Stephanie Brake

Wretched Trade

1663, Spring Amelia sat at her desk staring at the blank paper before her, a mug of ale left forgotten by her side. The room was darkening with the retreating sun, but the lone Skuling lamp kept the darkness at bay. A large tome rested before her, covered in dust after years of being left on a shelf. She once thought that she’d never open it again, that her last recording would be the end. But there she sat, quill in hand, in the same spot as before, looking down at the worn cover. This book has seen the world, seen the follies of men, and had more scars then even she did. How many times has she rewritten these creased pages? How many pages have been torn and burned? Some stories are lost now, maybe for the better. It amazed her how much knowledge rested on these pages. Knowledge that would never be seen by others, solely because she wrote it.