"My hands?" Peter blinks owlishly again, having the conversation drawn back to them. He looked down at his chapped hands, still looking on the verge of cracking tot he point of bleeding. So rough looking... normal to Peter. It was when they healed over that his hands looked strange.

"I clean. We're always cleaning. I..." he almost said he was dirty, but he kept that back, brows furrowing. "I can't become ...." Again he paused, as he was about to say almost the same thing. His dried lips pursed as he continued to look down at his hands. What was the right thing to say? To explain so it would be understood?

"Magic... Magic is sinful in my house. I must stay clean." He set the jar aside and started to wring his hands.