"I don't like French," Carlotta declared, glaring at the primer (a primer – how embarrassing!). "There are too many letters one doesn't pronounce."
"You may like it or detest it as you wish, but you are in France now." The Voice sounded decidedly amused at her plight.
"Who would create a language in which the last letter of every word might as well not exist?" she asked, exasperated. "It is absurd!"
"Yet you speak it rather well, considering the short amount of time you have spent here," the Voice said silkily.
She tried to resist the obvious flattery and promptly failed. "Well… I can't deny I have an ear for languages."
"Perhaps. However, it is essential that you are able to read French."
"Why?" Her tone was definitely plaintive now. "Most people here can barely write their own names, and I only need to hear it to sing any…"
"Do not argue. You will learn," the Voice ordered harshly.
Carlotta threw the primer on the bed beside her and leapt to her feet. "I will not be spoken to like a baby, told what to do without reason and expected to obey! I want to know why I must learn to read this ridiculous language!"
"Sit down, and do not yell, especially not at me," the Voice said menacingly.
Cowed, but determined not to show it, she sat slowly. "Fine. But…"
"Yes, yes, very well. While you could survive as you are, it is always infinitely better to be literate in any language you learn. Secondly, you will not always be able to hear a song before you sing it, so you must be able to read the lyrics."
"I understand."
"Good. Begin studying. I will bring you a more advanced primer when you prove that you have mastered that one."
Carlotta felt that the conversation was over. She waited until she was certain the Voice was gone before muttering, "I hate French."