Opening the book to his marked page, he resumed reading-well, rereading for at least the seventh time-a brief biography of one of his favorite artists. The book was one of his few 'indulgences,' as his mother would say. His old room back home had well-made tapestries depicting various holy tales, a few icons of the Goddesses. The artist biography was the only book he owned that was not a religious text; it had been gifted to him by his men two years ago and remained one of his most treasured possessions. Beyond the book he had one small painting that deviated from the religious theme, a small landscape his sisters had gifted to him after he had joined the Order of the Voice.
Kristof had always wanted a home of his own to fill it with paintings and tapestries and sculptures of his choosing
