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it took him a distubingly long time to learn that paper can cut. It just simply never dawned on him. He'd long been faninated with the stories humans told enough other - angels don't have imaginations, so listening to fightful, fanticful stories was truely other worldly. how they could just... make things up, and even though theyere tales where lies - they actually help humans understand the truths of the world better. even clearly fanticufl stories foten told the truth better than facts, some part of the human mind able to undestand the emotion behind a tall tale better than the truth.
they started with adam and eve, the first nights after te gaden, so[inning wild tales fo their own banishment into the world around the night fires, first to themselves, then to their children. and to their childrens children anad so on. some sotries changes as they got passed on, but some developted ar hythem that would remain unberoken in hundreds of generations.
an then they started to write them down, as launguage changed. sometimes it was becuase the words where beging to be forgotten, or sometimes it was to try and tell the sotry witht he words of a new people. and each time it was written down, azirpahle saw littel changes happen. he pointed out the mistakes, correcting them when he could - he often played scibe to many cultures for his ability to copy text unaltered and perfect everytime.
but then - something charmed him from the speelign errors, or the notes left int he margins. of the humans long lost to time who left heir own tiny mark on the sotry. a missed letter or extra sentance to show that even unnamed - they had been there.
and then there was the dab of blood ont he corner of one misprint - a tired scribe who had cut themselves on a finished page when prepping it for binding, and just did not have the heart to reproduce it. azirpahle had been horififed to find it - his angelic nature had iddetified it as blood immediatly. the cleric he'd been working under at the time had rushed over - he'd expected a massicer from azirpahle gasp - but only chuckleda the smear. Musta been a bad one," he'd chuckled, hius cattinace at odds with his words.
"A bad one?" azirpahle ased for clarification, carefully judging the edge of the paper from both sides.
"paper cut - you learn to drip off your work when it happens after the first few times."
later - one fo the other scribes showed azirpahle the tinyly little marks on his hands. most healed away comepletely, but sometimes they cut jsut right to leave a remibinder. the scribes assued azipahle that they suuslly didn't hurt - mind you not get any thing in it later, like juice ro ink.
fancy that... a paper that cut. both witht eh eords on its page, and then hte page itself.
they started with adam and eve, the first nights after te gaden, so[inning wild tales fo their own banishment into the world around the night fires, first to themselves, then to their children. and to their childrens children anad so on. some sotries changes as they got passed on, but some developted ar hythem that would remain unberoken in hundreds of generations.
an then they started to write them down, as launguage changed. sometimes it was becuase the words where beging to be forgotten, or sometimes it was to try and tell the sotry witht he words of a new people. and each time it was written down, azirpahle saw littel changes happen. he pointed out the mistakes, correcting them when he could - he often played scibe to many cultures for his ability to copy text unaltered and perfect everytime.
but then - something charmed him from the speelign errors, or the notes left int he margins. of the humans long lost to time who left heir own tiny mark on the sotry. a missed letter or extra sentance to show that even unnamed - they had been there.
and then there was the dab of blood ont he corner of one misprint - a tired scribe who had cut themselves on a finished page when prepping it for binding, and just did not have the heart to reproduce it. azirpahle had been horififed to find it - his angelic nature had iddetified it as blood immediatly. the cleric he'd been working under at the time had rushed over - he'd expected a massicer from azirpahle gasp - but only chuckleda the smear. Musta been a bad one," he'd chuckled, hius cattinace at odds with his words.
"A bad one?" azirpahle ased for clarification, carefully judging the edge of the paper from both sides.
"paper cut - you learn to drip off your work when it happens after the first few times."
later - one fo the other scribes showed azirpahle the tinyly little marks on his hands. most healed away comepletely, but sometimes they cut jsut right to leave a remibinder. the scribes assued azipahle that they suuslly didn't hurt - mind you not get any thing in it later, like juice ro ink.
fancy that... a paper that cut. both witht eh eords on its page, and then hte page itself.
