Fortunately, Rose managed to secure a new job before the end of the pillar. Though it came with a significant pay cut—barely enough to cover her rent even if she saved every coin—she’d have to worry about that bridge when she came to it. For now she had work, money. She could continue living. It was her limited ability to read that had earned her a position at the Archekaasè del Marchenne, the city’s public library. Without that skill, she doubted she would have found any work at all.

As she walked down the rows of dusty shelves she cleared her throat, practicing once more, “The Archekaasè del Marchenne was a public library established by Royal Decree. In the Orène Age, Régiane of Pelséon, 23rd Majur, 8th Sérénce, the Ordance of Savoiriel was issued, mandating that every city in the kingdom would house a library for public use. It had taken 47 years to complete the decree.”

That was the first thing hammered into her head when she started and something she continued to practice over and over again, focusing on her dictations and tongue as it twisted into the words. The overseer of the library was very clear. Failure to even speak correctly then she would forfeit her pay for that day.

As such she practiced time and time again as she moved through the dimly lit room. The library wasn’t large by any means. It was dimly lit, with narrow aisles of shelves crammed with books and scrolls. The scent of parchment hung heavy in the air, mixing with the faint mustiness of stone walls cool to the touch. High-set windows let in just enough light to allow one to see just enough to not run into the bookshelves.

She recited the decree perfectly now, sure she wouldn’t stumble should they ever gain a customer who asked. Something of a useless threat. Nobles rarely visited the library; they could afford to build their own private collections. Spending Orfin came as naturally as drinking water.

Well, this was not the modern world. Books were a rare and expensive luxury. Each one was meticulously hand-penned, making every copy unique. The quality of handwriting often determined a book’s value—neat, precise script elevated even dubious content, while poorly written manuscripts often ended up in libraries like this one, regardless of their worth they sold for gold coins. Even the rantings of a mad man could go for tens of gold coins. So much

Rose traced her fingers over the spines of books as she looked over them, pausing occasionally to read their titles. Her primary task was transcribing these original works into cleaner, more legible copies. While she wasn’t yet fluent in the written word, she was a fast learner and had developed a knack for understanding even the most atrocious handwriting. Just not her own.

The job often brought to mind the concept of a printing press—or, more specifically, a printer. While she wasn’t a mage or an engineer, she decided to start with the most basic ideas she could manage. She had read about printing presses in her past life—one of those rare moments in school where a lesson stuck in her head, bouncing around with glee at random intervals.

Annoying, really, when she couldn’t think of anything to say on a dating app except for the fact that the first book printed using a printing press was the Gutenberg Bible in 1455. Nothing says sexy like the Gutenberg Bible—whatever that even was.

Her hands flew to her head as the heat of embarrassment flushed through her. “Christ, I actually sent that, didn’t I?” she groaned aloud, crouching down as though trying to physically shrink away from the memory. Her past self was a cringe-inducing monster, and not even a new life in a new world could shield her from the mortifying moments that continued to haunt her.

That intrusive memory, while mortifying, had its uses now. It had sparked an idea: the possibility of creating a rudimentary press. It wasn’t a guarantee of success, but it felt like something worth pursuing. She spent time thinking it through, sketching rough designs on scrap paper and bundling them in her desk. The irony wasn’t lost on her that her own handwriting was barely legible, rivaling the worst examples in the library’s collection.

Still, the prospect of revolutionizing her work filled her with cautious excitement, even as the logistics seemed daunting. The idea of streamlining the tedious process of hand-copying texts spurred her on, even if it was only a faint dream for now.

She adjusted a crooked book on the shelf and glanced around the room. Another of her tasks was to ensure the shelves remained tidy and any misplaced items were delivered to the librarian so they could sort them themselves. Of course, this was easy—there was hardly anyone else to disrupt the order. The library was almost always empty.

Shaking her head to refocus, she pulled a book from the shelf: The Keremi Rebellions: How History’s Greatest Betrayal Saved the Kingdom. It was a popular request for reprint and sale, partly because the author—a historian with a penchant for dramatization—claimed to know the “real” story behind the events. Rose had nearly memorized the book by now, having rewritten it so many times.

Walking back to the Scriptoriaire—the designated space for crafting or repairing books—Rose began preparing to transcribe another copy. She glanced at the notes she had scrawled earlier about building a press, smiling faintly at the thought. If only she could make it work; it might save her hours of labor. Then again, she mused, it might simply give her more work.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Despite its challenges, Rose found a quiet satisfaction in her job. The solitude of the library was a welcome change from the chaos of her previous life. Her duties offered a sense of purpose she hadn’t really felt in years or was that because she was now looking after the heroine of the story? What ever the case it was nice to learn how to read and write again.

