Prompt 19: Weal
A rich dark wood, cold and well polished. Smooth to the touch; a silky sensation that radiated a sense of privilege up from her fingertips and into her chest. She used to dream of owning a desk like this one, sturdy and large enough to fit all her maps and charts. Now she couldn't even remember the names of any of the places on those maps; it had been far too long now, long enough even that she couldn't begin to quantify it. Yet this desk wasn't even hers, it was her host's: a fool who bargained away years of her life for the various memories that rattled around in the voidsent's mind. A poor bargain for the curious woman, she thought. But for now, at least, she could revel in her possessions, play pretend that dreams nearly forgotten came true.