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Chapter Text

To be honest, you didn't exactly think your plan would go past the very first stage of going down to the basement alone. It seemed to be the most difficult part of the entire endeavour as your father, Rodrick, wasn't keen on women meddling in his affairs. What you thought through your entire life was an obstacle now became your greatest advantage - after all, who would suspect a mere woman to burn the mighty Magus's plans into ashes?

When you offered to watch the captured man while the night shift was going home and the dayshift hadn't yet returned, they didn't need much coaxing to agree. From their reluctance, it seemed that they were more concerned with the abductee's, for the lack of a better phrase, absence of decency, rather that your hypothetical treason in peace of your own father. You were only a woman, a young one at that and so they were certain you did not have the intellect or the creativity to commit such a horrendous act of treachery. Maybe they wouldn't have changed their minds had they noticed the fireplace poker you were hiding behind your back. You could only hope it was sturdy and sharp enough to break through the thick glass.

"We haven't much time, Dream of the Endless," you spoke to him. Your voice was carried by the echo of the otherwise empty basement. There was no possibility that he simply didn't hear you, nevertheless, the man was yet to acknowledge your presence. "I do not know who you are, I do not know what you are but it matters not to me."

He's never seen you before, in the decade he had already spent in captivity but Morpheus didn't care. You were only a human, who probably came to plead on Roderick's behalf for things you did not deserve; gifts you were never meant to hold in your mortal hands. Yes, you had that charlatan's face... Were you going to beg him to succumb to your father's impertinence? His unfathomable greed, like Alex before you?

"All I know is that my father had made a mistake and it's my, blood of his blood, responsibility to make things right." Something about your sure tone, a voice reserved for unbreakable promises, made him look at you. His blue eyes were cold, unreadable as he studied your expression. "Should you wish to kill me once free, I shan't hold any grievances against you. Know that if you don't, my father surely will but yet again, it matters not what happens to me after we part ways." Was he seeing right? Were those... tears, in your eyes? Your trembling hand touched the wall of his glass prison. As if you could caress his pale, tired face, your thumb gently stroked the border separating the two of you. "What's alive must live, dear stranger, and this... is no way to live," you whispered to him.

You lifted your expensive skirt and rubbed one of the golden lines on the floor away with your dress shoe. Morpheus watched you with an unchanged, calm demeanour making you think, even if for a mere second, that your nervousness and fear were largely misplaced and that there was no danger coming after you, in fact. Despite that illusive hesitation that clouded your mind for a moment, even the smallest sound, the quietest of creaks that a settling house makes, had you looking over your shoulder.

When the binding circle was torn open, you raised the iron poker you had taken from the day room. Finding the strength and bravery to strike the glass orb with all of your might, you fixed your grip on the metal rod. And after letting out a heavy exhale, you hit the wall of the prison that held Dream captive a decade too long.

A crack.

Part of you was reassured - your fat-fetched plan filled with hopes and luck might just work out. Another problem, however, raised all the same: how many blows will it take? Both to set him finally free or to attract enough attention from the mansion staff to alert your father. And how poetic it would be! Your freedom for his.

Morpheus watched as your hit the glass wall time after time, your ferocity only growing as if you were being born again right before his eyes - not a human anymore but a vicious beast with a humane heart.

And then, with one decisive blow, a web of cracks sprawled around the glass prison. But before you could strike it the last time, Morpheus took control of the situation. A strange, blue-coloured energy filled his prison. Confused at his sudden agency, you shielded your face at the very last moment before he made the glass cell explode. Some shards nicked your skin and clothes but at the time you were a little too concerned with setting free one of the Endless to feel any pain.

You looked back at the stranger. He was walking out of what once was a glass orb; a prison he was once destined to rot inside. Quite obviously, he remained unclothed and only then did it occur to you that you could have brought him a change of clothes, even an old coat that no one wore anymore. Stepping his bare feet on the shards of broken glass, he slowly walked towards you. Dream's cold stare never left your face as if he was a startled animal wary of another creature's actions; like he couldn't honestly believe in selfless kindness and expected you to pounce on him at any given moment.

"What are you standing here for? Go!" you said a little louder while still doing your best to keep your voice down. Your trembling hand vaguely pointed at the door behind you as if you were expecting him to magically waltz right out the front entrance of the manor. "Somebody surely has heard us."

But he did not move - not yet. Morpheus tilted his head slightly while continuing to watch you. He knew you were hiding something, a tiny secret murmured into the aether with each beat of your heart, that he was yet to uncover. Morpheus was looking but he wasn't seeing and it unnerved him for what mysteries could a simple human keep away from the Lord of Dreams?

"Do you not wish to have your brother back?" he asked in a cold, low tone, rid of all urges and affections. You must have known that releasing him would prevent that pipe dream from ever becoming anywhere near close to true.

"Even if he was returned to us, the tears I've cried and the heartache I suffered would still be just as real. My grief wouldn't wonderfully turn into a silly nightmare that disappears at the break of dawn. I do not wish for you or anyone to bring my brother back. Instead, I wish he never had died." Frantically, you wiped your stray tears away with your trembling hand.

Morpheus never admitted it to himself but there was a burning desire inside his chest, a wildfire-like urge that warmed his cold skin, for his fingers to be the ones to brush away your sadness. He couldn't quite articulate it, even in his own mind but at the moment he began to see what set you apart from the rest of humanity; a secret spelt across your bones, whispered into your blood: a certain tenderness, agape, that humankind might one day strive to become.

"But that is a dream of the past and I should rather be dwelling on the hopes for the future," you added quietly. A sad smile appeared on your face and Dream couldn't find any reason for happiness in your current situation. Your father's anger, your brother's death, whatever he decides to do with you...

He didn't answer your words - he didn't quite understand them, the emotions and mercy that were woven into those few sentences. You toed the line between utter selfishness and selflessness. Still looking at you as if he couldn't quite decipher what manner of creature you truly wear, a whirl of sand gathered around him and soon, Dream of the Endless was gone as if he never stepped foot into your father's basement.

In the distance, somewhere above your head, you could hear the rushed footsteps of the dayshift guards - the first humans to witness your treacherous heart.

Dream didn't quite understand how grief and love could turn into such opposite afflictions. How come in one heart they rotted and became malice, while in the other flowers of kindness bloomed in the cracks they had struck? He will have to inquire about the lability and complexity of human nature. The notion itself sounded quite ridiculous: the child of his enemy was kind to him. Yes, Morpheus shall find you again to make you explain to him why you would ever risk your life to save someone you didn't know, someone who owed you nothing.

Chapter Text

For him, it's been mere hours but for you long years had passed where you had to learn life anew, without the comforts of privilege that your surname once provided you. Ever since Morpheus returned to his domain, his unkempt thoughts would slip away and slither back to the memory of your kind words and gentle eyes. After all, you had no reason to work against your father and set him free. You knew there was a real probability that Morpheus would kill you - a judge, jury and executioner in a world he didn't belong to - and yet you took that chance, believing in his assumed mercy. It was fairly foolish, even you knew that but it was also very human and that was an affliction you couldn't simply reason your way out of. That curious complexity Morpheus wasn't entirely capable of comprehending occupied a portion of his mind while he was busy rebuilding his kingdom.

When his realm was stable enough for the king himself to leave its grounds and venture into the Waking World once more, Morpheus followed your dreams and found himself in a small town by the sea. Looking around in search of your familiar face, he noticed someone sitting at the end of a long pier. They looked ethereal in their loneliness as people walking by the boulevard were either oblivious to their existence or consciously ignored them; the world of humans kept spinning in its usual rhythm and yet there was someone, a hermit by the endless waters, who existed next to it as if they were part of this world but the world wasn't exactly part of them.

Morpheus followed the pier, old and rotting planks creaking underneath his feet. As the sound of cars, people and dogs grew silent with every step he took towards the forgotten individual, it seemed as if he was crossing some invisible threshold between two parallel but not equal worlds. He was entering their seclusion as they once entered his.

You listened to the rhythm of his steps until they abruptly stopped close behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you saw exactly the same brooding man you helped escape a few years ago. There was something unnerving and yet comforting in the way nothing about him seemed to have changed. In some poetic way, you freed him from your father's malice entire years ago but he left that cold basement no earlier than yesterday.

"You haven't aged a day," you spoke up.

Not a shadow of any emotion passed by his features. "You did."

"Come on, sit." You patted the planks next to you.

"This is not a social call," he warned in a cold tone.

"Maybe not but I sure could use one."

Morpheus did not answer. Reluctantly, he approached the edge of the pier where you sat and only then did he notice a raft of mallards swimming around you. In your hands, you were holding a bag with cracked corn, oats and nuts. With an experienced flick of your wrist, you threw a handful of the mixed dry food to the ducks in the cold water below you. Pushing one another, each of the birds tried to eat as much as they possibly could.

"Where are we?" he asked. It was somewhat surprising to you that he had found you and yet did not know where exactly he did so. Maybe instead of following roads and signs, like people do, the King of Dreams relied upon a sense he was created with but one you could never relate to.

"Southend-on-sea, England. Right outside of London."

"Why here?"

His question had an interesting hidden suggestion that you had willingly chosen this place specifically to meet with him again when in fact you were never sure you would see Morpheus even one more time.

"Shh," you whispered as you raised your finger in a meaningful manner. "Just listen."

Surprisingly enough, Morpheus complied. At the tip of his tongue, he had a reprimand, reminding you that he was in no way your equal and you should never treat him as such but something made him discard that expression of his ego. The sound of waves crashing against the shore filled his ears. It was a rhythmic sough, one that brought tranquillity into the hearts of those hearing it despite its loudness. Seagulls were flying over his head, screaming their frustrations and hopes into the aether. With each breath, he smelt salt and algal bloom. In the presence of an otherworldly monarch, Mother Nature remained unmoved in her might, unimpressed with the oniric thaumaturge.

