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Boots crush along multicolored glass, a quiet reminder of the devastation as Dream finds himself immersed in the grim reality of his absence. Destiny manifested through predetermined means.
“I kept a journal for awhile—A chronicle of everything that happened in your absence… but slowly, the words began to fade.” Lucience’s eyes wander as if lost to a distant memory, her voice filled with repressed emotion, “Sometime after you left, all the books in the library became bound volumes of blank paper. The next day, the whole library was gone… I never found it again”.
Morpheus pivots to regard her properly, “And yet you remained, while others fled. The royal librarian of an abandoned kingdom”.
Bitter air fills your lungs at the low drawl of his voice, speaking to her as if he never left—standing where you last left him.
“I never felt abandoned. I knew you would return.” Lucienne’s gaze shifts, noting your presence in her peripheral and Morpheus follows suit.
Your feet have instinctively carried you to him.
His mouth twitches, almost imperceptibly. What use are words when you stand before him?
His forehead leans against yours, unable to resist the touch he’s been so cruelly denied for over a century. “Hello”, he sighs.
A gentle murmur, a declaration in itself.
Your fingers twist the edges of his coat, “Hello”, you breathe.
I missed you, he hears.
-
“We have business— you and I”, Morpheus says. No inquiry, no suggestion, eyeing the bar with an indifferent curiosity. Small and cramped, every inch overwhelmed by the heavy scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke. “It took me quite some time to find you.”
“I wasn’t hiding”, the mage shrugs, taking a long sip of her drink. “But I’m not just out and about looking for business either”, her attention shifts to the news report, volume just loud enough for her to hear.
Dream’s hands are clasped behind his back, his head slanting as he regards her idly, a tinge impatient. “No, I don’t suppose you are”, he muses aloud, voice devoid of any emotion, "But I wasn’t asking”.
There’s a casual intensity to his words that has her breaking out in goosebumps and pausing her finger’s path on the rim of her glass. “Is that a threat, Dreamlord?”, she asks, sparing him a wary glance. Her voice may remain steady, but her eyes betray a flicker of fear.
"I have no need of threats. I’ve simply stated a fact. Which is, you and I have business to attend to”, Morpheus’ voice is calm and level, his gaze never wavering from her once. It grows heavier, more palpable as the seconds pass by.
Throwing down a ten, the mage sighs and shifts off of her stool, downing the rest of her drink in one swift movement, “Fine, let’s get this over with”.
-
Light flows through large, stained glass windows, casting the room in a yellow-blue hue. Stone sets upon a seemingly endless staircase, leading to a throne—intricately carved and artfully regal. The Dreaming itself drums to an almost silent melody, mirroring the power it contains back to its source.
“I need to be assured”, Morpheus rasps, breathless. The mage’s words have left a bitter taste in his mouth, poisoning the well with doubt. “I want them to remain unharmed.”
“…I will not lie to you, this spell is no kindness. It rips a piece from the mortal soul, the piece that ties them to the waking world, and binds—cages them to another for all eternity.”
The shift in his demeanor is immediate, apathy returning with full force, his words a comfort to no one but him, “I can provide them with all they need, this realm is their home”.
The magick user regards him carefully, reminding herself that she is merely a guest within his realm, and it would do her good to choose her next words as if her life hangs in the balance, “For their sake, lord, I hope you’re certain”.
-
“adligo, copula, ligare”, the mage murmurs, cutting along the tip of her finger—allowing the blood to pool and drip from her hand, smearing it across the altar in offering.
The air above cinders. Ash intertwined by intricate, golden runes, imbued with ancient magick.
-
A despondent ache, followed by a sickening crack has you stumbling forward.
“My—”, Lucienne gasps, reaching out to steady you, her voice drowned in static fear.
Terror gnaws at your throat, “Lucienne?!”.
Plunged into darkness, the firmness of her hold disappears.
The skin of the realm bends and breaks, dragging you through it. Tearing you apart and piecing you together again, until the firmness of ground deposits beneath you.
-
A looming silhouette centers into focus. “…Morpheus?”, you mumble, “What happened?”. The air is unnaturally warm. Blades of grass caress your face. Dirt dusts your clothes and skin.
Wisps of hair cling to his forehead as he outstretches a hand toward you, pulling you to your feet in one swift movement. “You are unharmed?”, he asks, scanning your body for any sign of injury.
You nod, reaching to lightly rest your fingers against his jaw, trailing them down his neck and shoulder, until they come to rest in the firm comfort of his hand.
“Are you certain?”, he murmurs, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss against each knuckle.
You smile at the subtle admittance of concern, “I’m certain”.
-
Matthew settles on your shoulder in a mess of feathers, beak lightly pecking at your neck to focus your attention on him, “Boss wanted me to inform you that he’ll be back late, he has an important meeting to attend”.
The corners of your mouth turn up at the mocking undercurrent of his tone, “An important meeting… with whom?”
“She’s new— a mage.” The raven shrugs his wings together, hopping between feet, “Dream found her last week and ordered her to perform some type of protection magick”. There’s a split second pause as his beak leans close your ear, as if he’s deciding to include you in on a secret, “Apparently, there were… unintentional side effects”.
“… This protection spell”, your voice wavers, pieces of a puzzle clicking in your mind, “Who was it for?”.
-
“You’re good at finding things”, you frown, licks of anger settling deep into the lines of your face, shadows twisting at every edge, “Find me a reason to stay”.
Dream clenches his jaw, stalking several large steps toward you, his movements sharp, deliberate. The once gentle light danced in his eyes has vanished. In its place—wrath, utterly pure and unholy, unveiling the nightmare beneath.
“There is no need, I will not keep you here any longer.”
The pain your expression reveals must be more than you’d intended as his eyes shift in conflict, appearing less severe—blurred by regret and guilt.
Morpheus swallows, jaw clicking in discomfort, “I simply wanted you to remain safe”. He sighs, lifting an uncertain hand to brush a stray tear from your cheek, “Forgive me”.
“Spare me your lies, my lord”, an indignant scoff escapes your lips as you shove his hand away, “You sought to bind me to the Dreaming out of nothing but your own selfishness”.
“No”, he argues, fighting to swallow down his rising anger, “I only knew you would be safest here, in my realm, where I could always sense you”.
Moving a step away, you wipe furiously at the tears falling from your eyes, “How could you? How could you aim to repeat what was done to you, to me?”, your voice breaks, “You’re no better than Roderick Burgess”.
Morpheus flinches as if you’d slapped him, pain and betrayal shadowing his features.
“I see”, the sliver of hope that remained has been drained from his words, “Very well, if that is your opinion of me. I will not try to convince you otherwise”.
Hard and unyielding, every inch the Lord of Dreams once more, “You are free to leave”.
A brutal laugh of derision stabs through the air, harsh and brittle, “Free to leave?”, you shout in disbelief, “Don’t attempt to hide what you’ve done, Morpheus. We both know you’ve made that impossible”.
Drawing in a calming breath, you tilt your head back just as rain begins to fall, a soft patter of drops that quickly transform into a downpour. “…What happened to us?”, you ask, barely above a breath, barely above a prayer, “What happened to the dream we shared?”. You make no move to shield yourself, allowing the water to wash away the remnants of your tears.
Morpheus’ jaw goes taut, betraying the turmoil within. “It seems”, he says, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion, “That dream has come to an end”.
A hollow sound rasps from your chest, heart breaking—unseen, “It seems so”.