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dragon-kazansky · 22 days

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Heart of the Dreaming

Morpheus x Female Reader

Soulmate AU

You are the daughter of Rodrick Burgess. You find out about the "demon" in the basement and decide you want to see it. Things take an unexpected turn when your soulmate connection is made with the man you find down there. You are the one he has been waiting for, and you're being taken away from. Not for long. Dream will protect his soulmate.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Four - Pocket full of sand

☆☆☆

You had been locked away in that house for so long that you had no idea just how much the world had changed. You had never really been to London before, but you were sure even then it had been much different to the London you are in today.

You turn around to see Dream composing himself. He looked a little... tired, dare you say. He looks at you silently.

"You alright?" You ask.

He nods and then turns around. It's dark out, not many people around. He would know Constantine when he saw her. She had his sand.

You stand a good few steps away from him, holding yourself. You didn't bring a coat. You didn't exactly have time to bring anything. You were in a city you couldn't navigate, and your only companion was a strange man who had told you you were his soulmate.

It was a lot to take in one night.

"Constantine."

You turn around to see Dream looking at a woman in a long coat. She doesn't exactly hang about. The conversation is short as she directs his attention to a raven that has landed on the bench behind you. You find yourself confused at its sudden appearance. It seemed to be watching Dream.

"I do not need a raven."

You look at Dream, confused. The man was talking to a bird. Of all the crazy things you've seen so far in regards to this man, this was the craziest.

"Lucienne said you'd say that," the raven spoke.

You stare at the bird with wide eyes. "It's talking?"

"Uh, I'm Matthew," the raven replies.

"It's talking!"

Dream stands beside you and looks down at the raven. He doesn't act like he heard what you were saying. His attention was fully on the bird. "I do not need a raven," he repeats.

"Respectively, sir, you do." Matthew caws.

"Go back to the Dreaming."

"Look, she's got away!" Matthew exclaims, looking behind Dream.

Morpheus turns and finds Constantine has completely vanished from sight. She's made sure to put distance between them.

Dream turns to you. "Fine. You stay here with him. Don't move."

"What?" You look at him with slight panic. He can see it in your eyes.

"Just wait for me."

Dream walks off, and you scoff in disbelief. This man, who is supposedly your soulmate, has the audacity to "rescue" you from your family home and then abandon you in an unfamiliar city? The universe could have chosen someone with more dignity at least to tie you with.

You sit on the bench with a huff. Matthew cocks his head to the side, looking at you intently. You turn and glare at him, causing him to take a few steps away from you along the back of the bench.

"So, uh..." He snaps his beak gently, making a clicking sound, "who are you?"

"No one important," you sigh.

"That can't be true. Wait, are you the woman Lucienne mentioned? She said he had gone off to rescue someone."

"Does everyone know about this?" You ask.

"No? Not that I know of."

"I'm sorry, but how are you talking? You're a bird!" You look at him.

"I don't know. I just... am. I wasn't always a bird, mind you. I was like you once."

"Like me?"

"A human." He cocks his head again.

"Oh... What happened?"

"I, uh... I died."

"Oh... I'm sorry." You frown.

"It's fine. This is my life now." He ruffles his feathers a little. "So, uh... Are you just gonna sit here?"

☆☆☆!!!!!!!

Morpheus finds Constantine within her nightmare. He'd standing there when she woke. She states at him for a good few moments and then speaks. "For fuck's sake." She sighs. "How did you find me?"

"You were dreaming. But it wasn't only a dream, was it? It's a memory. No wonder you do not sleep."

"Maybe I don't deserve to."

"Perhaps not." He says to Constantine. "But I could make it go away."

"Only if I help you find your sand."

"Though finding anything in this place may require more magic than even you can muster."

Joanna falls silent for a moment and then gets up. "I'll look in the office. Try not to clean up while I'm gone."

"I'm coming with you," he says. "You have a gift for disappearing."

"All right. But if the mess in here offends you, wait till you see my office."

The office was so much worse.

Constantine started going through her things, hoping the pouch would pop up somewhere and she could get this over with. She didn't particularly want him hanging around.

"Why do humans love objects so much?" Dream asks.

"They do come in handy sometimes." Constantine tells him. "You seem pretty attached to your sand."

"It's not just an object. It's a part of me."

"If that's true, how'd you happen to lose it?" She asks, looking at him.

"It was stolen by a magic user called Burgess."

"Wait, not Rodrick Burgess? The old demon king himself, eh? Everyone used to say he was a fake. Said he had the Devil locked up in his basement. How the fuck did you..."

She looks up.

"Shit." She walks over to him. "Were you down there? All this time?"

His lack of response was in itself an answer.

Morpheus plucks a set of photos from a box and looks down at them. They picture Constantine and another woman in them.

"Is this you?" He asks.

"Why? Do I look that different?"

"No. Happy."

A moment of silence passes.

"Shit." Constantine whispers. "I know where your sand is."

☆☆☆

Dream had gone all the way to Rachel's apartment. He had first gone to Constantine's, assuming she had the sand there, but it became rather complicated quickly.

Turns out the sand was at her exes. An ex she hadn't seen in quite some time. He was ready to go inside with her, but she told him to wait outside.

She needed to do this alone, apparently. However, he was reluctant to let her out of his sight. She had a tendency to disappear.

While he waited outside, he turned to see you walking around the corner.

"I told you to wait," he scolded. Though you wouldn't say you felt overly threatened by him.

"We got bored."

"We?"

In that moment, Matthew flew down and landed by your feet. Dream was far from pleased. "I told you to wait for me."

"If we're soulmates or whatever, shouldn't I help?" You ask, looking at him just as unimpressed.

"No."

You scoff softly. "You're hard work, you know that?"

Dream says nothing as he stares at you, hands in his pockets. It's Matthew who breaks the awkward atmosphere between you both. He really doesn't know what's going on, and there was very little time to ask about it.

"You know you can't trust her, right? You should really go in there."

Dream shifts his eyes away from you. Matthew had a point.

"Wait here."

This time he was wanting you both. You cross your arms and watch him go inside. You stand there for a moment before slumping down onto the ground.

"That bad, huh?"

"I've known him less than a day, kind of. Well, I've known of him a while. It's complicated. Soulmates or whatever. I don't care about some stupid divine bond." You sigh.

"So, it's legit? The soulmate thing, I mean."

You lower your wrist to his level and show him the scar. "I got this the day I first set eys on him. Sometimes, it burns. Though it hasn't for a bit. It's what binds me to him, I think."

"Hm. So, why do I sense so much anger toward him?" Matthew caws.

"He's insufferable. We have this weird bond, and he has the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. He rescued me less than an hour ago, and now we're off on some strange quest to get... sand?"

"Well, yeah. Lucienne told me about that. He's getting his tools back," Matthew says.

"His tools?"

"His sand, his helmet, and his ruby."

"I'm so lost."

"How do I put this? Lord Morpheus is the dream lord. He is king and creator of the Dreaming, his realm. His tools include a pouch of sand, a helmet, and a ruby. Without them, he doesn't have much of anything."

You listen to Matthew speak. "I see."

"It's important he gets them back."

"I've gathered that much. I just... I don't see why I have to be part of any of this. Fine, I'm not going to grow old and die, but do I have to stay with him?"

"I don't think he's going to just let you go," Matthew caws.

"Why not? He doesn't need me."