Being the King of Dreams, he had seen things more breathtaking and wonderful in their strangeness that the sight before him. Maybe in this fascination with nature's simplicity, he could find the key to your exceptionalism that he so desired to understand.

Listening to nature, a soft smile entered your face as you let out a tired sigh. "It's so peaceful in here. When you've grown up in a burning house, you simply assume the whole world is on fire. But it's not... It's not." Morpheus noticed how your voice was dripping with hope.

Watching you feed the ducks with corn, oats and seeds, Dream noticed something about your skin: there was a long scar on the back of your hand as if a beast of malice once dared to raise its horrible hand against you. The blemish was white in colour, a sign that the wound it was before was caused quite a long time ago; surely it wasn't a recent hurt. It did cross his mind that he was the reason for that scar - that fateful day when he broke free he paid for your kindness with a deep wound. Truthfully, it wasn't very king-like of him but at the same time he refused to take the blame for it: after all, he never did ask you to break open his prison.

"I never assumed I'd see you again, dear stranger," you interrupted the reflective silence.

"I was busy rebuilding my kingdom."

"So, Dream of the Endless, to what do I owe the pleasure of our reunion?" It was clear to you that an entity of his class wasn't one for welfare checks or anything like that. Wherever he appears, he had business to tend to there.

"I admit that it is knowledge I desire." Morpheus made a pause. "Why did you do it?"

For a moment, you simply watched his expressionless face. It felt almost funny that you could provide knowledge to someone who was probably as old as humanity if not even older. Whether either of you knew it at the moment - it didn't matter, not quite but Morpheus in his mundane lack of understanding of your motives, seemed no less humane than the pedestrians walking along the boulevard far behind you. The cold sea breeze tugged at your coat.

"The school I attended had a beautiful relief of lions and vines over the entrance with inscribed Seneca's quote: Dum iter homines sumus, colamus humanitatem. As long as we are human, let us be humane. That fateful day I did only that: I was humane."

"You are Rodrick's child. I could have killed you." Morpheus seemed to not quite be ready to let go of the notion that you, possibly, had an ulterior motive that you had discarded only upon basking in the might and glory of the King of Dreams.

"And it would have been your responsibility." What caught Dream's attention was your seeming lack of fear in the face of even hypothetical death. In his experience, people both craved and dreaded that fated moment. "What is kindness if not bravery in the face of cowardice and cruelty?"

"Had you no fear of your father's anger?" he changed the course of the conversation.

To you, it seemed nearly as if Morpheus came to you with a list of questions he wished to ask - like he was conducting research more than checking up on a past partner in crime if you could be called so.

"Oh, I did," you answered in a sad voice. Absentmindedly you rubbed the left side of your chest where Magus had burned a sacrilegious mark. It stopped hurting after you moved to the seaside, something about the humidity and salt bringing relief to the acute pain. "That day he disowned and cursed me, although what hex lies on me I do not know. In a way, I doubt I wish to ever know. The responsibility of such knowledge I might not withstand."

He had no doubts that you were strikingly different from humanity as a whole. You asked for nothing, you desired no power nor riches; you were strangely content not knowing. But that observation did not satiate his curiosity for Morpheus still did not comprehend why it was that way. The secret of your exceptionalism was still elusive to him. But, perhaps, he already had been given the exact answer he'd been seeking for the past years but something about him, some expectation he wasn't entirely aware of, prevented him from seeing it. Maybe he refused to accept that behind such dilemma and complexity stood a simple, very mundane and human, explanation.

Morpheus's eyes met yours. By the soft, understanding stare you gave him, he knew you had realized exactly what piece of knowledge he was seeking - the reason why he found you in the first place. He neither asked nor begged for he was a king. And yet you decided to answer his silent plea:

"Sometimes I think that it could be a truly revolutionary thought in its simplicity." To his utmost surprise, you grabbed Dream's hand. Your skin felt hot against his cold palm as if he was a corpse brought back to life by your burning touch. Firmly and yet gently, you held his hand as you poured some of the birdfeed into his palm. "That all it takes to make the world a little better, a little warmer, is just a little bit of tenderness."

You let go of his hand and suddenly the sea breeze felt a lot more freezing than Morpheus previously thought. Had he not known the pleasant warmth of your skin, the cold weather wouldn't be so severe to him then. The same chilly air shook him awake and Dream raised his hand above the raft of mallards and opened his fingers to let the birdfeed freely fall into the murky water.

Only then, when the seeds, oats and corn spilt from his open hand and into the water to be gobbled by hungered mallards, did Morpheus experience a truly human enlightenment: those birds owed him nothing and neither did he to them. They had no means of feeling gratefulness or of rewarding his good deed. The secret of human morality and its inborn complexity was revealed to him in all of its simplicity. The King of Dreams finally understood that you helped because you could. Because you wanted to. No other reason was needed for the love you spread wherever life guided you.

He thought back to your warm touch and how it burned his cold skin. In its absence, everything felt unbearably cold to the point of undermining his peace of mind. Was that... tenderness?

Chapter Text

"Have you found them?"

Your voice was hardly audible over the sound of crashing waves and screaming seagulls. The wind kept tugging at your clothes, gnawing at your skin and soon you found yourself feeling cold. The warm sunrays, sporadically emerging from behind the grey clouds, were a pleasant relief as they gently brushed against your face. Spring never comes soon enough...

"What exactly do you mean?" Morpheus asked.

The reason why he accompanied you on your walk back home was a lovely secret - one that might be ruined the moment someone tries to learn it. To your satisfaction, he never questioned why you were walking on the sand and not the bricked boulevard, which would have been a lot more comfortable. Despite the sheer pleasure that it brought you, your choice of route was motivated by something more profane: the loneliness that you shared. Morpheus would never admit that himself, you could already tell but he needed to talk to someone as much as you did. In that moment he was about as human as an entity can get and yet he was never going to realize that; when people recognize each other's loneliness as their own they form a connection a little too deep to be captured by a language and far too strange for the mundane world.

"Your belongings, naturally. The jewel, the pouch..." you counted as you recalled the wonderful and strange trinkets he had with him that day, "the creepy mask," you added as your face involuntarily turned into a grimace thinking about the unnerving bone contraption he wore. "Father seemed very content with his, well, theft."

Morpheus suddenly stopped. His eyebrows furrowed slightly and those cold, blue eyes stared into yours with astonishing intensity. The cold wind pulled at his hair as it brushed against his forehead. Looking at his face, you could see the small moves of his jaw as he clenched its muscles.

"Do you know anything of them?"

His voice didn't waver and considering his alarmed appearance, it was an impressive feat. The longer you admired his otherworldly composure the more you grew convinced that you had misinterpreted it the first time you had seen him: what painted his expression blank was not the lack of emotions behind it but rather a certain reluctance in feeling sensations that were already there. Such a disconnect was strangely human for a king of dreams, not to mention horribly forlorn. If one desires no relation to their feelings, how could one ever relate to another being?

"I'm afraid I don't," you answered in a mild tone. "I've only heard rumours among the manor staff as though your gem had been stolen by my father's mistress. But, unfortunately, I cannot speak for the reliability of that hearsay. Even if that were true, I haven't the foggiest where she's gone."

"What of the pouch and the helmet?" he coaxed. It seemed as if the remnants of his hope long gone were being washed away with each wave that crashed against the white sand of Southend-on-sea.

"Hard to say," you said with a shrug. Digging your hands further into the pockets of your coat, you began walking again. "Perhaps they're locked away in the deepest dungeon underneath the mansion or maybe they were sold on the black market. In any case, I'm afraid I can't even try to inquire about that. My letters were never answered."

"You have written letters to your father?"

"No, not to Rodrick," you said quietly as you absentmindedly shook your head. There was another for whom your heart broke - someone who might never know the amount of love you once had for them. "I wrote to Alex. I know he hasn't been exactly kind to you but he's an exceptional boy. He will grow up to be a great man, I'm sure of that. Although, I'm afraid I shan't get to see that..."

Morpheus silently studied your somber expression as you looked at the faraway horizon. Somewhere there, where sky dipped his toes in the endless waters, you saw all the magnificent possibilities of Alex's future. A sad smile appeared on your face as if those fantasies made you both proud and completely heartbroken. For the second time, Morpheus began wondering why humans were capable of feeling such contradicting emotions at the same time.

A tear fell from your eye. It glistened in the afternoon sun with a myriad of colours as if misery could once be breathtaking. As the teardrop run down the curve of your cheek, Morpheus instinctively raised his hand but only slightly like some anxious thought at the back of his head prohibited him from moving his arm further. It was the very same hesitation that had decided about the fate of the world more than once.

He thought something you had told him all those years ago when you said you wished your brother never had died. Back then he didn't quite understand the difference - the small difference, a change of perspective - that made your choice different from your father's. But now, watching the glistening tear on your cheek, Morpheus felt a fraction of understanding due to nothing more but his selfishness: instead of wishing to brush away your tear, he wished you never had cried.

"I'm so sorry, I just miss him a lot," you whispered. A sniffle and a deep sigh left your lips. "Oh, only now do I realize my utter lack of manners," you resumed the conversation. With a frantic move of your hand, you brushed away the stray tear. You forced a gentle smile on your face and Morpheus grew angry, although he couldn't quite explain why. "You're a king, are you not? Should I not call you 'your majesty'?"

