Charles

~~~

Tonight, I dreamt of Arthur's flowers. They were blooming in the dark, and they were pretty, oh so pretty. But then snow fell, and hid the flowers. I was afraid I'd never see their red again, so I brushed off the snow, and they were still there... but they withered, oh they withered and their bloody petals fell as they crumpled in my hands and I can't stop writing now or I'll forget and the dream will disappear, and the petals were gone, they died, they disappeared, and then there's blood, I was drowning in blood, and

I think that's when I woke up. I'm scared. Absolutely terrified. A dream about blood, and death, - back home, people would call it a bad omen.

It's still dark outside. Must be a few more hours until sunrise. I'll try to sleep again. If only my ghosts will let me.

~~~

The rest of the night I could barely rest. I'd jerk up in my sleep, just to realize that there wasn't even a nightmare to scare me anymore.

I feel ever so tired, much more so than after all those sleepless nights I spent forging my patricidal plans. The constant fear and stress caused by the disturbing dream seemed to exhaust me much more that controlled and focused labour.

I intend to go visit Arthur again today. Perhaps I shall tell him about the dream as well. But then again, we're no more than a pair of recently acquainted strangers. I don't think I should burden him with my dreams, my ghosts.

Speaking of ghosts - it's been fourteen days since the one haunting me burned in the Fire.

~~~

I ended up visiting Arthur in the afternoon. I felt like if I went in the morning, I might be imposing on his routine, or might be a nuisance that he would feel forced to deal with. I didn't want to come off as too intrusive.

But then again, he said I was welcome at any time, whether it was night or day. Was he being honest or just polite? Why am I questioning him in the first place?

Differently from yesterday, the house door was wide open, so where the shutters. Just like the first time, I could smell a sweet vapour of baking apples.

Arthur noticed and greeted me before I could make myself known. His smile was warm, and his blue eyes seemed to spark with mischievous excitement.

He was baking apple pie. Just like he said yesterday.

Today we found out that I am completely useless when it comes to cooking. Upon offering my help and soon after adding far too much salt to the dough and spilling most of said salt on the floor, - making Arthur laugh, which was a smile forcing sight in of itself, - we decided that the best help I could give him would be sitting still and simply keeping him company.

As he baked, we made pleasant conversation. I was - still am - amazed by the simplicity of his person, which I had made up to be enchanting and eerie in my mind. But then again, this simplicity only makes him even more likeable.

His cheeks became rosy as he worked.

He told me that, although he spent most of his time painting, he was lacking inspiration right now. That's why he was spending time just sitting around in the garden, or baking pie.

He also confessed with a soft chuckle that he was looking forward to me showing up, and that was why he was baking a pie today at all.

The pie was great. It warmed me from the inside, and although it was slightly over-salted - I do believe that was my own fault, - I gladly ate seconds. Arthur, who barely put anything in his mouth, looked pleased by my enjoyment.

I got home long after dark, since we stayed and talked for quite a while after finishing the food.

Arthur is an incredibly pleasant person to spend time with. Although he sometimes acts a bit like a woman, and has a very gentle demeanor, I really enjoy talking to him. His pie is also delicious.

It's been fourteen days since, and today has been probably the best of the lot.