Matthew goes quiet.

Constantine leaves the apartment and walks off, looking not so perky anymore. Not long after, Dream comes out and follows the direction she went in slowly.

You rise from the ground and watch them. He hadn't even glanced your way. Matthew goes on ahead to join the two. You keep your distance, watching them talk.

Constantine says something to Matthew, and then she looks up at you. She stares at you for a while and then turns and walks away under her umbrella.

Dream looks at the pouch in his hand and then looks up at you. "You're still here."

"You told me to wait."

"You could have run," he says flatly.

You glance at Matthew, who looks up at you. What he said earlier flashes before your mind. Dream probably wouldn't really let you go. "Yeah, well... whatever."

Dream stares at you in heavy silence. You hate it. You hate the way he looks at you. You hate the way he doesn't say anything. You can't say you're all too fond of him either.

"Stop looking at me."

Dream turns his eyes back to the pouch. "Come here."

You sighed and walked over to him, standing where Constantine had been standing just moments before.

"So, where are we going next?" You ask.

"Hell."

"Hell? Like metaphorical Hell or... Hell Hell?" Matthew caws.

Dream stares at you silently, and you swallow nervously. "Hey, I didn't agree to... that!"

"My helm is in Hell."

"I don't care. Hell? That's crazy." You yell at him quietly.

He just stares. He slowly raises his pouch and opens his other hands. He gives you time enough to walk away, but you don't. You know what he's doing. He pours the sand into his waiting palm, and it flows around the three of you in a blanket.

There really was no going back now.

☆☆☆

@deniixlovezelda - @missdreamofendless - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @meganlpie - @thoughtsfromlayla - @ladyjbrekker

@mwaaaaaugh - @bluespecs14 - @intothesoul - @lady-violet - @navs-bhat - @krahk - @oldsoulmagic

@rubyrose2014 - @lorkai - @roxytheimmortal - @star-maker-rain-dancer - @intothesoul - @gemini-mama - @whotperlinda

@dreamingblueberries - @the-shadow-of-aurora - @novavida - @blackgirlmagicforever

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 - @hopshusushi -

#heart of the Dreaming #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #female reader #dragon writes

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gabessquishytum · 5 months

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That ask of dream having to work the summer at one of his family's resorts and being perved on by hob is so delicious to me. But consider: hob is very rich and powerful, yes. But nowhere NEAR the level of the Endless family and would probably never have even talked to the cute shy waiter who had no idea what he was doing if he knew who dream was. Dream knows this. He really considers telling his supervisor about hob bc it would be taken care of by dinner but he kinda likes the attention... hes always thought people only talked to him bc his family name but here hob is catcalling him across the pool and laughing at him when it makes dream spill his tray of drinks. Hob has no idea how this kid got THIS particular job but hes very glad he decided on extending his stay and might do so again:) hob is constantly demanding dream as his server and tucks his more than generous tips in the band of dreams tiny shorts before sending him off again with a slap to his ass. Hob is mostly playing chicken when he tells dream change into his swimsuit and let hob teach him to swim but dream AGREES and returns in the rarely chosen uniform one piece suit and hob can finally see his little tits cupped by something tighter than the sadly shapeless uniform polo. Hob "accidentally" sends it off to laundry forcing him to remain shivering in his swimsuit and dream knows thats a lie but hob calls him pretty and offers him a drink in apology. Then another, because dream deserves it for working so hard. He cant say no when hob tells him hes going to a yacht party that evening as hobs guest instead of an employee. The last minute addition means theres not enough chairs at dinner but hob waves his protests away and pulls dream onto his lap, keeping him quiet with a glass of wine to his lips and his other hand up dreams dress. Dream is wasted as he walks back to his room with his shoes in hand, he figured he should leave when hob got pulled into conversation when they got back. Hes frustrated because hob never made him come but theres another waiter dreams age whos hes sure has been giving him looks behind those shades and maybe Corinthian is capable of pleasuring him unlike hob :/ hob is pissed his arm candy left before he could get dream to beg for relief writhing on silk sheets but he does get to break rodrick burgess' nose for touching whats HIS and if his pretty boy thinks this was for moral reasons? Hey, hob is eager to accept dreams gratitude and dream rethinks his opinions about hobs sexual prowess when hes got dream moaning on his dick til sunrise.

-🔪

I'm sooooo thirsty about this au. I just love the idea of Hob teasing Dream until he's a little riled up mess, bless him. All those touches with those big warm hands have him aching, and maybe he shouldn't want it... but oh, he does. Its the fact that he could stop it at any time, that he technically has the power in the situation... but Hob doesn't know that. So Dream can really lose himself in his helpless slutty waiter fantasy.

When Hob finds Dream after the yacht party, they even have a little "fight" - Dream says that he's sick of Hob being gross, he's going to call Cori to take him to bed and report Hob for harassment tomorrow! And Hob is holding the hand that he used to punch Burgess and he's like "oh :((( OK I guess. You should know that Roderick won't bother you again by the way, I knocked him out." And Dream is like "oh? you defended my honour?"

And they fall into bed immediately. Hob tears Dream’s dress down the side seams and eats him out until he's thrashing and crying, the bedside lamp is on the floor, the sheets are soaked because Dream squirted everywhere. When he finally gets fucked he's just gushing, coming all over Hob’s dick as soon as its inside him, moaning until he's hoarse as Hob lifts him up and down with one hand. He's never had sex like this. Every slap on the arse, every lewd comment, its all worth it. Hob is some kind of sex-god disguised as a rich asshole.

They sleep in late next morning and Hob is like "won't you be in trouble for skipping work?" Dream just smiles and straddles Hob’s thighs for another go... And that's how Hob finds out that he's been perving on the prized third son of the Endless family...

#🔪 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw age gap

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xmalereader · 2 months

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— HeartMoor —

Lord Morpheus X Dark Fey! Male Reader

SUMMARY: Reader is a Dark Fey who has been captured and trapped by Rodrick Burgess before Dreams arrival. The two are locked away and only have each other until readers torture changes Dreams perspective and feelings towards the Dark Fey.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: Angst, Dream of the endless, torture, Dark Theme, mentions of death, death threats, language, Rodrick burgess can suck ass, Dark Fey lore, semi AU, Possessive dream, slight kissing , mentions of ravens, glimpse of death, slight fluff, courting, mentions of hell.

『Chapter One 』

『 Chapter Two 』

『 Chapter Three 』

『 Chapter Four 』

『 Chapter Five 』

TAGS: @fanficsforheartandsoul @byler4lifeblog @boulevardofgalaxies @gaysimp614 @vainillacookie @mfairycow @namjooncrabs @boofy1998 @1s3v3n1 @mypsychoticlove @mxacegrey @horrfilm @lewi-black

|| If you wish to be tagged for this series please comment!! ||

#male reader #lord Morpheus x male reader #lord Morpheus #lord Morpheus x dark fey male reader #dark fey reader #dark fey series #the sandman x male reader #the sandman #the sandman x dark fey male reader #dark theme

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

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"Pillars of Eternity" - Morpheus x Wisdom!Reader

[TW: kidnapping/captivity, blasphemy, mentions of sexual assault, nudity, graphic description of a rotting corpse]

[Sandman-inspired playlist] || 🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀

[Next part: 'The Just and the Wicked'] ['Que sera, sera']

SUMMARY: In a spell-go-wrong, Rodrick Burgess manages to summon you: Wisdom incarnate. Noticing a strange and quite unnerving change in the world, Morpheus ventures into the Waking World to investigate, only to find someone he's always been looking for.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 9k (oopsie daisy)

Oh, you're just in time! Come, sit beside the fire, warm yourself. Did your travel go well? Hermes walked with you, you say? That is just wonderful! Back when I was a wanderer, he showed me many shortcuts, both in this world and leading to others. If you happen to meet him again on your journey back home, please send him my regards.

