi glanced at the crowd of people and steeled herself. She squeezed through the line, weaving past the customers until she was free. Then she turned toward the counter and climbed onto the stool her mother had prepared for her.
Catherine gave her another warm smile and handed her a small booklet—a chapbook.
"Here," she said kindly.
Kimmi eyes lit up with delight as she accepted it eagerly. But as soon as she held it in her hands, her excitement faltered. Opening the booklet, she realized something was amiss. It had only four pages, and when she flipped through them, she was struck with dismay.
She could not read it.
The words on the pages were meaningless to her, the script an enigma she could not decipher. Kimmi felt a wave of frustration, it almost felt like an insult to her intelligence.
She looked back at the booklet, realizing that her journey to understanding the world and searching for knowledge was not just becoming more challenging—it was starting entirely from scratch.