꧁ Fount of Knowladge ꧂

How it all irritates me. His weariness, the way it makes my eyelids feel heavy. These annoying people pestering him with their stupid, mundane questions. Has anyone ever thought about him? Has anyone ever felt even a shred of pity for him? Or does everyone just not care that he's bending over backwards to keep humanity from becoming mired in lies?

Faunt's chambers were a mess. The bookcases were completely crammed with books and ancient tomes, the shelves barely holding up under the weight. The walls were covered with maps, hanging on by a thread. The floor was covered with open scrolls. Books lying around them waited to be finished, or finally read. The desk was covered with a pile of letters, not even opened. Only a single lemon tree, standing on the windowsill, seemed to be alive. Faunt couldn't even remember the last time he'd watered it. It didn't matter, though; it was alive—and God bless it.

There was suddenly a knock on the massive door of his chambers.

"Get out of here! I don't have time to answer your stupid questions!" Faunt barked. His voice broke into a roar, terrifying and like thunder in broad daylight.

"Oh, sorry. I guess I came at a bad time..." a voice responded from the other side of the door. Faunt even froze; either shame or awkwardness subdued his anger. For the first time, someone apologized to him without angrily pounding on his door.

Perhaps someone with a heart had come to visit him? Faunt thought. Without thinking twice, he rushed to the door, throwing it open.

"Forgive me, my dear stranger. I simply didn't get enough sleep," Faunt managed to force a slight, almost imperceptible smile. His voice had become quieter, but still sounded just as tired.