"There is no need for that." The cold tone of his voice never once revealed the silent affections he had pondered just before. "You are not one of my subjects."

"As you wish, Dream of the Endless. I may not know where to look for your belongings but I do have a burning suspicion that we will not find them among those cold sands and murky waters. As much as it pains me to say so, we should leave this lovely town as soon as we can."

"My affairs are not of your concern."

You stopped walking only to look at him. For a moment, your kind face stared into his eyes - they were such an exceptional shade of blue. Their cool hue was both haunting and dazzling, perhaps serving as an adequate showcase of their owner's nature. It was a wonderful thought that no other but Morpheus inspired the saying that 'eyes are the window to the soul'.

"I want them to be," you confessed before continuing to walk towards your house.

Morpheus couldn't follow your step. He wasn't sure what to make of your words or most of all - whether you actually meant them, at least in the same way he understood them. The longer he listened to the echo of your confession inside his head, the more the realized that only the reasonable part of him desired to dismiss your decision. Yes, deep inside Morpheus wanted you to be concerned with his affairs. Maybe one day, when he lets that intimate thought resound in his mind, he'll realize he wanted to be your concern.

Looking over your shoulder, you noticed that Dream hadn't moved from his spot. His dark attire was a startling contrast to the white sand under his feet and the greyish-blue water behind him. The cold wind kept nipping at his hair and clothes and yet his skin was just as pale, not a shade of red or purple revealed that he could be cold in that weather.

"The world is spinning, your majesty," you yelled over the crashing of waves and seagulls' calls. "We can't just stand on it."

Chapter Text

The burning wood in the fireplace cracked pleasantly, reminding one that the cold sea breeze no longer had them in her grasp. In a way, it was that very same freezing wind that made one appreciate the warmth of the fire. The quiet cracking was a nice change from the loudness of the shore.

The inside of your house looked more like a workshop or a laboratory rather than a place where someone lived. Sketches, manuscripts and pieces of newspapers covered most of the walls. The spots where the old flowery wallpaper was left uncovered, had drawings and inscriptions written in chalk made on them. Looking at the seemingly chaotic groupings of all things strange and deranged, one may experience doubts as to the owner's sanity: it was either madness that drove them among cults, botany, astronomy and unsolved crimes or pure genius yet to be recognized. But as it is with all matters that toe this fascinating line, the final decision, whether one was a genius, a madman or a bit of both, belonged to the generations yet to be born; eyes that were yet to blink and tongues that were yet to speak.

"What is this?" Morpheus asked hesitantly as he looked around the room. He deserved a generous portion of understanding for that moment of anxiety: the last time he witnessed those symbols, he ended up imprisoned for a decade. It was only natural that he should react like that. Additionally, the jars with strange contents and dubious labels couldn't be comfort-bringing.

"A monument of my desperation," you answered as you tried to bring even a fraction of order to the papers cluttering your desk. A new, unread newspaper lay among your notes and old books. The front page's headline read 'Louisville theft still unsolved' in bolded letters. "I studied the occult and alchemy to find out what curse my father had put on me but to no avail. Years I have spent chasing after my own ailment, an answer as to what tragedy awaits me around the corner of tomorrow. The question, however, I have left unanswered."

"You have given up," he stated. Despite having no knowledge of your life during those years, Morpheus appeared surprisingly certain in his judgement.

"Yes..." you drew out your answer. Perhaps it was at that very moment that you finally understood it. You nodded your head slightly before continuing. "Yes, I have. But then a new endeavour occupied my mind, one that wouldn't render my studies useless, a waste of time. I wanted to find you."

Momentarily, his attention deviated from the jars, drying plants and unintelligible diagrams only to focus on you. It was a lovely sentiment in all of its romanticism - that the moment your paths diverged, both of you worked to make them cross again and all of that because you were simply curious about one another. Standing under the night sky diagram you had hand drawn in chalk on the ceiling of the room, perhaps it wasn't a stretch to call the two of you starcrossed. There was, however, a certain sadness to that statement: stars, as it befits their whims, align in a specific way only once in a long while. Maybe, just maybe, the gods that watch over stars were going to be merciful towards Dream and you.

Morpheus was standing with his back towards the fireplace. The flame made him cast a long shadow over the old, stained carpet that was already there when you moved into the house years ago. With that bright, dancing halo he appeared both heavenly and hellish like frostbite that feels so cold it burns like the hottest fire. But in all of those contradictory extremes, he never appeared dangerous or you simply couldn't perceive him in that way. Perhaps he was like that fireplace in your house: a raging flame consuming everything in sight but still contained enough to not feel scared of turning away from it. "What for?" he asked in a low voice. For some reason, his tone appeared angered as if he wasn't quite keen on you succeeding in your quest.

"Do not grow anxious, my dear stranger," you spoke mildly with your hands clasped together as if some part of you wanted to beg him to not treat you like a danger waiting to happen. There was something painfully lonely about a man who saw betrayal and ruthlessness in every pair of eyes he encountered. "My heart never harboured any malice towards you. I wished to find you only to ask how you've been doing, whether all those years when you were stripped of freedom had corrupted any goodwill you once had." Unable to help your empathetic nature, your mind began conjuring all possible pain and misery he was forced to endure. Your gaze fell to the floor, for a moment admiring the hue of the flames dancing across the old carpet. "It is beyond my imagination to fantasize about what torment such cruelty must do to a human," you added quietly.

"I am not human."

"I know," you looked back at him but only for a moment. Morpheus had a curious habit of staring at you, maybe at everyone else too, in a very intense way and you found it difficult to hold his stare each time you wanted to or felt like you should. "But that doesn't necessarily mean you're invincible."

Suddenly, a piercing pain struck the left side of your chest - the same area where the blasphemous mark stained your skin. A fit of dry, suffocating cough shook your entire body. Weakness overtook your body and you would have fallen hard to the ground had Morpheus not caught you. Careful and anxious, he lay you on the nearby sofa with a washed-out floral print - it could be roughly his age. With the continued cough came spatters of blood that now stained your clothes and the antique day bed. Terrifyingly quickly, your eyes became bloodshot and a thin streak of crimson run down from your nostril. If Morpheus could get any more pasty white, he surely would have as such cruel magic was unfamiliar to him.

"The shelf..." you strained as your shaking hand vaguely pointed at an antique dresser filled with jars and tins that once sparked fear in Dream's mind. "Madrake... thyme... rosemary... throw in... in fire." Trying to desperately catch a breath, you wheezed between each word, a sickly whitening resounding in your constricted throat.

He didn't know what any of those plants looked like because he never had to. At that moment, when he opened the glass doors of the dresser with enough strength to tear them off, it all went down to the legibility of your writing and whether or not you had labelled the containers correctly. How funny it truly would be - to die because of one's own inattention in their own house like tyrants and heirs do; to suffer the consequences of one's actions with the mercilessness of gods of death. Morpheus rummaged through the dresser, throwing away any jar or tin that was not labelled as mandrake, rosemary or thyme. Perhaps, if you were a little further away from the line between life and death you'd feel a little upset at his carelessness.

When he finally found the correct herbs, Morpheus did not bother with maintaining correct proportions and so he simply opened the jars and threw all of their contents into the fire. He could, of course, dispute your orders as he was a king - not a simpleton to boss around. However, Dream knew better than to disregard a witch when black magic was at play.

The fire suddenly became purple and doubled if not tripled in its size and ferocity. Its flames licked the ceiling but never dared to set it ablaze. Just as swiftly the violet hearth returned to its original form and no change in its appearance could ever suggest something akin to supernatural had taken place inside that fireplace. With the blaze red and contained again, you gasped for air as the pain momentarily subsided. Although only minutes had passed since the curse sunk its teeth into your innocent skin, it felt as if it was the very first time in your life that you took such a deep breath and felt no unbearable, stinging pain. What a blessing it was, to be a victim only occasionally and not constantly.

Morpheus crouched next to you, remaining at your eye level. If you focused your exhausted mind, you could nearly see his face clearly. "Is this the curse your father put on you?" he asked quietly. But, truthfully, he didn't seek an answer. His question was more of an expression of disbelief. And how curious that disbelief was - that the King of Dreams found something unimaginable.

The blood on your shirt was the price of his freedom. If that was the fate of someone who took his side on their own accord, was it not also his affair? Morpheus could have stopped you that day and yet he didn't. Was he not, at least partially, responsible for those crimson stains? Priests often say that 'idle hands are the Devil's best friend' and Morpheus, in his convenient passiveness towards your brave though foolish choice, had both of them; he made a decision of making no decision and you were the one who suffered the consequences as if you weren't human but a figment of Shakespeare's imagination. He knew that if he lets your suffering continue, if he doesn't even try no matter the odds of success, he too could become of Shakespear's fantasy: as though he was the true Lady Macbeth, your blood wasn't going to wash off his pale skin, forever screaming into the void "He could! He could! And he didn't!"

And yet, you never spoke a bad word about your father, at least not to him. Should you not grieve this unfairness? Seeth at the greed and violence of the one man who was supposed to love you above all creation? Your father sentenced you to a cruel, painful and excruciatingly long death and you fed mallards on a winter morning. At that moment, for the first time since he met you, Morpheus finally saw you for what you really were. If you had no fury for such injustice, he was willing to lend you some of his. Oh but his rage... it was aeons old, rotting inside a heart that never dared to acknowledge its severity. It was fury audible in storms that drowned ships and felt in earthquakes that swallowed entire cities.

"Thank you," you whispered to him. "I suppose it's quite rude of me to faint on a stranger." Your words came out a little slurred.

"We are not strangers. Not anymore. You have seen to that." Although he never specified that, you knew he didn't necessarily mean saving your life.

