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Chapter 11 - Acting Classes

Chapter 11 - Acting Classes

Weaver

I woke up in my massive bed in my cavernous room. My bed was so soft with several feathery pillows and layers of heavy comforters-everything in black and dark grey. It was rather cold and I huddled deeper under the bedding and cushions. For the first time in sixteen years, I wanted to stay in bed to sleep and not attempt to dream.

But a glacial waft hit my face and an icy draft coiled around my limbs, reminding me where I was. I was in my chamber in the dream realm and my bedroom was the junction of a multitude of tunnels, each leading to an ongoing nightmare. A chilly breeze often traveled from the shafts-the distinctness of every mortal's fear when faced with his worst nightmare.

I got out of bed and was gratified when I felt my heavy, leathery wings brush the sheets. A claw at the pointed end of each forelimb scraped the floor. I stood straight and stretched my wings-how I'd missed them-and their girth almost reached both sides of the room.

I folded my wings around me, shielding myself against the frost that was starting to fill the space. I stood taller and I sensed the dread of every mortal. I could hear their screams and taste their trepidation. It felt good.

I felt invincible.

And just like that, I was stripped of my wings.

And I stood in the middle of the room not a terrifying ageless god, but a vulnerable young man.

An idiot.

I got here propelled by my own nightmare. For millennia, I had wallowed in every creature's fright. There was only fear and nothing else. And I had grown accustomed to the solitary feeling. I had savored each sickening anxiety that drove most beings to wake in cold sweat, their hearts pounding, some screaming.

For thousands of years, I had been content to soak up others' horrors. It had been enough. Fear yesterday, fear today, fear tomorrow. It had made my existence predictable.

But over a short period, one girl made me feel so many other emotions. I felt curiosity, apprehension, admiration, shame, anger, jealousy and yet another sensation that made me nauseous.

And this terrified me.

"Such limited sentiments had turned you into a boring boogeyman, child." The voice was so close to my ear, but I saw no one.

"Mother?" I asked the gloom.

"But I gather things are about to change," a cold whisper that came from a distance.

"Mother?" I called out once more.

Silence.

I stood still in the middle of my room. I could've been standing for seconds, maybe hours.

A cough.

I turned to where the sound came from. My father stood at the entrance of one tunnel, looking more exhausted than I had ever seen him. The dark shadows beneath Erebus' eyes had reached his jaw. His eyes though empty of irises and pupils and were just full black sclera looked cloudy. His cheeks were so hollow that his face appeared skeletal. Even the dark cloud that usually swelled from his feet was missing. He looked more like the demon personification of death than the primeval god of darkness.

Another fit of coughing. It seemed that Erebus hadn't slept for decades. This was most probably the case since he took on the responsibilities of all his sons.

"Your mother sent me."

Erebus waved his hand and a huge chair made of twisted vines appeared. The old god gratefully settled his gaunt yet still massive body into the seat.