That night, Cytherea didn't sleep. She re-read her marginalia—not the plot notes, but the emotional ones. She saw a pattern: "Wrong." "Actually." "No."
Cytherea froze, a sharp retort on her tongue. But instead, she listened.
Knowledge is not a cudgel to win arguments; it's a gift to build bridges. The smartest person in the room isn't the one with all the answers—it's the one who makes everyone else feel a little smarter, too. Be a bookworm. But don't be a bitch about it. bookworm bitches cytherea
The next day, she tried an experiment. At work, a colleague misquoted a Shakespeare line. Cytherea’s mouth opened, but she closed it. Instead, she said, "That's an interesting take. It reminds me of a different version I read—want to hear it?"
The colleague beamed. "Sure!"
Lena nodded. "Like someone I know."
Lena replied: "Who are you and what have you done with Cytherea?" That night, Cytherea didn't sleep
"I hate this," she declared. "The author makes knowledge feel like a weapon. Every character uses a fact to wound someone else."