Rose went to the library anyway. Eldest Sister might have left in a hurry but that didn’t preclude her from suffering a little lack of sleep. Besides, with the rest of the Sisters tucked in their meager beds, Rose would have the entire library to herself. Cold, lonesome, and weary, Rose would suffer.
The library was more pitiful than it had ever been. Rose knew that Eldest Sister had sold more than a few of the volumes that once were housed on the shelves in the Sisters’ library. It had been a prudent move from what Rose knew of it. Funds had been low, and those particular books had been the most valuable of the collection here. Was it suffering to see the pride and joy of the library fall into the hands of private collectors? Rose thought so. As she ran her gloved hand across the tattered and worn spines, Rose began searching for the right shelf.
“They should be… here!” She said in a whisper, reaching out with quick reflexes to grab one of the tomes off a nearby shelf. ‘The Complete Works of Sister Denaria of Orren,’ the cover said in plain letters. A red hard cover with black lettering, suitable for one of the most prolific philosophers the Sisterhood had ever turned out. Denaria’s views on suffering had drawn Rose in ever since she first read about her- that had been shortly before entering the monastery here. The volume she now held had been a part of her personal collection before beginning at the Sisterhood.
Rose took the book and sat down on the floor, eschewing the table for the less comfortable, colder stone floor. More suffering, ideal for reading Denaria. The moon illuminated the pages of Rose’s book as she read, beginning at the chapter about suffering in poverty.
Woe to the rich, to those who clasp the joys of life with greedy hands. They have acted selfishly with their resources, choosing to raise themselves up at the expense of those around them. Woe to she who hoards money in treasuries and banks, who keeps more wealth than can be spent. Those who have wealth are charged with suffering- those who have wealth are charged with easing the suffering of others. By this suffering, a rich woman may raise up those around her at the cost of her own joy. It is not for the rich woman to experience joy, but rather her duty to lessen the suffering of others.
It was a passage Rose knew well, one she had long since memorized. She read from the book, she researched Denaria’s life, she followed her teachings. She was everything Denaria said a woman should be. A selfless sufferer, one who understands what brings her joy in life and discards it daily, a woman who uses every waking hour to not only suffer for the sake of those around her, but to use that suffering to understand the misfortune of others. That was Denaria’s platform. Mother always spoke of suffering for suffering’s sake, that by suffering you would be complete. Denaria preached of purposeful suffering- suffering with an end, a goal to be striven for. That appealed to Rose. As she read, Denaria’s words filled her with inspiration just as the cold floor and the lack of sleep that was quickly wearing at her wit filled her with suffering.
In a flash, Rose snapped the book shut, leaving it on the floor as she rose to her bare feet, walking quickly towards another shelf. There was a particular book Rose sought- one that was bound with mostly blank pages. Its intention had been for the author to suffer secondhand through the sufferings of those who read it. Beginning tonight, that book would serve a different purpose.
“I apologize, Sister Quillia, your suffering in these walls must come to an end, I have need of your pages,” Rose said, taking the book off the shelf. ‘A Study in Incomplete Suffering,’ the cover said. It was a small book, with even less actually written in it. It brought Rose no small amount of suffering to tear out the pages with words on them, along with the cover, leaving herself with the only writable paper in the entire monastery. She’d have to figure out how to get more ink past what little remained with the finances later. For now, she could write.
As she walked towards her office, Rose began drafting titles for what would be her own philosophy on suffering. Titles such as ‘From Crown to Cretin,’ ‘Suffer Not a Prince,’ and ‘Half of my Suffering’ were brainstormed and discarded. The title could wait. She knew what she wanted to say, and for the most part the exact words would come easy. All she needed to do was open a window into her study, sit down at her desk, pull out a quill and ink bottle- the last of each- and write.
