Delphi had always been very suspicious of reading. Not that she didn’t like words – it just didn’t seem fair to pin them down onto a scrap of papyrus. Delphi instinctively felt words should be free, in the air, not curled up in a scroll. If she really admitted it, which she wouldn’t, she would like to be able to read. Words always seemed so important when they were written down. It wasn’t even as if she could blame being a girl on not being able to read. Some women in the city could read and write, but not sculptor’s daughters, whose family didn’t have enough money to have a slave that could teach her.
There were even some small libraries in the city. Delphi found this hard to imagine.
There surely couldn’t be that many things worth writing down.