Why I summoned you? Well, I'd like to tell you a story. It's one of my favourites, actually. Tell me, do you think dreams and wisdom have anything in common? You can be honest, I won't tell The Circle's Magister of Oneiromancy. No? Nothing in common? I used to think that too. "How can fantasy and reason have any similarities?" I'd ask. But have you never wondered why oneiromancy is such a recent field of study? Even more important question: why do we find answers to the banes of life in our dreams? Of course, the Magister will give you plenty of plausible excuses but the truth is, none of it existed until a few centuries back. What reason and fantasy have in common is just that: oneiromancy. So far, it's the only shared work of the Endless and the Pillars of Eternity. What are the Pillars? Have I never told you about them? Oh, you have to forgive me, I'm an old man. Well then, let me briefly explain to you:

There are four Pillars of Eternity: Wisdom, Decay, Abyss and Aether. They created life and with life came the Endless. Unlike the Endless, however, the Pillars do not mingle with humans. They rarely even meet each other. The Pillars are the only force keeping our universe steady. They were never born, so they will never die. One day, they shall end this plane of existence and create a new one. What about God, you ask? Well, they are the God. The Holy Trinity was just a huge misunderstanding of reality as the early humans thought that Abyss and Aether are one entity.

Abyss and Aether are, actually, the oldest of the four Pillars, although so much time had passed that neither of them knows any longer who is older. But that doesn't matter for now. Both of them were always frail. In fact, so frail one would take pity on them and share their meal. Abyss had skin of the darkest shade you could imagine, while Aether's was so white it nearly made her transparent. They each held a weapon, a symbol of their power: Abyss carried the Aegis of Darkness and Aether held the Blade of Spirits. For the longest time, the universe was only them - two equal forces but not equal entities.

Then came Decay, the most beautiful boy you ever did see. One of the old poets wrote about Decay as "beautiful like the Trojan horse". Marigolds would sprout from his fingers, wolves and deer would sit side by side just to watch him pass. He is the cycle of life and death, a balance that allows the world to carry on. Decay's weapon, the Bow of Existence, is told to end and create life as he pleases. He could aim his arrows at our world and soon all of us would turn into walking corpses, spouting rotted venom with each ragged breath.

And the strangest of them: Wisdom. Her name, however, quite poorly represents her domain. She is everything that is arcane, that lies beyond the material world. The very magic that you so fondly study is her gift. No, it's more than that: she is what we call magic. Wisdom's siblings never quite liked her for she knew the secrets of their powers. Those that have been blessed to see her say that she's always holding the Spear of Ages but I know that to not be true. It is told to harness the arcane wisdom of all universes past, present and future. Some even go as far as to say that it's the only weapon capable of killing any and every creature, no matter how eldritch they are. In fact, Archangel Michael once told me that it was Wisdom's spear with which he killed Satan.

Remember the last time you visited and I told you about the Endless? Well, one time the Endless and the Pillars met, changing our world in a way we are yet to witness and understand. A charlatan named Magus managed to capture Wisdom with magic The Circle will not teach you. Sometimes I think they don't quite know it themselves but it's for the best. No one should be able to harness such strange power. Curiously, the said Magus did not die in some horrible way like many did before him casting that spell nor did madness gnaw at his old mind. But that's not important. Alas, without Wisdom to guide creation, the whole world began to fall into chaos. Magic became uncontrollable, even the powers of the Endless started to falter. Perhaps, that was the reason why Dream ventured into the Waking World to investigate that commotion...

Lucienne had finished briefing Morpheus on the current affairs of the kingdom of Dreaming but she didn't leave immediately after as she usually did. Instead, she stood slightly sideways to him, pondering whether to stay or go.

"There is something else on your mind, Lucienne." His voice was carried by the loud echo of the overwhelmingly empty throne room. "Speak."

She let out a sigh. Her gaze met his for a second before she looked away for a short moment, the last reflection of whether honesty was appropriate at the given time, only to look at the King again. "My lord, I can not be sure whether it's something worthy of your attention."

"Let me be the judge of that."

Before she let him in on the secret, Lucienne shortened the distance between her and Morpheus but in moderation - he was sitting on the stairs and had she walked a few feet farther, Dream would have to look up at her. It was simply wrong, for the librarian to look down on her master. "There is something strange happening in the Waking World," she revealed in a low voice as if she was expecting prying ears around every corner of the palace. "Prayers are no longer answered, magic is wreaking havoc..."

"Yes, I have noticed dreams and nightmares seeping into wakefulness," Morpheus confessed in a reflective tone. Lucienne wasn't sure what to think about his thoughtful voice; clearly, Dream was at least partially aware of the strange commotion and had spent quite some time thinking about it. Something about this subject made him stand up and slowly stroll around Lucienne. "I admit I can not tell the reason for such a breach between realms."

"If I may so suggest, my lord, perhaps Wisdom...?"

Morpheus suddenly stopped. He watched Lucienne's face for a moment, studying her expression. A cold silence filled the throne room as if speaking that ancient name was a transgression against entities incomprehensible to the creatures of this plane. "No one has seen the Pillars for millennia, Lucienne. They do not care about the affairs of other realms."

"They created this universe," she argued. "I'm sure impending doom that is not caused by them will get their attention. Magic is, after all, Wisdom's field of expertise, so to speak."

"Even if she was willing to take an audience, I do not know where she resides. Firstly, I shall visit the Waking World and see this unrest myself. Perhaps there is no need to seek out the Pillars."

The Lord of Dreaming was a steadfast man and so Lucienne did not bother attempting to change his mind. "As you wish, my lord Morpheus." She slightly bowed to him before leaving.

Burgess mansion was drowning in a tense silence - the same type of quietness that takes over a stalked prey. Staff didn't engage in their usual small talk and gossip anymore. Instead, they'd give each other shy, anxious looks of worry and fear as if each of them wanted to make sure that everyone else was feeling as much dread as they did. It was the calm before the storm but no one could quite tell how far from them the black clouds of rolling thunder were. Each time some odd sound resounded throughout the mansion, no matter how quiet or loud, housekeepers would immediately stop whatever they were doing and stare in the direction of the basement door. Cold sweat run down their spines.

Rodrick thought that the Corinthian's trustworthy look was quite suspicious. Somewhow, the man in glasses reminded the Magus of a sleazy salesman, who manages to sell surprising amounts of an outrageously low-quality product. Nonetheless, a more naive part of him longed to listen to what the blond stranger had to say - even to simply satisfy his curiosity but, perhaps, Rodrick knew somewhere deep down that he had found himself in a land of strangeness never before discovered.

"I'm afraid you got yourself a bigger fish to fry, mister Burgess," Corinthian stated with a polite smile. "You have captured Wisdom, one of the Pillars of Eternity. She and her three siblings are what you call 'God'."

