The quill scratches a line across the page, and I look up to find my brother nudging my shoulder. “What is it?” I frown, putting down the quill and retrieving a fresh page.
“What are you writing?” he asks.
“Nothing important,” I say. I wonder what he would think if he knew what I was writing and why. Would he understand? I’ve always been able to share everything with him until now. “Something to pass the time.”
“I know you’ve always loved scribbling, but this is ridiculous. Nothing important, you say?” He does not believe me, but doesn’t press the point. “It’ll be over soon. Another day, perhaps.”
I didn’t realize the Infernam was so close to being over. I have been writing in snippets over the past few days whenever I’ve gotten the chance. I’m not sure how much my understanding has improved, but I know I must finish.
I pick up my quill again.