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My name is Sha’fawn. The acolytes at the temple call me ‘sister’. The masters call me ‘daughter’. They are my family now because nightmare weavers are donated to the temple at the age of 3. You must start your training young to properly understand history and morality. You must train hard to properly weave a nightmare capable of reminding the citizens why following the laws of the Qual’niani Mountain Kingdom is so important. Life in the mountains is harsh. It’s people are harsh. It has made its worship harsh too.
I am the best nightmare weaver among the lower acolytes. Master Tavish of the Temple Library, where I have lived with my fellow acolytes since entering the Temple, says I will be the youngest to achieve the title of Master in three generations. I don’t care about that. I care about leaving the Temple.
Acolytes incur debt to the Temple from their training and keep. I cannot leave until my ledger is no longer red. Master Lavish is old enough to be a grandfather and his ledger will not reach black in his lifetime. The training required to run the library is large, and the stipend he is paid from the parishioners offerings is not enough.
Nightmare weavers earn more. We are alloted every 30th silver coin and every 100th gold we earn in the courtyard for our weave of words and contrition. It will take me beyond the years of childbearing to pay my debt. That is why I made a deal with the lowest of low, darkest of dark, most sinful of sinners. I aid the Bone Eater. For a silver coin I find knowledge in the Library. For a gold coin I lend a script from sundown to sunup. For a bar of mountain gold the size of a man’s first finger I will let the Bone Eater into the Library labyrinth for a day and a night.
I am Sha’fawn. I am a Nightmare Weaver. I will do anything to leave the Temple.


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