A feeling of dread in Rodrick's abdomen only grew in strength - he was hearing about things never mentioned in the occult books he had studied so feverishly. Necronomicon itself never mentioned something close to "Pillars of Eternity".

But for now, Magus couldn't care less about Wisdom's familiar connections. "Can she bring back my son?"

"Personally? No." The Corinthian maliciously waited for Rodrick's expression to turn grim before he continued. "But if there is a way to make that happen, she knows all of them. The problem might be getting the bird to chirp."

"Oh, that should not be a problem," Rodrick gritted through his teeth. Was he already reliving all the imaginative tortures he was going to subdue her to?

The Nightmare, however, seemed greatly unmoved at the viciousness seeping from Rodrick's mouth. In some disturbing way, his face appeared brighter, suddenly, as though he was pleased with what he was hearing. "Do yourself a favour, mister Burgess, and chain her with iron. Lock her in a circle of salt and black tourmaline. Otherwise, the bird might just fly away."

But Rodrick was not a fool, perhaps a little too proud but never naive despite falling to the stranger's charm. He was right to submit the Corinthian's claims to generous scepticism. "How do you know so much about her?" he asked with a slight squint in his old eyes.

That polite smile the Corinthian so often wore never faltered. "Let's say I'm a distant relative of sorts. Goodbye."

Watching the blond man leave, Magus pondered what business the Corinthian had with making sure that Wisdom didn't escape any time soon. He came to the conclusion, that if she was as old and powerful as the stranger claimed, holding her captive was enough to gain Rodrick allies as powerful as they were inhuman. Therefore, even if she ended up not helping him, there surely was some otherworldly horror out there willing to fulfil his wish in exchange for her. But before that, Rodrick had to at least try and make her cooperate.

Waking up, you felt something coarse and cold against your skin. A shiver ran through your body and only then did you realize there weren't any clothes covering your skin. Contorting yourself into a fetal position in an attempt to fight the discomfort, you finally opened your eyes to look at wherever you had found yourself.

The room was dark - a dirty window the size of a bar of soap was a laughable excuse for a source of light. Judging by the painfully rigid and coarse floor, you must have been sitting on concrete. With each breath, your nostrils were filled with the stench of mould. When your eyes adjusted to the tomb-like darkness, you began noticing white lines around you. They seemed to come together into some sort of occult or alchemy symbol. Circles, triangles, hexagons...

"Metatron's Cube," you whispered to yourself. You could recognise your own creation anywhere but considering you hadn't drawn this one, there was a genuinely demented scheme operating in this realm. What's worse: you never bestowed this knowledge on humans.

The sound of a metal latch being lifted stopped you from your small investigation. As the door's rusted hinges moved, a deafening creak resounded in the concrete cell. A man with a halo from gas lamps behind him stood at the threshold as though he was the messenger of some unspeakable forces. He slowly stepped into the confines of your prison, showing only half of his face as the other half was still drowning in the overwhelming darkness of the place.

With just one look at the stranger, the enigma of your own magic being used against you became clear as day: "You tore your soul for this."

He, however, disregarded your statement. "I am offering a fair trade, Wisdom." Rodrick put an odd accent on your name as if he had expected you to be shocked at his insight. But you were a little too loyal to the name you had been given to be surprised at his knowledge. Seeing as he in no way impressed or intimidated you, Rodrick's expression fell and a disturbing shadow danced across his face. "You will stay here, imprisoned, until you bring back my son or tell me how to do it."

Humans... you give them one finger and they bite the entire hand.

"Such an act is against my brother's laws," you informed him. Decay was an entity difficult to please and so it took all four of you entire aeons to come to the consensus that currently controlled this universe.

"I do not care for any laws. I only want my child back." Rodrick stared at you with squinted eyes but it was not an expression of scepticism: his cheeks were raised in contempt and, thus, his eyes appeared smaller. He took a few steps closer to you but remained wise enough to not cross the line of the Cube. It would have been a very painful disintegration if he had. "Regardless of price," he added after a small pause.

"Most unwise, Rodrick Burgess," you answered slowly. Considering the fact that you were naked, laying on the cold concrete floor in a fetal position in his own basement, your words were in no way more intimidating than a scorned ant.

"I am the Magus," he spat out, "and you will address me only by that name."

But you remained unmoved: his anger could never impress you. "You are only a human, barely a larva in this universe's cycle of life."

"And you are my prisoner," he pointed out triumphantly. Although he hadn't gained anything yet, it seemed that Rodrick Burgess was for now satisfied just with your loss.

"So mote it be," you said in a calm, firm voice.

A heavy sigh left your lips when the metal door shut loudly behind Rodrick. Once more, there was only you, cold concrete and darkness. Inside Metatron's Cube, the world was disturbingly quiet. Visions of universes past and future no longer haunted you. Even realms of this cycle seemed to be out of your reach.

Days went by before the air in your cell changed. Something about this microcosm of captivity shifted but the borders of the Cube prevented you from learning what it was exactly. There was only dread and fangs that resided in the darkness surrounding you.

Then a figure emerged from the shadows. You recognized him immediately by his simple yet characteristic attire but you'd know this Endless without ever looking in his direction: his presence always filled the room with a faint aroma of pomegranate, lilac and old paper.

"Lord Morpheus," you introduced him. "It is not chance that brought you here but consequence."

"Consequence of what, if I may ask?" His low voice echoed throughout the small, empty room. In slow steps, he was making his way towards you.

"Everything. A horizon of events that had never happened and all the timelines that are yet to become true should we step in their direction."

Morpheus knew there was only one creature in creation that could speak in an equally strange and insightful way: "You're Wisdom."

Putting your hands against the concrete, you sat up with knees close to your chest in a pathetic attempt at retaining at least some of your decency. Seeing him for the first time in millennia, you thought he generally looked exactly the same as the day he came to life. "Yes, that is one of the names I was given in this cycle."

Even while he was meeting someone he regarded as nothing more but a tall tale, Morpheus remained ever so expressionless. "Why are you here?"

"I was imprisoned by my own spell; the magic I had created was used against me." You noticed he was coming dangerously close to the chalk line on the floor. "Be warned, Dream of the Endless, not to cross the lines of this sigil. It trapped me but you..." you stopped yourself from continuing. Perhaps, there was no need in informing him of such horrors that do not have to appear in this timeline - to be simultaneously reduced to atoms and locked in one's corporeal form. "I do not have the heart to tell you what shall happen to a creature of your sort in Metatron's Cube."

Morpheus listened - the tips of his shoes were a mere inch away from the border of the symbol. "I presume it is your imprisonment that is causing chaos across realms."

Yes, that was bound to happen. "The magic I breathed into this world is shifting, wandering into places it was never meant to reside in like sheep that scatter in the absence of a shepherd. It's slowly leaving all realms only to gather here, in my prison, where Rodrick Burgess can do whatever he pleases with it. In the upcoming days, humanity shall see the most powerful sorcerer that has ever graced planet Earth."

"Then I shall bring this transgression to an end."

You appreciated his vigour but inaction was often smarter than a well-intended impulse. "No, Morpheus, it is not time for me to leave yet. The magic of this place is too stable. Let it gather, let the scale be unbalanced and then come to my aid. Humans are fickle things and there is only so much magic they can harness with their bodies, minds and spirits. Once Rodrick Burgess gathers too much of it around him, the call to balance my freedom shall cause will make the magic devour him alive. Every particle of him that does not come directly from any of the Pillars will be reduced to nothing."

