If her dyslexia wasn't so darned irritating, the demititan would have had an easier, breezier, beautiful time finding books for her younger sister. She was browsing an array of picture books, neatly lined on four shelves of one bookcase, listed in ABC order by the author's last name. It was a shame, though, that none of these were written in Ancient Greek, because Stella had to pull out each book to look at the picture on the front and see if she could guess the title. It would take too much time for her to decipher the titles on the spines; this way was annoying, but a lot easier and probably faster.
Tempest's dyslexia wasn't so bad as her sisters', but the kid was five -- lots of five year olds had difficulty reading, dyslexia or not. The demititan had forced herself into the library for her sake, because Mom wanted her little Tempest to read more and, by golly, Stella had to do it because she was the older sister and Aidan did so much for her and blah blah blah. Stella loved her family, but why couldn't they just leave her alone? She had things to do, people to harass, tornadoes to start -- not books to read. She disliked reading, not only due to her dyslexia but her impatience at being forced to read through boring descriptions of landscapes or the love interest's beautiful blond locks and sparkling blue eyes and oh, Edward, why won't you love me?
At least she found "The Cat in the Hat," though. Reading that would probably be the highlight of her week, because who didn't like Dr. Seuss?