Written Conversation
When I retract my wide-eyed stare, I find a piece of thin parchment before me on the yet-empty table, blank but for the uniform horizontal lines filling it from top to bottom. The topmost line is already filled in half-way, by a roundish, neat handwriting with dark-pink ink. It says, “Hello. My name is Atlanta. You can call me Ata. What is yours?”
The young woman points at the first word when I look up, then makes a sign that I assume means “Hello.”
Oh. The signage that I asked her to teach me.
I mimic her, till she nods her approval and moves to the next words. And then she pointedly proffers a green, thin, long cylindrical something to me. In her hand is another item, coloured dark pink, which she proceeds to show me how to grip and use correctly.
Like I were a child learning my letters for the first time, indeed.
It is hard to concentrate on using her written language through Allspeak, when my thoughts are full of confusion, dread and denial of what the spell might have additionally done to me.
Maybe, it is why I accidentally introduce myself as Loki to her.
`Damn.`