"Master Roman, do I also have one?"
Gwivelle lay on the table, watching Roman, who was focused and sweating profusely.
He arranged the type molds, brushed on the ink, and placed them in the printing press.
A sheet of paper, smelling of ink and printed with words, appeared freshly.
He admired it for a moment and then nodded, answering, "Yes, everyone should have one. I have high expectations of you all. At the very least, you must master most words, read and write without hindrance."
"How many words do you know now? How high can you count?" Roman glanced at the Witch of Calamity.
She seemed increasingly cute, her innocent brown eyes like a doe's, and her once coarse hair was now silky and smooth, tied up in a complex hairstyle, likely managed with Nillie's help.
