She reads in silence.
Her lips don’t make a sound. However, occasionally they may move as her eyes leap across the page. Scanning. Looking for meaning in the words on the paper.
Understanding slowly creeping in as she reads further. These are after all, instructions. Yes, I said instructions. The lowest form of literature. Tricksters. Words whose only intent is to confuse and misdirect your thoughts under the guise of providing illumination and understanding. Vile words.
No words ever grew up with the dream of becoming instructions. Poetry, yes. Fiction, yes. Instructions, no.