Chapter 6: Dreamweaver (His POV)
I swirled my coffee lazily, the way I do when I'm pretending to be patient but really plotting the fastest way to crawl under someone's skin. Recently, someone meant her, only her. "So, Annie honey drop," I purred, grin curling, "since we're in such a sharing mood, why don't you tell me more?"
She raised a brow like she couldn't be bothered. "About what?"
"Oh, I don't know… anything." I leaned forward, eyes glinting. "You keep so much to yourself, Annie pookie, and that's just tragic. I must fix it."
She sighed through her nose. Her favorite way of calling me unbearable. "I already told you my favorite color and about my runes. What else do you want?"
"Well," I smirked, drumming my fingers against my mug, "what's something no one knows about you?"
Her eyes flickered down to her cup. "No one?"
"No one," I confirmed.
A beat. Then she surprised me. "I like thunderstorms."
I blinked. "Really?"
She nodded, gaze drifting somewhere distant. "The sound. The way the air changes. The way it feels… unpredictable."
Oh, my sweet little liar. A part of me wanted to preen. Another part wanted to bottle that sentence and hoard it forever. She likes storms. She likes unpredictability. She likes… me. Even if she'll never say it that way. My grin spread like ink in water. "Annie starlight, are you telling me you enjoy chaos?"
She snorted, shaking her head. "I enjoy storms. You are not a storm."
"No, no, no," I wagged a finger, delighted. "I am exactly a storm, darling. Just far more charming. And considerably less wet." I take the high ground and keep my comment about her wetness to myself.
Her look could have curdled wine. "You are exhausting."
"And yet, you're still talking to me." I leaned back, smug. "Now, tell me more. Favorite season? Least favorite god? Weirdest dream?" She gave me that look. The one that says she knows I'll never shut up until I get what I want. Beautiful look, really.
"My least favorite god?" She considered. "Aerion. His runes hurt the most. My entire right leg. Took a long time. His priests were arrogant. From what I know, he's the same."
I burst out laughing, slapping my knee. "Oh gods, yes. He polishes his own armor, Annie. His own armor. Can you imagine? He carries a huge sword as compensation for his tiny sword. "
For the first time, she smirked. Just slightly. "Sounds exhausting and that is gross."
"It is exhausting and that is hilarious," I agreed, tossing a hand dramatically. "See? You understand me."
Her smirk lingered. Then she gave me more. "Favorite season? Summer evenings. But I like spring and fall days." She tilted her head. "What about you?"
Complicated question, complicated answer, my specialty. I stretched like a cat preparing for mayhem. "Ah, Annie-petal, I adore certain pieces of each. Winter's storms. Spring's illusions of renewal. Late summer nights? Perfect for trouble. And autumn? Oh, autumn is when mortals grow reckless, and recklessness is the perfect ingredient for chaos."
She just shook her head. "You could have picked one."
"Where's the fun in that?"
Then, unexpectedly, she asked, "My weirdest dream? Like a sleeping dream or something I wish for?"
That made me pause. Then grin, sharper. "Both, darling. Strangest one you've had asleep. And strangest one awake."
She set her cup down with deliberate care. Fingers resting against the table. Posture perfect. But her eyes… ah. Older. Heavy. Something there. "When I was seven, I dreamed the same dream every night."
I leaned forward, hooked instantly. "In my dream, I'd wake up in my bed. A shriveled, horrible monster would crawl in and eat my legs. Starting with my feet." My fingers tightened around my cup.
"I felt every bite," she said evenly. Too evenly. "He was slow. He chewed through the bone. Gnawed the meat from my calves. Stripped my thighs. It took hours. I would scream, beg, but I could never move. My body wouldn't listen." A shiver ran down her arm. "The next morning, in my dream, I was whole again. So I tried to tell my mother." She inhaled sharply, shaking her head. "She always smiled. Told me he was our friend."
Something twisted in my stomach. "One night, I hid. Waited. When he walked in, I jumped out. He ran." She tapped her fingers lightly against the table, mimicking footsteps. "I was so excited. I ran to tell my mother." My chest tightened. "But when I walked into her room… he was there."
I stilled. "Eating her legs. Slowly. The same way he had eaten me." Her voice didn't change. But there was something broken under it. "I stood in the doorway. Watched him crawl over her. And she turned her head toward me. Her eyes were dead. Empty. She smiled and said, He is our friend."
The air around me pulsed, thick with fury. "Then she convulsed. And died."
"What. The actual. Hells, Annie?!" I damn near choked on air, flinging my hands around like the universe had just insulted me personally. She, of course, sat there perfectly calm, sipping her coffee like nothing in the cosmos was wrong.
"What?" she asked, unbothered.
"What?!" I echoed, scandalized. "You! You had that dream for months? Annie, that is not a dream! That is a cursed prophecy of suffering!"
She shrugged. Shrugged. She does that so often! So casual. "It was probably just growing pains."
I gawked at her, my whole existence wobbling on its axis. "GROWING PAINS?!" I practically shouted.
"Yes," she said, voice maddeningly even. "My legs hurt, so my brain made up a story about them being eaten. It wasn't real, of course. Just my mind doing what it always did. Turning pain into monsters so I didn't have to look at the real ones. Logical."
Logical. Logical?! I threw my arms skyward like maybe the gods above would finally give me patience. "No, Annie, logical is dreaming about flying. Logical is showing up to the temple in your undergarments. Logical is not having your legs chewed off by a nightmare gremlin while your dream-mother smiles through her own slow consumption!"
She tilted her head, calm as a still pond. "Disturbing, sure. But it stopped after a while."
"Oh, well, thank the gods," I deadpanned, pressing a hand to my chest like a martyr. "At least it was just temporary hell and not forever hell."
She rolled her eyes. Took another sip. Like I hadn't just witnessed psychological horror.
I gawked harder. "Annie, you concern me."
"You asked," she reminded me.
"I—" I jabbed a finger at her, opened my mouth, shut it again. Tried a second time, failed spectacularly. Dragged a hand through my hair. "You know what? Fine. Great. Perfect. I just—" I needed a moment.
Because she's an actual menace, she smirked over her cup. "You seem upset, Malvor."
"I, You," I jabbed another look at her. "You are the most unsettlingly casual person I've ever met." I took a long swallow of coffee, silently rethinking every life choice that led me here.
She swirled her coffee, gaze distant now. Her voice dipped lower. "I used to have a lot of nightmares. All the time. Horrible, vivid things." That stopped me. My mouth still half-open, caught between outrage and fascination.
"I finally taught myself how to wake up," she continued, steady as stone. "Eventually I could dreamscape. Control my dreams. Just… walk away from the terror." My brows arched despite myself. That… that was impressive. Gods, that was very impressive. Dreamscaping isn't normal for mortals. Not without training. Not without magic bleeding into sleep.
"When I was given to the temple, my dreams became my escape," she said, her tone softer now, far away. "I could swim underwater. Fly. I could be powerful. Do anything." Her fingers tapped against her cup. Her voice steadied again. "In a world where I had no power, my dreams gave me power."
I leaned back, tapping a finger against my lips. For once, words abandoned me. Teasing felt cheap here. Because gods help me, I understood that. More than I ever wanted to admit. When my smirk finally returned, it was different. Softer. "Oh, Annie dream-weaver," I murmured, a low chuckle curling out of me, "I knew there was chaos in you somewhere."
And then it happened. She grinned.
Not her little twitch. Not the almost-smile she tossed me like scraps. No. This was full. Unrestrained. A grin that burned like a star flaring to life, blinding and impossible to look away from. It did something in my chest shifted. Unwelcome. Dangerous.