MIDAS
He has always loved to read.
Loved the smell of old books and the sharp scent of ink on paper.
From the minute he learned the script of the dragon tongue, he read everything and anything.
And by the time he turned nine, to the amazement of all the tutors his father had hired, not only had Midas mastered how to read the ancient books written in dragon tongue but he could read with startling ease books written in the flowing letters of the humans.
The harsh sounding, yet beautifully penned words of the Faes’ massive, magic tomes, and even the nearly illegible, and incredibly difficult chirography of the angel realm came to him with almost alarming ease.
His brain was like a sponge, soaking up all that information yet ever thirsty for more.
And for a while, it had been enough.
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