The library had been destroyed. Again. When she had first apprenticed to the temple librarians years ago, Sandi had never dreamed just how boring her job could get. She rubbed eyes blurry from lack of sleep and picked up the next fragment of parchment with a sigh. “Blessed Lady Cleo, Mistress of the Path of Ages, mend this, thine sacred text destroyed by minions of the ravaging hordes.” The parchment glowed with the same dim purple glow as the thousands scraps before it, and slowly knit itself back together. Sandi’s eyes started to drift closed and she shook her head fighting to stay awake.
“Ravaging hordes?” The melodious voice broke the silence of the ruined workshop with a chuckle and Sandi spun around, dagger drawn. Only there was no one there.
“You said ‘ravaging hordes’ and while they might have counted as ravaging, I doubt a pack of jealous teenagers can be called a horde.” The disembodied voice sounded almost amused at the wanton destruction. It was the last straw on a mountain of a day.
“It’s not funny, these are books! BOOKS.” Sandi waved the page at the empty air. “Do you have any idea how old these are? How irreplaceable? This is history you disembodied idiot.” There was a silence in response to her rant and the junior librarian sat back on her stool with a tried grunt, surveying the pile of scorched scraps that were all that remained of the east wing’s histories. The sense of loss washed over her again and she pushed it aside. She’d have time to mourn them later, for now she had a job to do. She picked up the next scrap of paper. “Blessed Lady Cleo, Mistress of the Path–”
“Had it ever occurred to you that you could simply ask me to fix them all at once?” Sandi turned to yell at the voice again, her exhausted mind taking a moment to register what it had heard.