"Good." Your gaze was hazy, vision becoming blurry as restful sleep forced itself on your eyelids. Despite that overwhelming exhaustion, a soft smile entered your face and Morpheus wondered if you gave that kind grin to everyone or only him. "I heard it's a bad practice to let strange men into one's home."

Chapter Text

When you woke up, he wasn't there anymore but it was hardly surprising - an Eldritch king simply had to be a busy fellow. To your surprise, the mess of the previous day was long gone: jars and cans were placed inside the antique dressed, although you could only guess that they weren't sorted according to your previously established order. After all, Morpheus had no way of knowing about that.

Looking around the room, you noticed that the newspaper from the previous day lay unfolded on your desk. Weird, you thought as you recalled seeing it folded in half and untouched when your father's curse yet again attempted to take your life. You couldn't judge the informative value of the article as you didn't follow the story. Despite your lack of interest in the piece itself, there was a detail that felt like enlightenment: a picture of Ethel standing next to your father taken on an occasion you couldn't quite recall. Skimming through the article, it appeared that she was a suspect in the theft but due to no substantial evidence, the charge had been dropped.

"Of course you did, dear," you whispered to yourself already imagining the havoc Morpheus was wreaking that very moment to get his gem back. Honestly, it was an interesting affliction of his: to be simultaneously regal and ruthless. Or, perhaps, the coexistence of those traits was to be expected from a king and your anticipation for a nobleman was simply misguided.

Hours had gone by while you were naively hoping for Morpheus to come back. Your reason was telling you to forget such nonsense as he was quite adamant about not making you part of his mission to retrieve his tools. Perhaps you shouldn't be expecting to see him for another few years. A needle of sadness or longing pricked your heart. After enduring such severe loneliness, you had someone akin to a friend for a while only for him to disappear like a dream at the break of dawn. That emptiness of your house has grown so familiar to you that when it was broken for one day, it became as unbearable as it was the first time you had felt it like cold weather feels the most insufferable after one leaves the warmth of their home.

Suddenly, rushed footsteps resounded in your house - if he did come back, something terrible must have happened to elicit such loud anger from him. He marched through the kitchen and hall only to find you right where he had left you in the living room. From the very first look in his direction, you could tell that your suspicions were correct.

"You were right, Ethel did steal my ruby." Morpheus was staring at his hand as he clenched it around something. Quickly after, he shoved the said enigmatic object, most probably the aforementioned jewel, into his jacket pocket. His stare raised to meet yours and you could immediately tell there was a true storm stirring inside him. Dream's normally stern gaze appeared clouded in some strange way as if he was incapable of truly seeing the world around him at the moment. "You, humans, are so stupid and greedy, always desiring things you have no need for and lack the understanding to tame. Nothing in this universe could satiate your entitlement. You are a danger to yourself and any other living being."

His words were hurtful but not for long. As you calmly exhaled, you realized that his judgement really was clouded. Confronting Ethel must have scratched open wounds he never bothered to heal and now in a truly regal manner, the king of Dreaming was unfairly bleeding on someone who never once held a blade to his pale skin. His anger, never seeing the light of day before, rot into fiery contempt that burned his lungs with each breath. That same decayed feeling of powerlessness made him bite the hand that broke the blade with which he was cut. For some, perhaps, it could be ungratefulness but you knew better: it was fear. More than anything, Morpheus appeared terrified of having his scarce trust burnt into ashes.

"I should have killed her," he added quietly with a wavering voice. Was it truly his will or was it the rotting anger spilling from unkempt thoughts?

Dream's eyes were bloodshot and surprisingly teary. He stared at you with a clenched jaw but you didn't feel scared of him. No, the sight made your sympathy for him all the more intense. In that one moment, when those red eyes bore into you, it didn't feel like he was warning you but rather silently begging to be proved wrong, to have his hope restored in the smallest fraction. A king was pleading for your help.

"This hunger..." you slowly began as you walked towards him and carefully placed your hands on his shoulders. At first, you felt him tense up but the nervousness left his body soon after. "It isn't you." You shook your head slightly, probably without even realizing you were doing it. Despite your visible disapproval, a soft expression remained on your face. Actually, the more time you spent with Morpheus the harder it became to stare at him in any other manner.

"You do not know me, human," he bit back as he took one step backwards to get away from your touch. It was hard to say whether he hated the intimacy itself or the feelings it elicited from him.

"Perhaps I do not, at least not in the way I desire." Unconsciously, you looked away for a short moment. Your untamed imagination had freed itself and began running amok, conjuring colourful courses of events where you would be able to proudly say that you know him. "But if I have learned anything about you, dear Morpheus, it's that you are not a cruel creature. Killing Ethel for her misdeeds might be just but is it right?" Something about the way you looked at him while saying these words made Morpheus feel something akin to shame. Was he truly calloused enough to ponder murder in the presence of someone who was incapable of holding a grudge? "I know you have a heart, dear Morpheus. And I know I've touched it once."

As much as he refused to admit it, you were partially right. You didn't simply touch his heart, what nonsense such euphemism was, you cradled it with gentleness unknown to humankind. Even more! You could have stabbed his heart and Morpheus wouldn't exactly mind it. How he wished you would retort to savagery, bite into him so deep he'd bleed out on the altar of your glory just to feel your existence in his own. But no, you touched his heart, treated it as your own and handed it back to him as if you were naively expecting Morpheus to suddenly believe in the ridiculous notion that he wasn't loveable despite something - that he deserved to have his sins kissed on their eyelids.

You looked at the old clock standing on the mantlepiece above the fireplace. Oddly enough, you couldn't recall whether you had placed enough firewood inside on the previous day for it to still be burning. "It's nearly 5pm. Will you stay for tea?"

He silently sat on the ugly floral sofa as you put the kettle on the stove. For a moment, you weren't saying anything as you were preparing tea and Morpheus began reading a little too much into your quietness, pondering whether you were upset with him but soon after he'd dismiss those thoughts trying to convince himself that he didn't care. You were only a human, no matter how bizarre and he was an eldritch king, no matter how lonely. The few minutes you spent making tea felt weirdly long for him.

"The world is a calloused place, my dear," you said as you placed the tea set in front of Morpheus on the small table. "But there is a lot of good in it, too. Maybe we are incapable of making it kind in our lifetimes but neither are we permitted to abandon this quest. Not necessarily for our comfort, no, but for the better lives of those who come after us, so that their world might be a little warmer, a little kinder. So that they do not have to suffer in the ways that we did. Biscuit?"

Absentmindedly, Morpheus took the ginger biscuit from you. Although he appeared to maybe agree with you or at least he accepted the possibility of you being right, the truth was completely opposite: he was certain you could never be correct about this one thing. When you're gone, there won't be anyone 'after' - Morpheus was sure that no one like you will ever walk Earth again. And when he's gone, there won't be much of anything at all.

Then his thoughts turned bleak as he remembered the effect of the curse put on you. Those thoughts he couldn't chase away no matter how much he tried: you were going to be gone much sooner than he'd wish even if he considered the fact that you were mortal. The sweet taste of the ginger biscuit quickly turned bitter in his mouth.

Chapter Text

The day was only becoming more bizarre as knocking on your front door resounded throughout the house. Simultaneously, Morpheus and you looked at each other as if trying to ask the other person if they, too, felt danger lurking. Then, you looked towards the front door you could slightly see from the living room as if staring intensely at the dark wood would make it possible for you to see through it.

"I wasn't expecting anyone," you spoke up quietly as if it wasn't already obvious by your anxious attitude. "Truthfully, I was hardly expecting you."

The knocking repeated but this time it sounded more impatient. Hesitantly, you stood up from the sofa and walked towards a window close to the entrance. Pushing your cheek against the cold glass, you could see a strangely familiar silhouette at your door: short, chubby, dark skin covered in dingy clothing. There was only one person who fit that description and who would want to see you.

Almost tripping over your own feet and the old carpet in the hall, you run to unlock the door and let the guest in as quickly as possible. It was rude to let any guest wait too long but this one particular visitor deserved all the respect you were capable of giving them.

The door swung open and you swore your heart grew in size upon seeing that round, slightly wrinkly face. The kindness you learned to recognize as motherly love was still beaming from those tired eyes. Looking at them, you noticed that the left eye was bruised. A few strands of coily brown hair slipped from the white bonnet. She looked much older than she really was but singlehandedly raising three children that weren't her own could do that to a woman.

"Yasmin, what are you doing here? Are you alright? Come inside, you're just in time for tea."

"I can not stay long, my dear," she answered. Despite her statement, she followed you into the house. "Your father, he's... forgive me for speaking ill about him but I'm afraid 'mad' doesn't describe his state anymore."

"Did something happen at the mansion? What of Alex, Yasmin? Is he alright?"

"Younker Alex is fine, dearie," she assured you as she was taking her gloves off. Yasmin had a habit of speaking in a slow, mild way despite neither you nor Alex not being toddlers anymore. "At least as long as he doesn't defy your father. He's a bright boy but still afraid like a child. A lot has changed since you left. Master Rodrick became all the more desperate to save his health and life. But his anger... my dear child, I have never seen a man so full of rage! I'm telling you, some demon took a hold of your father's soul. I and a few other workers decided something needs to be done. I came here to give you this."

Frantically, Yasmin began looking for something in her coat pockets. Finally, she pulled out a small, lightweight bag made of dark material. It could be leather, actually. The textile seemed to be worn out as if the pouch had been used many times or it was ancient. Only then, seeing the enigmatic dark bag, did Morpheus show any kind of interest in the guest and your relationship with her. He made his way to you and Yasmin in quick strides, only to snatch his belongings from her hand. Judging by her face, she was unpleasantly surprised by his rude action but you had other things in mind that lecturing an actual king on netiquette. Alright, the pouch did belong to him but it didn't mean he had to behave like an emaciated weasel.