"What will happen to the realms while you await for the right moment?"

"They will surely be visited by my dear brother Decay. But to free me, you must retain your power, dear Dream, and there is only one way for me to help you do that. You will find my spear by the tallest tree in my home, in Shangri-La. Hide it in Dreaming, in a place no one visits and do not tell anyone about it. Leave it be and the spear shall let you and your domain live comfortably through my absence. Remain brave of heart, dear Dream, for the Spear of Ages shall show you the world through my eyes and it is not something your kind was meant to see."

He fell silent for a moment, clearly pondering the quest he was about to accept or reject. It was truly humiliating for one of the Pillars to be dependent on the goodwill of one of the Endless but at moments such as that one, it was unwise to remain prideful. "If you're trapped, how will I know when the hour comes to free you?" he asked. There was at least one creature in this cycle that wished you well.

"Come back in a decade and I will give you my judgement. Now go, Dream of the Endless, for Shangri-La is far from here and with both of us gone, your realm shall fall into ruin at a frightening pace. However, there is one more thing I'd like to ask of you." Although he was free to leave and save his kingdom before he saves you, Morpheus remained still, waiting. "If Rodrick Burgess so desires to see his son, allow him to but do not discard even the smallest element of truth: paint him in his thoughts as he truly is."

"I will return, Wisdom," Morpheus announced in a low voice before disappearing in a whirlwind of golden sand.

The first time Rodrick heard a questioning "Father?" resound in his ears, he dropped the pen he was writing with. A fearful tremor shook his old body.

He got up from his chair so fast, he nearly lost his balance and had to lean against the back of it. "Son?" Rodrick called out in a trembling voice. It was silence, however, that answered him. With a thundering heart, Rodrick run out of his study to continue the search for the source of the voice he so longed to hear again.

The creature he saw, however, could hardly be called a human. Perhaps the shape was once the corporeal form of a young man but those days were long gone. His military clothes were black with mould and torn in many places. Was it a scrap of material or part of his intestine hanging from one of the holes? Most of his face had already been eaten by necrophages, leaving a disgustingly open view of his greyish-green brain. Fat centipedes and larvas fell to the ground when he moved the remains of his head a little too fast. A putrid smell of something both sour and sweet filled the air making Rodrick feel his stomach tighten so much, its content travelled back up his oesophagus.

"Father?" the odiousness called out once more. His voice was raspy as most of the vocal cords had already been eaten by the happily fat insects. "Father!" the monster cried out upon recognizing his once beloved parent. "Why have you done this to me?!" he sobbed in terror and pain.

Rodrick Burgess was speechless at the horror he was cursed to witness. Hearing blood rush through his head and feeling his heart beating too fast, he leaned against the wall. His terrified gaze never left the terror that slowly limped towards him. A raven croaked outside.

The monster, in turn, never abandoned Rodrick's mind: as long as the Magus was awake, he was cursed to see, hear or smell the resurrected corpse of his son, while none other was privy to this maddening nightmare. It was his personal Hell, catered to his very own taste. The Devil, as one can learn, does not lurk in the details but in every wish and whim that is granted.

Morpheus never had to endure cold. Sure, there were lands of eternal snow in his realm but their weather never affected him. Their climate was, after all, of his own doing. The Himalayas, however, were a strange land and their coldness gnawed at every inch of his very being as if it wasn't his fingers the unpleasant weather touched but his very soul. Nevertheless, he had made a promise and that meant he had to brave through the unending pale dunes.

The day when his eyes saw the pagodas with gold roofs, a sigh of relief left his mouth. You were true in your words: the journey was long, tiring and littered with hardships that made even the Endless question their purpose. As Morpheus walked through the city hidden from the rest of the world, its inhabitants seemed surprisingly disinterested in the unexpected guest. Living at the literal top of the world, what wonders were they privy to? Among the streets of Shangri-La, his heart was at peace and Morpheus at first wasn't sure what to call this sensation. He felt as if he could sit down right where he stood and remain there until you and your siblings end this cycle of life. It surprised him how little regret resided in that hypothetical scenario: Dreaming, after all, would be reduced to ashes should he decide to abandon his current life and stay in Shangri-La but at that very moment, Morpheus had little to no care about his own domain. Even worse: the thoughts and memories of it were swiftly escaping his mind. There was only him and the overwhelming peace caressing his tired bones.

Despite his strange desire, he made his way to the monastery which was placed in the centre of the city. Crossing the threshold, he saw a large patio with a large brass gong placed in the middle. The twelve lamas that ruled Shangri-La probably didn't notice his arrival as nothing about their behaviour seemed to acknowledge Dream's presence. As if completely obvious to the doom looming over the universe, they continued their daily duties of meditation, practice and tea brewing.

The unexpected guest, however, did not remain unseen for much longer as if he was, after all, expected. One of the monks, dressed in orange robes and with a head bald enough to reflect sunlight, approached Morpheus silently. No words greetings or inquires were exchanged between them - the lama only stared at him, awaiting an explanation.

"I came for the spear," Dream announced.

The lama, however, spoke no words to him even this time - he simply pointed towards a hill that towered over the city. A mighty sequoia grew on top of it and Morpheus for a moment pondered how he had missed this very obvious landmark. What he never learned was the fact that until the monk pointed towards the hill, it didn't quite exist - not in this dimension, at least. With his eyes set on the miraculously tall sequoia, Morpheus marched on.

Standing in front of the tree, Dream was rendered breathless at the unspeakable beauty of the view around him. Shangri-La was but an anthill from this distance. The rest of the world, no matter how big someone thought it was, remained covered by thick, white clouds as if this sequoia and the pagodas with gold roofs were the only things to ever exist. The setting Sun, slowly crawling to disappear underneath the cotton-like clouds, painted the sky above him in all shades of fuchsia, red and orange. Morpheus completely understood why you had spent centuries in this place.

The golden spear was lodged in the frozen ground between the roots of the mighty tree above it. Although 'spear' appeared to be a quite misleading name: it was a polearm with two intrinsically decorated sharp blades on each end. A red ribbon was tied to the shaft of this primaeval weapon; even after centuries of withstanding violent winds, it remained untorn.

The moment his hand lay on the weapon, a terrifying avalanche of thoughts flooded his mind - concepts, ideas, words and images he couldn't even begin to understand. He retracted his hand as quickly as it touched the spear before. This sorcery was beyond him, it filtered through dimensions he could never trespass due to the very laws according to which he had been created. Morpheus was akin to an ant that, through a series of misfortunes and the universe's maliciousness, was suddenly cursed with experiencing the surrounding world as a human only to be thrown back into its tiny mind with sensations and knowledge it could never comprehend.

But he knew he had little choice if he wanted to free you one day as well as make sure his realm prevails in those trying times. Feeling an unknown fear in his chest, Morpheus grabbed the Spear of Ages once more. As maddening thoughts ran through his head, he used all of the strength he had to pull the long blade out of the frozen soil. Every inch of his crawling, pasty skin was screaming at him to stop, to abandon this unholy artefact and save himself. But, as it was mentioned before, Morpheus was a steadfast man and so he kept pulling and pulling until he believed he had been doing it since the birth of the stars.

