Words

Words were the foundation of worlds.
 
Muse had thought that, once, more than a decade ago, when they had first seen the walls of their family’s home lined with books. Words must be a thing that built empires. And even though it had never been their place to learn them, well…they had already broken the first rule. They had come inside the house. What was one more rule, after that?
 
They'd hunted for weeks. Patient fingers had trailed over countless pages of thick-lined text. They hadn't known the difference, then, between Common and Elvish and Dwarven. All they'd seen was heavy lines and strange symbols. They looked nothing like the sigils Betua had taught them. But if Muse could learn those, then surely, surely this couldn't be beyond their reach.
 
They'd found the primers almost by accident. The lock on the desk in the study had held fast, but the wood was beginning to rot. The drawer practically came apart in their hands. Inside of it had been a treasure trove - simple books with simple pictures, easy enough for even a slow, ponderous creature like Muse to follow. Easy enough that they felt confident carrying them away to the corner they had claimed as their own.
 
Some of the books were easier than others. Betua had taught them two languages, after all. Muse had learned to spell both our in the runic swirls Betua had taught them. But when they'd begun to sound out the words in the primers, they had realized how similar they were. Sylvan had slid into Elven in a matter of years. And once Elven had put down its shallow, fresh roots in Muse's mind, Common had been quick enough to follow.
 
The cookbooks had come next. Instructions had always been easy to follow. They were always specific. Precise. There was room to modify, Muse learned later - room to experiment, to explore, to improve. But in the beginning, when they'd had to return to the primers for every other word, those books had been a window to a world Muse had only ever imagined.
 
They had never made much progress into the more complicated books on their family’s shelves. There had been some fairy tales and short stories they'd made it through well enough. The prayer books to Fodla had kept them occupied for months - they'd gone meticulously over every page, copying each ritual and rite until they were memorized. But even ten years on, there were books that were still beyond them. Words their simple mind struggled to comprehend. Words that had built empires, but had never once belonged to them.
 
Was that where their contract lay? The records they'd never suspected they should have? The proof they should exist to begin with?
 
Words were the foundation of worlds. Muse had thought that, once, more than a decade ago. But the words that had founded their world were missing.
 
If they had ever existed at all.