"How on Earth did you get this?" you asked.

"It wasn't my sole effort, do not flatter me in such a way." Yasmin tried her best to focus on you while answering but it was obvious that Morpheus himself interested her. Up until now, she only heard about the god-like creature kept in the mansion's basement. "Master Rodrick was planning to sell this pouch at a secret auction. In a small group of housekeeps, we managed to swap it for a fake. It has gone unnoticed, so far."

"Yasmin!" You couldn't believe that the softspoken and sympathetic woman who raised you became a sort of a criminal mastermind. Yes, desperate times had fallen on anyone who was in any way related to Rodrick Burgess. "What if my father finds out?"

"Do not worry about me, dearie," she said with a dismissive wave. "I'm old and I have lived a wonderful life. I accept whatever fate the Lord has planned for me. It is up to you, youngsters, to make sure this blasphemous madness does not continue. I came to you because I thought that Master Rodrick was unlikely to look for it here. If I may be honest, dear child, he wishes not to see you ever again. Shortly after you left, he began to keep a loaded rifle next to his bed! He never spoke of a reason for such a drastic decision but we figured it out ourselves."

"What about my letters?" you coaxed her. Morpheus was still dwelling on the mention of a firearm but it seemed as though it wasn't important to you, at least at the moment. His hand clenched tightly around the sand pouch but he was hardly aware of that. "Yasmin, tell me, what happened to the letters I had sent to Alex? I never got any response."

Yasmin furrowed her eyebrows. She stared into the distance for a moment, her vision somehow both blank and intense. Then like a symptom of enlightenment, she raised her eyebrows and looked back at you. Her stare wasn't blank anymore - it was sad. "I saw once master Rodrick throwing correspondence into the fireplace. I'm sorry dearie, I'm afraid your brother knows nothing about it."

A dreadful emptiness wove a nest in your mind. There was only one thought of utmost terror echoing in your head: He knows nothing. All those years... Alex never once was told that you think about him. That you continue to care. Did he feel abandoned? Was his young heart broken in too many ways to ever be fixed? And what of his spirit? If you met him now, would you even recognize the man he was forced to become?

"I musn't linger, dearie." Yasmin placed her old hand on your shoulder bringing you back to the present moment. She used to do that whenever one of the kids was leaving the house. "I can not risk Rodrick finding out where you are. Farewell, my dear child. I will always love you like my own. And you," she turned to Morpheus who appeared surprised at his sudden involvement in the conversation, "keep an eye on her, will you? God looks after his angels and so should you."

Only when Yasmin disappeared behind the now-closed door did the weight of her words fully strike your heart. You hid your face in your hands as you felt gut-wrenching sadness beginning to shake your body. "Dear God, little Alex! He must think I have abandoned him. And father... I'm afraid to wonder what wickedness he had bestowed upon my brother."

Upon hearing you sob, Morpheus's hand instinctively raised like it did once before. This time he, too, stopped it from reaching its destination. It was like an itch, a primitive urge that shouldn't exist within a creature of his sort. Clenching and relaxing his jaw repeatedly, battling his indifference and truly regal ego, he forced his palm to gently lay against the fabric of your clothes, between your shoulder blades. His breath hitched in his throat as if Morpheus himself was surprised that he was, in fact, capable of genuine intimacy.

Unable to keep your misery in check, you leaned into Dream's chest and sobbed against his dark coat. His hand, once shyly resting between your shoulder blades, moved to encircle your shoulders, keeping you closer than one might have expected him to want. The outside world may have continued to spin despite your desperation but it felt like your reality had collapsed in on itself. There was something comforting in the strict seriousness he wore all the time as if it was a reminder that something aside from your anguish existed. Or, perhaps, it was an unbearably lonely experience - that you were the only one in the entire world feeling something so insufferable, that there was no one to cry with you. What a terrifying thought it was: heartache unseen, without a person to acknowledge its existence, only grew in severity, slowly eating away at the wretch.

Taking in a deep, shaky breath you leaned away from Morpheus. He looked at you in his usual stern way, making it even harder to speak your mind even in times of dire need. Strangely enough, his arm remained around you but you didn't pay it much attention at the moment.

"Morpheus, perhaps I am in no position to be asking this, you are an Endless being, a king, after all. But if you find some altruism inside you, could I ask for your help in aiding my brother? My heart breaks for the suffering he had to endure."

"Am I not indebted to you?"

You looked at him with a confused grimace. "No, my dear, you are not and you never have been. If your kindness is repayment, I do not want it."

"What would you have me do?" he asked right away. Truthfully, you were too shaken up to think reasonably. Your head was filled with horrifying scenarios of Alex's fate that you never knew of. And how it broke your heart to think how lonely his misery was, how abandoned he must have felt after all those years without hearing from you. Morpheus took a few steps towards you and leaned close to your face - perhaps a little too close for people who were not married. "Watch your words," he whispered in a shaky voice. You saw his Addam's apple move as he swallowed before continuing. "If you ask me to kill Rodrick, I will."

In all of its macabre, it was a confession of endearment. Hate, perhaps, was a love unspoken, unlived; love that, never having seen the light of day, rotted, not recognizing its decayed-out face anymore. Contempt is but a scream, a whine of all almost-lovers, who with time forgot why they were crying. Maybe only as hate this unconfessed love can prevail, maybe in any other form, it would be a pleading for death.

Your hand anxiously touched the side of his face and, to your surprise, he did not wince. Morpheus managed to surprise himself even: he leaned into the warmth of your palm. Perhaps the love rotting inside of him was making him tired and complacent. "I know," you whispered. "But you deserve better than to be an executioner's axe. You are better than that, Morpheus. I could never ask you to belittle yourself so much and for such a dishonourable deed."

Chapter Text

The mansion hasn't changed one bit. It looked exactly the same as it did the day you were forced to leave. A strange feeling sprouted in your chest - the very same sensation you felt when you saw Morpheus on the pier. How could it be that days had gone by but the fang of time did not bite down into this house? Was it built with the same arcane element with which Morpheus was created? And if so, was he, too, a house of horrors and woe underneath his handsome looks?

"What a strange feeling, to become a visitor in one's own home," you said quietly as you longingly looked at the bricks you had grown to know so well. Unbeknownst to you, Morpheus was watching your melancholic expression, silently wondering if you, too, looked at him this way.

"This is not your home."

"And yet part of me longs for the days when it was. Curious, isn't it? I broke you out of here and now I'm dragging you back to your prison."

"I came with you on my own accord," he corrected you. To be honest, even if you hadn't asked him to help you, Morpheus would have found a reason to come with you anyway. "Your plan requires a significant amount of preparation and cunningness to be successful."

His observation was in no way revolutionary. "Yes, it does but we do not possess the time required. We must do with what we have. Non est ad astra mollis e terris via," you said. "There is no easy path from earth to the stars." Turning your head towards Morpheus, you met his intense gaze. He noticed how your eye lit up the moment they met his but Dream was quick to discard such sentiment. "Seneca's words. Sometimes I think he knew more about life than any of us."

Morpheus never cared much for philosophy - humanity might be a reasoning species but they are hardly reasonable, so they're pondering about the nature of the world were always wrong in one way or another. To a creature of his sort, human philosophy was as though watching a blind person paint a landscape. Despite his prejudice, he thought that you made Seneca sound akin to an oracle. Perhaps, if he were to understand the teachings of that ancient philosopher, he'd know more about you too? Could a wise Greek be a secret passage into your heart and soul?

"Be careful, Morpheus. If Yasmin was right and I have no reason to doubt her honesty, my father is unpredictable in his anger. It is beyond me to speculate what horrors he will bestow upon you should he catch you once more."

"I can not die," he reminded you.

"But you can still be in pain." Although his yearning heart exclaimed at such a notion, Morpheus couldn't quite understand why you would care about his discomfort. He was an eldritch creature, you have said that yourself multiple times, so physical pain wasn't something unbearable to him. Why did you treat him like he was a fragile human? Was that tenderness, too?

Having said that, you directed your steps to the back of the house, planning on trespassing inwards through the staff door. Seeing you disappear behind perfectly kept bushes and flower beds, Morpheus felt a sudden desire to stop you, to share some kind of blessing with you; to ask you to come back to him, perhaps. Nevertheless, not a word left his mouth. For a second, he even considered a prayer.

Gathering his strength and discarding his gnawing worry for you, Morpheus's booming voice called out to Rodrick who undoubtedly resided within the mansion. It was like challenging someone to a duel but Dream's pride whispered songs of greatness into his spirit - hymns that never once suggested that the wicked mortal could have a chance against him. Although this supposed summon to the contest was entirely your idea, Morpheus had his own reasons to see it through. Yes, it was high time he faced that villain, looked him in the eye and gloated in his triumph. You deserved justice and he deserved peace.

Minutes of complete silence and inaction went by as Morpheus waited for Rodrick in front of the house. Such dismissal of a king's challenge couldn't be read as anything but utterly disrespectful. Was that wicked man trying to humiliate him? Dream's anger only intensified with that thought. Who did Rodrick Burgess think he was? His fingers were growing strained as he kept one of his fists clenched but he couldn't let go - not yet.

Then like an omen of awaited death, the front door unlocked and from behind them emerged the awaited, elderly man. He had a scornful expression on his face but that was to be expected. Rodrick held the rifle high, aiming at Morpheus without even a tremble in his hand. He seemed to be determined for that confrontation to be final, to once and for all decide which one of them was the superior entity.