The moon's silver light cascaded off the freed edge. Although the golden blade was covered in intrinsic reliefs, the metal was polished so diligently, Morpheus could see his own reflection in those decorations but he quickly noticed that something about it wasn't quite right; the reflection wasn't his only as though an invisible entity resided inside the blade, a creature he knew was there but couldn't physically perceive. On the other hand, perhaps he was finally seeing himself for the very first time just not in the limited way human mirrors reflect one face. Dreams of the Endless from universes past and future were staring into that golden blade all at once.

If the legends were true and this spear had been used to kill at least once, it must have been the most beautiful weapon to die by. Perhaps its artistry was exquisite enough to calm the spirit of anyone who fell victim to it, drowning in peaceful silence and awaiting Decay's passionate kiss.

Remembering the unsure state of his realm, Morpheus made haste to return to Dreaming, where things were much worse than he left them: entire lands dissolving into oblivion; Dreams and Nightmares confusing their nature and duties, only to seep into the Waking World with no way to come back; dreamers getting lost in their own dreams or stumbling into the consciousness of other people, unable to wake up. Trusting your words, he hid the Spear of Ages somewhere inside the palace all the while following your advice and never revealing its location to anyone. In a matter of hours, Dreaming returned to its state from before his prolonged absence, to its lawful order, but it still wasn't ideal. Morpheus knew that his realm wasn't going to heal fully until you are free and it pained him to know that in the face of a calamity that raised its terrible hand against his home, there was nothing he could do but wait.

Awaiting the decade to pass, impatiently or not, Dream would wander into the dreams of people in Rodrick Burgess's manor. Part of him was anxious about your fate: should you, somehow, be destroyed, this universe would disappear with a snap of a finger. Perhaps part of him was simply sympathetic towards you and the human malice that clawed at your existence. Maybe, in those dreams, he would uncover some way to ease your struggle.

And wandering through their dreams he mostly saw, as one might expect, completely mundane sights of fantasies and terrors. A change appeared only when he trespassed into the dreams of the men that guarded you, who fantasised of defiling you even in their sleep. Morpheus felt a gut-wrenching disgust seeing with his own eyes how low humans were willing to fall, to crawl, just to usurp a fraction of your gift. His mind was incapable of comprehending something so mundane, normal, for you, so there really was no way for him to tell what inexplicable madness would devour their minds should they happen to lay their hands on your spear. The human heart, however, remained insatiable in its greed.

When the first decade had passed, Morpheus travelled to your prison not expecting his visit to be one of many to come. Before leaving Dreaming, he pondered whether to take your spear with him but quite quickly did he realize that placing such an artefact within Magus's reach was more than completely idiotic - he already had something inexplicably powerful in his unlawful possession.

Arriving at the Burgess mansion, he noticed the lack of change in you as in you were sitting in exactly the same spot and exactly the same position as you did ten years prior. Morpheus was about to call out to you, ask for instructions on how to free you, but you seemed to be well aware of his presence even before he had a chance to speak:

"No, it is not the time yet, dear Dream," you answered his never-asked question," but the night is young and I should like you to stay with me until the sunrise if you wish so too. It is unwise to let loneliness gnaw on one's mind for too long."

Wasting no words, Morpheus simply sat down in front of you. Even in a position that was supposed to be comfortable, he appeared artificially rigid. His stern gaze bore into your face in anticipation. A few minutes of hesitant silence passed by before he became courageous enough to make demands to an entity superior to him. Dream's voice, although low and voided of emotions, made the coldness of your prison more bearable: "Tell me about other worlds."

And so you did. Recalling the marvels you had witnessed and created, you told him about realms that had existed countless cycles before this one as well as future ones about which you knew only as much as the afterimages of the event horizon revealed to you. Taken over by the nostalgia of your too-long life, you shared memories of a world you always recalled with fondness:

"The sky was an ocean, deep and impenetrable as you have never seen. There were no stars, no suns or moons, only gargantuan jellyfish that swam across the indigo firmament. They glowed with such a bright light, the land underneath them was never dark. A soft, melodic hum travelled through the light breeze that was always present. People thought it was simply the wind brushing against their homes but if you listened closely, you'd know that it was the creatures in the sea sky singing a blessing to the lands over which they swam. I remember... I remember it always smelt of oranges there."

Quite surprisingly, he listened to your stories without even a shadow of confusion as if none of the strangeness you had seen was enough to surprise him. Well, he was the Dream King, after all, and that meant he was made out of oddness and wonders. Sometimes, when your words were colourful enough, he'd chip in with a story of a similar dream he had once seen. But never once did he laugh at the ridiculousness of your tales, never once questioned their validity or admitted his lack of understanding. In all of creation, finally someone heard your stories and said "I know" instead of "Explain"; your infinite wisdom for the first time united something in place of dividing as it so often happened with minds too small to look past their pride. For the first time since you remembered, it wasn't unspeakably lonely to know what others couldn't comprehend.

"You are a strange creature, Dream of the Endless," you confessed close to the end of the night.

"How so?"

"In all of my eternal existence, you are the first to have the faintest idea of what I mean when I speak. Everyone else lacks the imagination to ponder the impossible."

"I do not believe in the impossible," he answered. Perhaps it was then, in those very words of disagreement, that your fondness of him sprouted so vigorously. "Improbable, perhaps, but human ingenuity showed me that the impossible is simply yet to be uncovered."

And what a wonderful thought that was! That there was always something more to discover, wonders yet to be seen and knowledge to yearn for; that no one truly knew everything and the finality of your wisdom was a generously rounded subjective experience.

The sun was beginning to rise - it was time for him to go. "I will be back," he stated before disappearing and you never quite knew if that was a promise or a fact.

One day, not too long after Morpheus's visit, Alex Burgess came down to your dungeon. He was a frail boy, no older than thirteen, with big eyes that watched the surrounding world as if he was seeing it for the very first time. Perhaps they were part of the reason why he looked so frightened by existence itself. If not, the fact that he was sneaking behind his father's back surely was.

He stared at you in silence for long minutes. Maybe he didn't know what to say or maybe the sight of you made him too scared to open his mouth. "Is it true what they're saying? Are you the Devil?" he finally stuttered out in a quiet voice.

"Devil is a title, not a name, Alex Burgess," you corrected him. "After the fall of Satan, that honour was bestowed on Lucifer, the current King of Hell. I am not Lucifer." Truthfully, it was offensive to even suggest you were anywhere close to that pesky, wayward creature.

"Can you really do it?" he continued. "Can you really bring my brother back?" A glimpse of fearful hope appeared in his eyes. It nearly made you feel sympathy for him.

"Do you think I should?" you returned the question. "Would it be wise, little Alex, to rob the dead of their peace?"

Frantically looking over his shoulder, the boy walked up to you in rushed footsteps. As a token of his complete subjection, Alex fell to his knees in front of you. Staring into those big, teary eyes of fear and longing, you wondered what horrors he had to endure since his brother's passing. "Please, do it, I'm begging you. My father, he... He has changed ever since my brother died."

But even the tears of children weren't a good enough excuse to break the consensus between you and Decay. "And why should Rodrick Burgess dictate who dies and lives?" you asked Alex. It was at least ridiculous to entertain such thought - that larvae would order lions around. Humans rarely considered matters from a perspective other than their own. Maybe it was time to force one of them to be something else than egocentric for a moment: "Which one of you had ventured into Death's realm and asked the boy himself whether he wants to return?"

