Tasteful Darkness

Chapter 18

Peter - Four years ago

Peter first realized he could control his dreams when he was ten years old. He was having a nightmare involving something—he doesn't remember what—chasing him. No matter how fast he ran, it would catch up to him with ease.

After what felt like hours—though it was more minutes—Peter realized he was dreaming. What he was experiencing wasn't real, and he could escape it.

He stopped running. He planted his feet and turned around to face the darkness.

"Stop!" he shouted, his young voice so much higher back then. "Leave me alone!"

And it did. Though he couldn't see anything, he knew there was nothing there anymore.

It took him years to gain complete control. He started with flying—every child's dream—and over time he learned how to change his surroundings and summon objects like it was nothing.

Althea watches in complete awe as Peter describes his experience with dreams. Once he reaches the end, they sit in silence, Althea's eyes wide with wonder.

"Wow," she says. "That's amazing."

Peter's face grows hot. "I don't tell many people about it. I never know how they'll react."

"You know I love those sorts of things," Althea says. "Anything mystical."

He smiles at that.

Peter was supposed to go to work an hour ago, but he got caught up in talking with Althea at the apothecary. He keeps looking outside at the sun making its way down the horizon, and every time he does, he tells himself he should get going.

He never does.

"When did you say you were supposed to go to the tavern?" Althea asks, sliding off the counter top she was sitting on.

Peter shrugs. "Eventually."

She eyes him. "I don't want to be the one to make you late."

"I don't really care about being late."

"But I do."

He pauses. "Do you really want me to go?"

"I want you to do your job," Althea says with a smile. "But I have something else to give you before you leave."

"Althea, you know what I said about—" Peter tries, but he's quickly cut off.

"I know, I know."

Peter is the type of person to say he doesn't want any gifts and mean it. Althea seems to be the type of person to ignore his request entirely.

"It's small, I promise."

She's already disappeared upstairs before Peter can argue any further. He leans back against the counter and runs a hand through his hair. His eyes catch sight of the markings on his hand, now spreading further up his fingers.

He's tried to stop worrying about them. About people noticing and feeling disgusted by them.

Althea has helped him see the beauty in his markings. Peter smiles at the thought of it.

The sound of Althea making her way down the stairs fills his ears and he looks up to see her handing him a wrapped gift. He doesn't argue as he takes it and begins unwrapping it.

It's a book he doesn't recognize.

"I thought you would like it," Althea says before he can ask anything. "It's called A Silent Life. I read it a few years back and loved it."