"Where's that wretched child?" Rodrick called out to Morpheus while pulling back the hammer of the rifle. Just a slight tremble of his index finger could end in a bloodbath. How strange it was, the trust that forms between enemies.

"I came alone, Rodrick Burgess," he lied. "I do not know what child you are speaking of."

"Of course you do, Dream King. That bastard that took pity on you or have you already forgotten that a brat proved to be smarter and more powerful than a supposed king, a god?"

"I do not care for your beliefs, human. I came to retrieve what is mine." Perhaps he meant his mask, which whereabouts remained largely unknown to him, or he meant vengeance. Morpheus himself wasn't sure.

There, in the distance, you noticed a metallic glistening and your father's low voice carried by the echo of empty plains that surrounded the house. Because of the distance, you couldn't discern what he was saying but if he did face Morpheus at the moment, it couldn't be anything good. The strange shine made your skin crawl despite not being able to give it a proper name at first.

"Dear God, no," you whispered to yourself. Dread, like a lead weight, pulled your stomach towards the ground. If Yasmin was right...

Without much thought, you broke for the two men. Hearing your rushed footsteps, Alex turned around but you were already long gone. For a moment, he considered running after you but he was old enough to know better: he was your little brother, after all, and that meant he had to listen. Given the strange situation in which he had found himself, he wanted to listen, so he carried on expanding the distance from the home that was also his prison, from the father that never treated him like the son he was. If he makes haste, he could cross the Baltic Sea before midnight.

Panting and feeling your legs burn so intensely they were about to give out, you had finally found yourself standing next to Morpheus, your eyes flicking between the barrel of the rifle and your father's irate face. Acknowledging your sudden appearance, Rodrick aimed the firearm at you; on the other side of that barrel lay relief and eternity and, as far as you could tell, your father's fingers were burning to grant you just that. Unconsciously, Morpheus leaned towards you but you didn't notice it either.

"My own child against me," Rodrick spit out. His words were dripping with contempt and any unfamiliar to the case onlookers would never assume you were family. "I'm ashamed to have fathered such a treacherous mind. If I could exchange your life for your brother's, I would. Do not think I would hesitate even for a second."

"Please, father, you don't have to do this," you begged him. He, however, remained unmoved. "We will walk away never to disturb you again. Haven't we all suffered enough?"

"Do not speak to me of suffering, you bastard!" Rodrick's scream was loud enough to scare birds from the nearby trees. "I could have my son and you made sure that the only good thing in my life was never returned to me."

Perhaps that was the way your life was always going to end: with a whimper, as you bled on the doorstep of your childhood home. Like all things that belonged to nature, your life, too, was going to close in a cycle. "I forgive you, father, for all that you have done and didn't manage to."

A deafening gunshot rang in your ears. It was so loud you didn't hear yourself gasp. Once the shock subsided, you grew confused at the lack of pain. Maybe adrenaline had messed with your sense? But then again, not a speck of crimson stained your clothes.

Morpheus fell to the ground with a barely audible groan. Laying at your feet, he tried to prop his body up on one of his arms. For some reason, even the bullet tearing through his body couldn't force his fist to unclench.

"You could have simply granted my wish," Rodrick spoke as he frantically reloaded the rifle. "Tell me, Dream King, is this really worth dying for?"

"Yes," Morpheus whispered.

His hand was trembling but you weren't sure whether it was anger or pain that caused it. Morpheus opened his palm revealing powdery sand. With an effortless blow, he sent the grains drifting into the air. Immediately after, your father was rendered unconscious. Letting out a throaty groan, Morpheus got up on his feet. There was no blood stain visible on his clothes.

The moment Rodrick's limp body hit the ground, a sharp sound of breaking glass resounded. A black, thick mist appeared above his form. The slimy-looking cloud shimmered in the dim light of a cloudy day. It remained mid-air for a short while before dissolving, never leaving even a trace of its existence.

You felt something warm and wet on your hand. Looking down in confusion, you noticed a streak of blood staining your blouse. Its trail led from the burnt mark on your chest right to your fingertip, from where it slowly dripped on the dark soil underneath your feet. Strangely enough, the injury didn't hurt at all. Actually, you doubted whether you had ever felt such unbearable numbness before as though frostbite suddenly gnawed at every inch of your skin.

"A catalyst," you whispered. Truthfully, you should have expected your father to be brilliant in his wickedness.

Probably due to the overwhelming numbness, you couldn't keep your balance and so you stumbled, only to regain composure once you leaned against Morpheus.

"What sorcery is this?" Just when he thought he had finally righted a wrong, a new misdeed appeared. Could he not have even a moment of relief?

"Imagine a volcano in a jar," you said as you absentmindedly wiped your bloodied fingers on your blouse. "If you open the lid carefully, you might light an infinite number of candles. But once the jar breaks? The whole world catches on fire."

At that moment Morpheus realized that his anxieties became reality: your blood shall forever stain his pale skin, no matter the holiness of the water he washes them in. Instead of peace and justice, he had only caused more suffering. This universe could be nothing more than a cynical theatre play.

Dream's hand wrap around your waist before a whirl of sand encircled the two of you. You couldn't have blinked more than two times before your feet were once again standing on the old carpet in your living room. Feeling exhausted and lightheaded, you fell on the floral sofa. Perhaps it was funny or perhaps it was sad that history liked to repeat itself so much.

"Thank you for sparing him," you said in a weak voice.

"I did not spare him, he just did not deserve to die quickly. Now Rodrick Burgess will relive his worst nightmares until I grow bored of his misery."

Seeing as you weren't in the state to continue the discussion, Morpheus wandered towards the mantlepiece. He could, of course, simply leave but the sudden reminder of your mortality made him unable to. The gifts of the upcoming day were unknown to him in the most heartbreaking of ways.

There, on the shelf above the cold fireplace, stood a photograph he never noticed before - not that he had a chance, given the chaotic nature of the recent times he had spent with you. The picture in the frame showed you and your siblings, happily laughing at something. It must have been taken a long time ago as the smallest boy, Alex, was missing a few of his teeth. This happiness... was that what siblinghood felt like to humans? Some romantic part of him was convinced that if he had something like that, he could never truly be lonely. Thinking about his own family for a moment, that portrayed joy felt like Hell on Earth.

"Did we do the right thing?" you asked him quietly.

Dream didn't answer straight away. For a moment, he continued to stare at the photo, taking in the happiness saved in the past. "He who spares the wicked injures the good," Morpheus quoted. He turned his head to you as if he was making sure his point got across. "Also Seneca." Perhaps he didn't care about philosophy but one had to remember that he did live through the history of humankind. He was bound to learn some things even against his will.

For a moment, you were completely silent as you lay on the sofa with your eyes closed. Despite your appearance, he knew you weren't asleep - he felt it. Dream's eyes returned to the picture but he wasn't studying it anymore. Instead, his thought began wandering into utterly fantastic and completely impractical directions. Spending time with you must have planted a seed of wistfulness in him.

"Will you ever, Morpheus?" you broke the pleasant silence. At that moment, in that one sentence, he realized that until the day eternity calls upon him, his conscience shall always speak in your voice. "Grow bored of my father's suffering?"

"One day I will be forced to." He looked over his shoulder at you. Despite his calm demeanour, Dream was wondering whether there was anything he could do to aid your ailment but the more he thought, the more he became convinced that your fate lay not in his own but his sister's hands. Morpheus, an eldritch god whose nature was incomprehensible to the human mind, was powerless in the face of mortality. "When this universe caves to be replaced with another. Until then, it shall bring me joy."

"You deserve peace, dear Morphius," you spoke in a quiet, mild voice. "You deserve closure I can not give you."

His tongue wanted to spit out words of cynism, phrases that would remind you of his egotistic superiority but Dream kept his mouth closed. Between callousness and silence, he preferred to grace you with quietness. You could give him a lot more than closure and he knew that - he felt it.

Now that immediate danger had passed, you could closely inspect the strange markings that appeared on your skin the moment the catalyst vial broke. The black lines appeared like veins or roots, wrapping around your skin as if their purpose was to keep you in some kind of a cage. They were numb to the touch, rendering your own body completely foreign to you. Perhaps that's exactly what was happening: this strange force was pushing your soul out of the corporeal form you naively regarded as your own.

For a moment, you thought you heard the distant meowing of a cat but it was a silly thought that you quickly dismissed - no felines lived in the vicinity of your house. Strangely enough, Morpheus heard it too.

Chapter Text

[...] Among those lights, I saw eternity

Hidden somewhere in unknown chasms

Although gods hid it so well

It was here, sitting in front of me

In that eternity I saw myself

Among family photographs

Preserved in every whispered word

Or a poem left in the drawer

When a black cortege follows me

I will live on in their stories

Still generous in my words:

There is no end

Never once did you consider that living would be so physically difficult so early. You weren't even halfway through your life and breathing was becoming a hardship as well as walking or carrying things. All of that came as a consequence of your choice - a choice which morality you never disputed, although on odd occasions you did fantasize about the could-haves. At the time, the unfair exchange, your life instead of his, seemed so obvious as though it was unacceptable for you to even consider a different course of action. But now, when your days were counted, a certain melancholic reflection haunted your thoughts: what must happen to a person to be willing to give their life up so easily? Maybe there was a hidden truth in your sacrifice, something you never quite realized or admitted to yourself. Those thoughts, however, were in vain now just like a prisoner is better off not dreaming about the cotton-like clouds lazily drifting across the blue sky, pushed in their direction by a soft blow of the first warm wind sometime in June.