And maybe Alex Burgess would have responded to your strange, quite macabre, question, had his father not appeared in time. Seething, Rodrick yelled out various curses directed at his youngest child. His hand, although old and tired, grabbed Alex's shoulder with surprising strength, only to forcefully drag him out of your cell. Then, in those big eyes that glistened with fear you, saw his moment of clarity, complete understanding that you were something much older and much more powerful than the fairytale of the Devil people believe in - you could be much worse than the Adversary and his father kept you locked up like a stray mutt. Since that fateful moment, every day Alex begged his father to let you go in fear of your primaeval anger.

The silence of your loneliness, despite being hardly bearable, was a lot more welcome than experiencing another exhibit of human entitlement. How come those low creatures always thought they knew better? As much as they execrated gods, idols and all creatures in between for not granting all of their wishes, they never seemed to entertain the thought that, maybe, it was for their own good.

Every decade that followed, Morpheus would leave his domain to venture into the Waking World; for one night every ten years, reason and fantasy sat face-to-face as if they could ever be equals. As time went by, you couldn't decide whether it sounded like a set-up to a bad joke or the first verse of a life-changing poem. Although, who was to say both variants weren't equally true at the same time? Why did it have to be one or the other?

In any case, some nights the two of you talked but others were spent in a pleasant silence. When the night hours were spent on conversations, it was mostly you talking but it was quite understandable: while you knew what he was, Morpheus had a less than vague idea of the truth behind the myth of Wisdom, the Pillar of Eternity. There was a strange intimacy in being the one known instead of knowing but you welcomed it with the warm curiosity that defined you.

One time, probably as a token of his goodwill or care for you, Dream brought a book from the library in his palace. Out of all the works ever written, Morpheus chose The Trial by Franz Kafka. Perhaps he liked it himself or perhaps he found it somewhat fitting. It was a bizarre thing to stare at him while he read through the existentialist story: not an emotion appeared on Dream's face, nothing that suggested any reflection elicited through the strange tale he shared with you, all the while words leaving his mouth painted a disturbing course of events of a man who tried to defend himself from an accusation he never learned. Nonetheless, his low voice made for an exquisite narration of the through-provoking tale and you found yourself pondering asking him to read more to you. But that was a worry for the future, now you simply listened to his pleasant words.

Hours had passed and the sun was rising, people in the mansion were beginning to wake up, so Morpheus knew he had to leave soon. But before he was gone for another ten years, there was something you needed to tell him or maybe it was him who needed to hear it: "The world would be at ease knowing that it is you who is watching over them while they sleep."

"Thank you. That is a beautiful wish."

You gave him a gentle smile. Was it insecurity or modesty that spoke through him? "It is merely a fact, darling Dream."

And with those words, Morpheus had disappeared, marking another decade when magic run uncontrolled through all of the realms.

The eleventh time Dream visited your cell, he could immediately sense that something was different about that night. Were the wolves howling at a strange moon? Or perhaps moth swayed to inaudible music? Whatever it was, it pierced the air even in the concrete cell.

"The day has come, dear Morpheus," you called out to him. As it usually so happened, you acknowledged his presence before he could make it known. "The clock has struck Magus's last hour. There is enough raw, untamed power within these walls for you to not fail."

Strangely enough, you were in a different position: on your knees, sat on the back of your feet with hands resting on your thighs, leaving your chest indecently exposed. Morpheus felt a knot of shame tighten in his stomach - he should look away, shouldn't he? Redirecting his flustered gaze at something above or behind you, he spoke:

"What should I do?"

"You will need my spear." Still, you refused to look in his direction. Your vacant stare seemed to be admiring the dark, wet and coarse concrete wall in front of you.

"I hid it in the Dreaming as you advised."

Finally, you looked at him. Out of the two of you, he seemed to be a lot more embarrassed at your nudity. Perhaps you simply grew accustomed to the constant shivering and goosebumps. "Or did you?" you asked with a glint of mischief in your smile.

Morpheus was about to answer you, voice his confusion at your vague question, when he felt something weighty in his hand. Sure enough, he was now wielding the Spear of Ages, although he knew for a fact that he did not bring it with him coming to your decadal meeting. Curiously, he noticed that within your vicinity, the primaeval weapon did not torture him with visions and whispers he couldn't understand.

"Break the sigil with my spear," you instructed him, "but first you need to cast a spell, call my name into the void beyond all realms and summon me into this plane. Repeat after me, Dream of the Endless: I name you wolf, guardian of order and arcane laws. I name you heron, pathfinder of skies. I name you moth, the winged god of change. I name you fox, a traveller between realms. I name you earth, the sanctuary of stability and abundance. I name you crow, keeper of lost lore. With this artefact of power, I name you Wisdom, the Pillar of Eternity."

Morpheus tightened his grip around the shaft of the spear. With a strained groan, he pierced the concrete floor of the basement breaking one of the Cube's lines. A loud cracking resounded in the small room and a web of crevices sprawled across the complex sigil, essentially breaking it into countless dismembered lines. From those breaches emerged green light that quickly became blinding, forcing Morpheus to look away. The power, whatever it truly was, only grew in strength and soon it had reigned over the entire mansion. Housekeepers kept their eyes shut tightly, covering their entire faces as they felt the light burning their skin.

Then, a blood-chilling scream resounded through the house. It was, as one might suspect, Rodrick Burgess himself. Having gathered and irresponsibly used your magic for his own mundane whims, the green-coloured power recognized the man as a vessel for arcane force and so it tore every particle, that you had breathed into existence, out of him. Soon, the screaming subsided and only a speck of ash was left where a man once stood. The green light went out, crawling back down the cracks it had originally climbed out of.

Your world became loud again, filled with whispers and images from different realms and timelines. The static noise of universes past and future was never once overwhelming - it was akin to a farmer hearing fields of wheat rustle on the gentle august wind; it was the sound of life, creation walking along its predetermined path.

After over a century of forced, cold nudity, you found yourself dressed once more, in emerald green and embroidered golden ibises. A cape was covering one of your shoulders. As paradoxically as it may sound, it was then that you had felt more naked in front of Morpheus than before as though him seeing you in your arcane exult was more intimate than witnessing its mere fraction.

Nonetheless, it was time for the two of you to leave this den of wickedness. Having effortlessly pulled your spear out of the cracked concrete, you placed your hand on Dream's shoulder and, without a word of caution, travelled across the globe to the place you considered home. Where the two of you once stood among the darkness, now lay glistening, green dust, so easy to be overlooked by an inexperienced eye.

Morpheus found himself among the busy streets of Shangri-La again. Despite decades having gone by since the last time he had set foot on those cobblestones, nothing about the hidden city had changed. In fact, it seemed as if not a day had passed for its citizens. Still, the people of Shangri-La passed by him without ever acknowledging his presence. To Dream's surprise, neither did they acknowledge you. The bright, warm sun rays reflected off the gold roofs of pagodas building the city. A gong resounded through Shangri-La as though the monks were announcing someone's arrival or calling people to prayer.

Seeing you in all of your timeless glory, no longer bounded by foul magic, he fell to his knees - bowing, as one should do when facing the Pillars of Eternity. Although he was showing you the respect you deserved, it felt strange to be reminded of the inequality between you because, truthfully, this dissonance was buried the moment he sat in front of you, asking to be told about lifetimes he never got to witness and landscapes he was never going to set his eyes on.

