Emptying the mini-fridge in the room turned out to be an easy task for a group as large as ours. Especially when one of you has Arthur's appetite: halfway through the movie, all the nuts were gone. Only a small bag of chips remained, untouched by anyone.
"Who came up with the bright idea of giving guests flavorless chips?" Diana flipped the bag over and studied the label. "At least they could've salted them. Otherwise, there's no enjoyment in them at all."
"I still can't get used to the idea that you can eat normal, human food," I whispered, leaning closer to my friend out of courtesy. No matter how softly one spoke, vampires and werewolves with keen hearing could still catch every word. At least my voice wouldn't drown out the movie's dialogue.
"Why not? I'm not dead. I breathe, I think, I feel. If that doesn't count as being alive, then what does?"
I twirled an empty chocolate wrapper between my fingers, its once-soft interior now rolled tightly into a thin tube, watching the faint shimmer of its surface in the flickering TV light.
"So, you actually taste food—and you enjoy it?"
Diana smirked.
"If I couldn't taste it, do you think I'd be complaining about chips right now? Some things I like more, some less. Then again, there's nothing to compare it to—I was born this way."
A sudden glint of inspiration crossed her face.
"Oh! I've got it!" she exclaimed, immediately shaking Viola by the shoulder.
At the start of the movie, the four of us—Diana, Arthur, Viola, and I—had settled at the head of the bed. Viola rested her head on her boyfriend's shoulder, looking peacefully asleep. I, on the other hand, couldn't sleep a wink.
I noticed a subtle shift in Viola toward me. When we'd arrived with Arthur and Diana and explained the situation, she hadn't made a scene or reminded everyone how potentially dangerous I was. More than that, she hadn't even watched me closely that night, instead seeming entirely relaxed in my presence. Something had changed in Viola herself, and I could only guess what. In any case, I felt relief at the absence of overt hostility. It felt almost like old times—before my life had been upended, before Kaandor had entered with his eternal "oh really?" and his endless half-truths.
Viola's long golden curls draped over her shoulders like a soft blanket, shielding her from the cool summer evening air that had settled in the room—not from her fussy sister, who brazenly began to disturb her sleep. Reluctantly, Viola opened her eyes.
"Come on, come on," Diana urged, nudging her. "What kind of girls' night is it without interesting conversation?"
Viola glanced briefly at her boyfriend and at Max, who had settled on a pile of blankets on the floor.
"I don't recall inviting boys to a girls' night," she said loudly, and Max immediately shushed her. It seemed he and Arthur were the only ones actually watching the movie.
"All right, all right," Viola switched to a whisper, freeing herself from Arthur's embrace. Pulling the sleeve down over her fingertips, she rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.
"Much better," Diana said, smiling. "You remember life before you were turned?"
Viola gave an ambiguous wave of her free hand.
"I don't know. Max and I were fifteen back then. I remember all the important stuff, I guess. Why?"
"Do you remember what food tasted like when you were still human?"
"Before turning into a witch, you mean?" she corrected her sister pointedly and snorted. "What's there to remember? Food is food."
"Did it taste any different after you were turned?" I asked, trying to help Diana phrase a sharper question. Viola just shrugged indifferently.
"Hard to say. Our coven kept a 'pure' lifestyle," she said, using both hands to gesture air quotes around the word.
"What does that mean?"
"Purity of spirit, purity of body, purity of thought," she recited in a rote tone, as if the phrase had been looping in her head every day like a broken record. "We were taught that the body is a vessel. How it's filled is up to its owner. If you wanted to keep your mind pure for fighting the evil that spread across the world because of your distant great-great-great ancestors, you had to maintain the body as well."
"We are what we eat," Max said in a droning tone, echoing his sister's monologue, and Viola nodded in agreement.
"Exactly. Life in the coven was pretty ascetic. We mostly ate plain food without salt or spices. Sure, dishes sometimes had onion, parsley, dill, or garlic, but anything like smoked paprika or more complex seasoning was considered a luxury—and gluttony that poisoned the temple of the soul: the body. I can't say that Max and I still follow all the old rules strictly. Maybe if we were still in the coven, it would be that way, but now, sometimes it's fun to try something new."
"And most of the time, that 'new' stuff is total crap," Max added, but Viola disagreed.
"I don't know. Meat and fish are far more enjoyable and interesting with something beyond just raw onion and garlic. I could eat chicken all week now, as long as it's seasoned differently, but simple grains and sides are better without extra flavors—they overwhelm the natural taste of the food."
She looked at the bag of chips Diana was holding and gestured for her to pass it over. Viola opened the bag without hesitation, inhaled deeply, and let out a soft, satisfied moan.
"Mmm," she murmured, her delicate fingers picking up the largest chip. "Just like the good old days."
She let the chip rest on her tongue and pressed it slowly against the roof of her mouth. A pleasant crunch echoed—the oily crisp from frying. She savored the first bite, taking her time, without reaching for another immediately.
"Ugh," Diana said cautiously, her gaze flicking from the bag to her sister. "That can't possibly taste good."
Viola raised an eyebrow in mock surprise and held the bag out toward Diana, silently daring her to try it herself. After a moment's hesitation, Diana gave in. She grabbed a tiny chip from the bag, popped it into her mouth, and began chewing quickly.
"Yeah, definitely ugh," she said, sticking out her tongue to emphasize just how awful it tasted.
Viola didn't laugh, though I couldn't help but be amused by Diana's reaction, and I decided to try the plain chips myself. To give a proper verdict, I ate three slices in a row, but I still couldn't figure out what had made Diana react so strongly. Both friends waited patiently for my assessment.
"Not that bad," I shrugged. "Potatoes are potatoes. Texture's good. You can tell it's made from real potatoes, not pressed powder."
"What do you mean?" Diana asked, puzzled.
"Have you ever eaten chips not from a bag, but from a long tube? They're all uniform in shape and size, and the seasoning is mostly concentrated on one side."
"Yeah."
"Those are the pressed ones."
"Wow, I didn't know that," Diana said, declining a chip from the bag Viola held out. "I thought some special machine at the factory cut them all exactly the same."
"Where would they even get that many potatoes of the same size? And what about the pieces that don't fit? You can't just throw them away."
Diana shrugged.
"Maybe they use them for something else. You can't sell only chips."
"Why not? You can always perfect one product and sell it well, instead of splitting effort across multiple processes," I argued.
"Look, we've got a budding young entrepreneur over here!" Diana said, laughing.
"Girls, enough chatter," Arthur grumbled indignantly. "You're going to miss the whole setup and won't understand a thing by the finale."
"Is it different in the remake?" Viola asked, but Arthur just shrugged, unsure.
"I've read the book," I added.
"Me too," Diana said, and Arthur could only roll his eyes, accepting the sad truth: only he and Max were genuinely interested in actually watching the movie.