"Our time is coming to an end, dear Morpheus," you said quietly as you inspected the black web sprawling across your skin. In some macabre way, it looked fascinating and beautiful the same way fresh blood wonderfully glistens on marble floors. "The curse is eating my body away."

"Such knowledge is not yours to possess," his tone sounded as if he was warning you. "Only Death knows that."

It wasn't true, not necessarily. A sudden change in your behaviour did not escape Morpheus's attention such as the fact that you had to take a break every few steps and lean against something. Despite that, having irrefutable proof of your words right before his eyes, Morpheus opted to remain oblivious. He voluntarily chose this blindness.

"True, I do not know my fate for sure. Call it a gut feeling, if you will. Mine is calling unto eternity."

In some bitter way, it was all very funny: a mortal was approaching unending aeons and one of the Endless was running out of time.

For a while, he stood silently watching you. His lips were slightly pursed but you couldn't quite decipher what emotions stood behind such an expression. Morpheus's unreadable face was complemented with those steel blue eyes that seemed to stare intensely through you as if by looking in your direction he could see something else, something only irises as arcane as his could perceive.

"May I ask one more thing of you, dear Morpheus?"

"Of course."

"Wait with me, down by the sea. I'd hate to go in loneliness."

What a magnificent creature you must be! To effortlessly make an immortal god patiently wait for death.

The sky in the east was already bright. Above the distant horizon, where endless waters crashed on the shores of fantasy and wonder, a bright hue appeared. Slowly, it became a mirage of beautifully warm colours. The Sun, as glorious as it was awaited, slowly crawled out of the cold sea to once again begin its tireless journey across the firmament. Not even cotton-like clouds had the courage to hide this mundane miracle.

The thick material of his coat was slightly coarse against your cold cheek but it was pleasantly warm all the same. His shoulders slightly raised and fell with each of his breaths. Morpheus's head was hesitantly resting against yours and this anxious intimacy made you fearful to move even the smallest of muscles; his longing was always silent but never invisible. Perhaps, as befits a dream, his heartache was fleeting, disappearing in the very moment someone dares to entertain a different thought.

A content sigh left your mouth. "Look at her, the Sun!" you exclaimed happily. "She rises each morning to warm Earth and never asks for anything in return. She lets us live in such a beautiful world and yet, never says 'you owe me.'"

The white sand quietly rustled as someone slowly walked behind the two of you. Over the loud crashing of the waves, the stroll was hardly audible. After a few steps, the stranger stopped like they were waiting for one of you to finally acknowledge them. Dream decided to be the first to break the tense silence:

"Must you always be on time, sister?" he asked without looking over his shoulder. Maybe, just maybe, Morpheus was wrong and it wasn't your hour yet. Unfortunately, the stranger didn't deny the name he gave them. "Couldn't you be late this one day?"

"I am only fulfilling my duty," she answered.

"People spend their entire lives wondering where Death will lead them, you know?" Although your words were directed at Morpheus, your stare remained focused on the faraway horizon. "Hell, Heaven, Sheol... I never did," you said with a slight shrug of shoulders. "Perhaps, I like surprises a little too much."

"Wherever my sister leads you, it is somewhere I can not follow." Perhaps, in one of his deeply hidden and never admitted fantasies, it was enough to stop you from embarking on your last voyage.

"You are a king, dear Morpheus. You do not follow," you reminded him. His cold, blue eyes were bloodshot. With all the strength he could muster, Morpheus prevented those sinful, bitter tears from falling - yet. Feeling your heart break for him, your hands gently cradled his face. "Love, don’t cry. We were always headed this way. What story doesn't have a super fin?"

Dream took in a sharp inhale naively thinking it was enough to stop his heart from being torn in half at hearing you call him by the most beautiful of names. "Yours is much too early," he quietly said in a shaky voice. Perhaps if he spoke even slightly louder, calloused evil that hid beyond this realm would also hear it. But instead of raising its monstrous hand against him, it would surely weep too.

"I could live a thousand years in this world and it still wouldn't be enough, there is still so much to see, so much to love. But I shan't grieve the years I wasn't given. Instead, I'll always cherish those few I did have."

Morpheus clenched his jaw in a futile attempt to prevent his lips from trembling. His eyebrows suddenly furrowed and cheeks raised. "What am I to do with the emptiness you're leaving me with?" he asked angrily.

"Emptiness?" you repeated. A dry, sad chuckle left your lips as you stared into his red eyes. "One day, flowers shall grow out of my rotting corpse and those flowers will end up in an ornate vase on someone's windowsill to be cherished and admired. My dear Morpheus, there is no end."

His lips parted slightly as if he was about to say something, defy your poetic wisdom with his pragmatism but he didn't. He simply couldn't. Instead of words, Morpheus shared a tear that you tirelessly wiped away from his face.

"There's still so much I've yet to tell you," you quietly confessed.

"Then tell me now," he demanded. One of his hands gently grabbed your wrist as if he feared your touch might leave his face at any moment and he wasn't yet ready for such a loss. After all, only recently did he realize how his heart bloomed whenever he felt you. "I'm here, I'm listening."

"Oh, my lovely Morpheus..." you whispered with laughter in your voice. A tear dropped from your eye as you brushed your thumb against his cold cheek. Your swollen, trembling lips were still curved into a smile as if there was anything happy about your premature parting. "Among all the centuries and billions of lives, we met each other. I'd like to think it wasn't accidental, that maybe, for a moment, we were divine."

"There is nothing holy about our parting."

Morpheus recalled Yasmin's words: 'God looks after his angels and so should you.' But he never was a god - sacredness did not weave his bones like it did with yours. Whatever divinity might have resided in him was never once his. No, it came from your cup, a chalice out of which he drank a little too greedily for a creature of his kind. That halo around his head was once your crown.

"It's time for us to go," Death stated. Her tone was firm but never cold.

You slipped out of his longing touch and made your way towards the woman standing not too far behind you and Dream. As if frozen in time, Morpheus remained completely still. He did not have the courage to look at his sister who, surely, graced him with a sympathetic gaze. Whatever he could tell her, whatever pathetic and completely pointless begging he could commit, it wasn't anything she hadn't already seen or heard.

Suddenly, a meowing resounded over the pleasantly rhythmic crashing of waves - the very same meowing you heard from the living room of your house. Turning around to look at the unexpected guest, you were met with a sight most strange and welcome: an orange cat that was missing one of its front paws. Its greenish-yellow eyes reminded you of sun-dried long grass growing on a meadow hidden among a pine forest.

"Hugo!" you exclaimed. Unable to stop yourself from reaching for the missed pet, you crouched the moment you saw his red fur. "I never thought I'd see you again, you little fiery menace! I was barely six when we bid our farewells."

The feline only meowed again and bumped its small head against your leg. Curiously, he didn't leave paw prints on the white, cold sand. Too busy at the exciting reunion, you never noticed Death's slightly furrowed eyebrows as she stared at the cat. What was it doing there?

Scratching Hugo's chin and head, you noticed something strange about his pendant: it didn't read 'Hugo' anymore, although you knew it did the day he passed away. Instead of his name gracing the small metal plate, there were tally marks - seven, to be exact. You could only wonder what kind of trouble that fearless, silly friend had gotten into since the last time you saw him.

Not pondering the question of the appearing cat any longer, Death lead you in the direction of a destination only she knew of. Hugo, however, did not follow you right away. He sat on the cold concrete of the nearby boulevard, watching Dream's back. After a while, the feline let out a questioning purring-like sound, perhaps in confusion at the man's unwillingness to move from his spot. Hugo meowed again but never managed to catch the Dream King's attention. In a somewhat defeated manner, the cat got up and trotted in the direction of wherever Death was walking you.

Morpheus listened to you walk away with Death, never daring to look at you this one last time. Then, when silence fell on the world, it was unbearably loud. It was in the rustling of sand, in the crashing of waves and calling of seagulls: Mother Nature was mocking his yearning, a temporary whim that could not measure to her timeless might. In the distance, he saw a raft of mallards that seemed to quack at him.

"You, too, have been abandoned," he said to them, although never really expected the birds to understand such devastating words. Lucky them.

The blue sky grew black and Sun drowned in the endless seas before Morpheus got up from the sand. In a truly miserable fashion, he promised himself to never discard his grief. As long as he held onto that misery of your passing, placed you like a thorny crown on his head, you couldn't be gone, not entirely. In all of his selfishness, he wanted to curse you to never rest in peace but forever haunt him instead. Aren't rubble and ruin happier with a ghost that wanders their has-been halls, a companion to sweeten their decay? As a wraith of all the passion he never got to reveal, Morpheus would be able to love you as long he wished as though you were a wilted flower whose owner doesn't have the heart to throw out just yet. Perhaps you were akin to a dried sunflower that loomed over the window of his soul, always reminding all of creation that a life that is missed is a life that was loved and a heart that breaks is a heart that was once whole.

Morpheus had gone somewhere without a word and so Lucienne began her day in a frantic search for the lord of the realm. On top of his not-so-recent captivity, he'd been acting strange ever since he returned with the ruby and the pouch. The King of Dreaming would walk around the palace in a somewhat moping, round-shouldered manner, wandering like a phantom that couldn't find a place to haunt. Refusing to say more than a handful of words at the time, Lucienne and Jessamy could only suspect that a true calamity had fallen on their lord and friend. Morpheus, however, had a strange and entirely frustrating inclination for keeping his cards to himself.