Despite the disdain she received from her manager it was better than her last. He was a nobleman with an air of condescension. He often reminded her of how he’d been forced to work alongside commoners, a complaint that made her wonder if he forgot she was one of those commoners. Either way she had a job with better comfrets and plenty of space away from an unwanted hand.

Here, the cool, scholarly environment of the library seemed to shelter her from that. The silence and solemnity discouraged idle chatter, let alone anything inappropriate.

The peace of the Scriptoriaire was interrupted by the sound of measured footsteps. Rose glanced up from her work just as her manager—a middle-aged nobleman with salt-and-pepper hair, a sharp jawline, and the air of someone perpetually trying to appear above his station—entered the room with a determined stride.

“Rose,” he began, his tone clipped and businesslike. “You’re a girl, aren’t you?”

Rose froze, her quill halting mid-stroke on the parchment. The question was so absurd and unexpected that for a moment, she simply stared at him, unsure if she’d misheard. “…I suppose so?” she replied cautiously, narrowing her eyes.

“Good,” he said with a curt nod, as though confirming an important fact. “Good.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing, his brow furrowed in thought. Rose felt her heart thud uneasily against her ribs. What on earth could have prompted him to walk in here just to confirm her gender? No… he hadn’t even asked if she was a woman—he’d asked if she was a girl.

What… what?

“The thing is…” he began again, gesturing vaguely with one hand, then faltering. He pressed his fist to his lips in thought, then snapped his fingers as if catching an elusive idea. “My girl’s got… a thing.”

Rose blinked, confused. “A… thing?”

“Yes,” he said, waving his hand impatiently. “You know, a little-person thing.”

Rose blinked quite pointedly only for the silence in the room to remain. “A child?” she guessed.

“No! Before that.” He waved his hand as if dismissing the notion.

“Before… a child?” Rose repeated, her confusion growing.

“Yes! In her belly.” He finally stopped pacing, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked anywhere but at her.

Realization dawned on Rose, and her mouth opened slightly. “She’s… having a baby?”

“Gods above, don’t say it like that,” he muttered, grimacing and dragging a hand down his face. “The bloody bastard said he’d protect her, and now look what he’s done.”

Rose sat back in her chair, blinking as if that was helping her process the information. “I… see?”

“Abandoned her for his ‘duty,’” he snapped, venom lacing his words. “The Irkrans massing at the border—like they stand a chance against us in open conflict!” He clicked his tongue angrily, pacing the room again. “And now my girl says she’s fine, but she’s not fine. She’s pale, tired, and Mélodie’s butcher of a maid keeps throwing me out and won’t tell me a damned thing!”

Rose pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to make sense of his chaotic tirade. “I… I’m still not sure what you’re asking me.”

He turned sharply to face her, snapping his fingers as if the answer were obvious. “Mélodie never got sick when she was… you know? At least, I don’t think she did. Did she?”

Rose blinked, struggling to keep up. “I… don’t know?”

“Exactly!” he said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know what’s going on!” He stepped closer, too close for Rose’s comfort, and stared her dead in the eyes. “So?”

“So… what?” Rose asked, leaning back slightly, her discomfort evident.

“For pity’s sake, Rose, what’s wrong with my girl?” he demanded, his voice rising in frustration.

“I don’t know!” Rose replied, throwing her hands up. “I’ve never been pregnant before!”

“Bollocks!” he snapped. “You’ve got a daughter!”

“What?” Rose’s confusion deepened.

“You said it in the interview!” he barked, jabbing a finger into her chest.

“Dahlia?” Rose asked, realization dawning. “She’s my sister’s child.”

“What?” He blinked, thrown off-course. “Your sister?”

“She passed recently,” Rose explained, her tone softening despite her rising irritation. “I’m looking after her daughter.”

The manager’s brow furrowed as he took a step back, crossing his arms. “How old are you?”

“Uh…” Rose hesitated, feeling oddly scrutinized. “Twenty?” A little lie wouldn't hurt, right?

“Twenty? No kids?” His expression turned incredulous.

“No,” Rose replied flatly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, his voice tinged with genuine bewilderment.

Rose blinked, caught off guard. “Nothing?”

“What do you mean, nothing?” he retorted, waving his hand dismissively as he turned toward the door. “Never mind. Useless bloody commoners…” he muttered, disappearing down the hall.

Rose stared after him, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. “What the hell?” she muttered under her breath.