Amanuensis

In my dreams, I'm someone else. Not someone special, exactly. Just someone different. And it's nice.

I live in a nobleman's house. He is a scholar, and I transcribe his work. He works late into the night, and thus so must I, but he treats me well and pays even better. We eat together as though we were friends, while his butler and maid must dine in the kitchen. Perhaps this is because I am learned, while they can hardly read the recipes in a cookbook, or the notes he leaves of tasks for them to complete. I don't know how I feel about this caste system of intellect, but I have little right to question it.

Not to mention, none of this is real.