At last, they did find him. Jessamy's black wings scoured lands near and far from the palace, only to find Dream King at work - contemplating his solitude as he busied himself with building new Dreams or Nightmares. Such news elicited a heavy sigh of relief from Lucienne, who dreaded seeing Dreaming fall into ruin once more. Still, her annoyance prevailed as she pondered how difficult it was for the King to speak about his plans and prevent the recent tensions from coming back to their original severity. Aside from that, there were still many matters the Lord of Dreaming should tend to, although probably none of them was as important as his current occupation.

Wasting no time, Lucienne and Jessamy paid a visit to working Morpheus. Despite several humanoid forms rising from the sands underneath their feet, Dream seemed to be focused on only one of them: one that appeared suspiciously not strange. The longer Lucienne stared at the oddly familiar face, the more she grew convinced that she did, in fact, know its owner - even if her entire knowledge was taken from Dream's account of his escape. "Isn't that...?"

"Yes, Lucienne," he interjected. Some part of Morpheus feared that she might just say your name out loud and he couldn't be sure what madness would take hold of him then. It was a beast best left unpoked. "They deserved to live many more years. The world deserved it. In fact, I think the world desperately needed it. Now they can live out the years stolen from them as something too human for me to understand yet: the dream of loving and being loved. Greek agape, if you will."

"Forgive me, my lord, but if you never quite understood it, how can you recreate it?"

Morpheus's blank stare was focused on your face. Like all the great painters and sculptors of humanity, he, too, chiselled his love into a masterpiece of artistry. How deranged such action truly was: to recreate his heart's greatest desire and claim for it to be something every person wished to have. "The sun never says," he whispered to himself but taking into account the hardly existing distance between him and his artwork, he could have been whispering those words to the monument of you.

"My lord?"

He turned towards Lucienne again. "The sun warms the earth and yet it never says 'you owe me'. Tenderness, they used to call it."

How tragic his affection truly was: he was but a moon in love with the sun. They were destined to live apart and yet he would be dim without the light she had so freely given him, never asking for anything in return. And just like with those beautiful celestial bodies, all the stars in the sky - each light of past, present and future - sighed in relief at your meeting.

Morpheus stared at his work in silence. It wasn't finished yet. In fact, it was far from being finished but he had already spent so much time perfecting the smallest of details, he had to remind himself of other duties he still had to tend to. Unlike the real you, his newly made Dream will wait for him until the edges of eternity. Although Lucienne did not gain any more understanding from his vague answer to his question, Morpheus's response was more than exhausting for someone who had experienced your gentle soul.

To his displeasure, there were other matters he had to take care of as the king of this wonderful realm. Seeing your nearly finished effigy, a new vigour entered his tired bones as if the sole sight of your features could remake him into a different creature. Suddenly, in the golden stardust you put into his veins, there was something holy about your parting: the moon, after all, shines not with his own light but the sun's. "Come, Lucienne, there is much we are yet to do. The world is spinning and we mustn't only stand on it."

But neither Lucienne nor Jessamy followed him immediately. Instead, they exchanged equally suspicious and confused looks. Their lord's behaviour was only becoming stranger and neither of them could point out exactly why, although they did have their, mostly correct, theories.

"Is he... being optimistic?" Jessamy asked. Putting 'Morpheus' and 'optimism' in one sentence seemed impossible unless someone wanted to accentuate his moping.

"I'm afraid so," Lucienne slowly answered as she watched Morpheus walk away into the distance.

After another moment of silence, Lucienne let out a light sigh and marched after Morpheus. Jessamy wanted to follow, take flight to reach the king in no time, but an unforeseen event prohibited her from doing so; the raven shrieked as an orange cat playfully tugged at her tail with its sharp teeth.

Chapter Text

[...]

"Hugo!" you exclaimed. Unable to stop yourself from reaching for the missed pet, you crouched the moment you saw his red fur. "I never thought I'd see you again, you little fiery menace! I was barely six when we bid our farewells."

The feline only meowed again and bumped its small head against your leg. Curiously, he didn't leave paw prints on the white, cold sand. Too busy at the exciting reunion, you never noticed Death's slightly furrowed eyebrows as she stared at the cat. What was it doing there?

Scratching Hugo's chin and head, you noticed something strange about his pendant: it didn't read 'Hugo' anymore, although you knew it did the day he passed away. Instead of his name gracing the small metal plate, there were tally marks - seven, to be exact. You could only wonder what kind of trouble that fearless, silly friend had gotten into since the last time you saw him.

"Seven already?" you asked the pet despite not expecting him to answer. "You have two more left, my friend. Use them wisely."

But Hugo only stared at you with his big, yellowish-green eyes. He sat on the pavement on the boulevard and meowed loudly but not at you:

"You can't keep doing this, Hugo," Death warned the cat as if the deafening meow could actually mean something else than a cry for attention. He only whined again, the tip of his tail moved slightly as though it was a snake ready to pounce. "Alright, one last time."

The orange tabby got up from the cold pavement and trotted towards Morpheus who was still sitting on the white sand with your corpse leaning against him. Perhaps, when his grief subdues he'd realize the awful macabre of that moment but for now, he was drawing out the sensation of something he will never feel again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Morpheus noticed an orange, furry cat. There was a certain excitement or curiosity to its trot. It stopped by your leg, or rather your body's leg, and nuzzled against it, purring ever so loudly. At first, he wanted to chase it away, to stop some flea-bitten stray from touching you but he found himself unable to do anything. Each of his limbs was so weighty, he couldn't move even if he had wanted to. Perhaps his heart was too heavy now for Morpheus to ever leave his spot on the white, cold sand by the murky seawater. In some way, he didn't even want to move: there was no place he could go where this hole inside him would become full again.

You watched the scene from afar until a strange feeling took over your form. Ghosts aren't supposed to experience bodily sensations, are they? Suddenly, a freezing coldness embraced you. A tingling ran through your fingertips but you couldn't move them anymore.

"What's happening?" you asked nervously as you stared at your disappearing hands. Is this what death truly is? A human-shaped mist that dissolves into oblivion?

"Hugo and his charity," Death answered in a tone both fascinated and tired.

It took merely a blink of an eye for you to find yourself back on the white sand and not standing on the concrete boulevard. A hungered, desperate gasp ripped out of your chest, clearly startling Morpheus, who hadn't moved even by an inch.

For a moment, the two of you were looking at each other as if you were seeing your faces for the very first time, surprised at the unforeseen meeting. "How is this possible?" Dream asked in a wavering voice. His eyes were still red but he was no longer crying. Perhaps, he already couldn't.

Hugo forced his pleasantly fluffy head underneath your palm. You looked towards him only to notice something fascinating yet odd: instead of seven tally marks on his pendant, there were eight - he only had one more life left. But by looking at Hugo, you also saw your own hand that he so frantically brushed against. There were no marks on your skin, no sign of a terrifying curse counting your days short.

"The thing about kindness, my lovely Morpheus," you spoke as you turned to look at him again but not in surprise this time; your gaze remained ever so kind and loving, just the way he deserved, "is that it always comes back."

Barely finishing your sentence, you felt his lips touch yours. His skin felt strangely cold but in an unpleasant way. To think you would have left without ever feeling it! Morpheus's kiss was the loudest confession he could have given you, filled with passion and desperation you had never felt before. In that impulsive moment of intimacy, he ripped himself open for you to see.

Cold winter wind brushed against your lips when he pulled away. His face, however, remained at a flustering close distance. "Then let me return yours," he whispered.

Dream's hand firmly grabbed yours. Once again, a tornado of sand circled the two of you. What was once a small town of Southend-on-sea, became a gigantic palace, a true castle, of marble halls and crystal ceilings. It looked nostalgic in its unbearable emptiness as if it had been forgotten by its rightful master, forever haunted by dreams of tomorrows that never came.

To your collective surprise, a quiet meow echoed through the spacious palace. Sure enough, an orange hitchhiker revealed himself. "I did not invite you," Morpheus spoke in a stern voice.

But Hugo paid no attention to the Lord of Dreaming. With his tail standing up straight, he wandered off.

Watching the fiery cat disappear around the corner, undoubtedly on his way to wreak havoc in Dream's kingdom, you recalled the strange moment that preceded your miraculous resurrection. "There's one thing about Hugo I can't quite understand. He brushed against my legs but he is alive and I was a ghost. It makes me think about all the occasions when he meowed or stared at empty corners in my father's mansion. I wonder what he saw there - who he saw there."

As if hearing his own name being mentioned, the cat made its existence known: Jessamy shrieked loudly in the distance.

"Speaking of wonders," Morpheus began as he meaningfully extended his elbow towards you. Without hesitation, you grabbed it. "You should see your new home."

He led you through the palace halls of light and pastel colours. The high ceilings made you think of a cathedral but Morpheus never once appeared to you as a creature that demanded worship. The grandiosity of his home was undoubtedly regal, even emanated appropriate coldness. The spaciousness created a sharp-sounding, loud echo that made you constantly feel like you should look over your shoulder to check for an unwanted follower. In some strange way, you suspected the interior of his palace was a genuine representation of Dream's heart: pearly and crystal, waiting to be inhabited but turning unwelcoming in its involuntary emptiness.

After a long while of walking in silence, you decided to speak up about something that's been bothering you throughout the entire chateau. "Can I share a reflection about the decor?"

Morpheus turned his face to you. "Do you not like it?" he asked with a hint of surprise in his voice.

"It's quite bleak if I may say so." Maybe he was the lord of this place but if you were to take him up on his offer of Dreaming being your new home, you had to be honest with him. And, just maybe, he could do with a little change too. "The hall could use some bold colours... Poinsettias, perhaps? Yes, they'd look lovely in here."

And suddenly, his every thought was sprouting poinsettias.