The Spear of Ages weighed in your hand. The bright sun of the Himalayas danced across its edge, reflecting a mirage of colours both known and yet to be named. With a strange nostalgia, you looked at your own reflection in the meticulously sculpted metal. Entire universes had been born and collapsed before another pair of eyes stared into the golden blades. Eternity was changing, you could tell as much, but in what ways? That knowledge remained beyond you, for now.

"Throughout those decades of chaos, it had belonged to you as much as it belongs to me." With a sharp sound, you broke the spear in half against your leg. Holding one of the blades in your hand, you extended the now-broken shaft towards Morpheus. "You do not bow before me, Dream of the Endless," you announced in an official tone making him look up at you, "but stand by my side as my equal. A friend, if you will." Such a word of intimacy and trust tasted weird on your tongue. It was a flavour you were yet to grow accustomed to.

With a gentleness that befitted hesitation, Morpheus took the half of the spear you offered him as he stood up. In the upcoming millennia, he was going to have numerous opportunities of proving its deadly legend true, raising the primaeval blade against his own siblings but never, until the end of this cycle, was his hand going to strike one of the Endless. Not with this arcane weapon, at least. Now, when half of the Spear of Ages belonged to fantasy and the other half to reason, a new power was called into existence to accommodate this dissonance: oneiromancy, the art of prediction through dreams.

"Wouldn't it be considered rude for one of the Endless to seek out the companionship of one of the Pillars of Eternity?"

"We are peers now, darling Dream," you reminded him. It was utterly bizarre to consider one of the Endless as anything else than below you but perhaps too much time had already passed to dwell on your differences. "All you have to do is ask."

He didn't speak right away as if he needed more time to ponder his request. Only now, having escaped the darkness of the dungeon you were held captive in, did you notice the strange yet captivating shade of blue in his eyes - they were the same colour as the sky sea once filled with glowing jellyfish you remembered so fondly.

Finally, Morpheus took a bold step towards you. The stern, cold look in his eyes suddenly became mild as they studied your face. His face stopped intimately close to yours. "Come with me," he begged barely above a whisper as though he was afraid of anyone else becoming privy to the desires of his heart.

"That is not a question," you answered equally quietly.

"Allow me to rephrase: will you marry me?"

Staring at him in thoughtful silence, you couldn't help but smile. Some part of you knew this was going to happen the moment he stepped into the confinements of your prison for the very first time. Perhaps, the curious resemblance between his eyes and the strange sea sky was more than a random occurrence. "It is not chance that makes you say this but consequence."

His face lit up with amusement or curiosity. Dream's lips, too, contorted into a smile but it seemed to be a reflex rather than a conscious choice. "Consequence of what, if I may ask?"

"Of things that I have done," you answered. In a truly tempting fashion, your arms circled his neck. You leaned in to whisper something in his ear, making Morpheus sharply breathe in as he felt your own breath against his skin: "And as a consequence of everything that you have done, I shall tell you 'yes' without hesitation."

How do I know this story, you ask? Well, of course they themselves told me! I could ask my father to tell me any story ever dreamt but so often I'd demand to be told the very same one over and over again - the tale of how he met my mother.

Growing up, I was always headed on an expedition to find the Spear of Ages, at least one half of it but I never did. As Dreaming and Shangri-La are far and wide, the weapon was nowhere to be found. "The spear can not show you anything that you don't already know, Mimir," my mother used to say. Perhaps, she was right.

But the day is growing shorter, dear student, and you mustn't linger beyond nightfall. I bid you farewell. May you dream of wisdom and may you be wise in choosing your dreams.

TAGLIST: @deniixlovezelda

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auroraborealyss · 2 years

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢𝐢.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader, corinthian x reader if you squint

⊹ summary: you reunite with an old enemy and an even older friend, the corinthian, and confront him about his betrayal to morpheus, and more importantly, to you

⊹ tags: unexpected hints of a love triangle (more like a love V since there's no third line), contains more corinthian than morpheus in this part

⊹ warnings: violence, spoiler for 1.09

⊹ word count: 3492 (an absolute menace)

⊹ previous part: part ii

⊹ up next: part iv → coming soon

⊹ now playing: run boy run by woodkid

𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚗! 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚗! 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞

The basement is cold and empty.

You shiver as you walk quietly through the hall. The years have taught you how to step lightly as if you were gliding on the marble rather than stepping.

Even though there was no logical reasoning that bound the Corinthian and you, you can still feel his presence. He was somewhere on the floor, getting closer and closer with each step you take even though your not working purposefully in a directions. You can feel him waiting for you to find him. To come to him — ironic, considering it’s been him chasing you all this time.

You don’t know what will happen when you see each other again. Will he hurt you? Try to claim the very bounty he set on your head? Has he finally gotten tired of your cat-and-mouse game?

Your thoughts are put to a pause when Jed Walker appears ahead, just a few doors from where you’re standing. You whisper his name but it goes unheard as he pushes open a set of doors and steps through, disappearing from your view. You still don’t know what the Corinthian could want with two young mortals, but given his track record, you don’t trust him with them. If saving them means your game has to continue, then very well.

“Jed!” you whisper louder. You hurry after the boy, slipping through the doors just before they close and nearly bumping into him.

The room isn’t empty. In fact, there are four—technically, three—other people in the room. A dead mortal, two killers, and in the centre of it all, the Corinthian himself.

The Corinthian smiles at you.

You push Jed behind you. He grips onto the back of your shirt, trembling in fear as you and him both look at the Corinthian and the man being stabbed to death behind him.

Even with those dark shades on, you know the Corinthian is looking at you. You can feel his stare burning into you, taking in every inch of you greedily. It has been a century since he last saw you, after all. An entire century since he stopped you from entering the basement of Rodrick Burgess and freeing your husband and his maker, and instead put a bounty on your head.

“Hello, my lady,” the Corinthian says, his honey-like drawl drawing shivers from you. He takes a step towards you, and you take three back. “I’ve missed you.”

He hasn’t changed much since the last time you saw him—nearly a hundred years ago. He still insists on indulging his materialistic side—something he got from Morpheus’ tendency to spoil you, probably—by wearing high-end suits. His golden hair is still the same length, though he no longer wears his hat. And he still wears those damn shades that covers his eyes—eyes that Morpheus spent days crafting specially for him.

You shove Jed further back, and the boy thankfully takes the hint and bolts. You stay.

“Who’s she?” one of the killers, a woman with straight hair, asks.

“She’s mine,” the Corinthian says dismissively. “Just continue with him.”

The woman looks at you before shrugging. She raises her hand to resume stabbing the man.

“Both of you, stop,” you command, and the two behind him immediately stop. Not just their arm, but every muscle in their body has frozen in compliance with your order. Even their hearts have frozen, and though you’re sure they’re feeling terrified, their bodies can’t show it because of what you’ve done to them with a single spoken word.

“All these years, and you still can’t control it, can you?” the Corinthian says. Though he sounds slightly disappointed, he keeps his tone light, as if remarking that it was raining when it should have been sunny. The casualness in his voice enrages you.

He’d always been a nightmare, but the last time you saw him, he had also been your friend. Not the maker-and-created relationship he has with Morpheus, but a friend. You hadn’t been surprised he’d want to keep Morpheus trapped and stop you, but you hadn’t expected for him to put that bounty on your head and reveal Morpheus’ and your’s, secret. To Morpheus, it was an act of defiance. To you, it was an act of betrayal.

“Corinthian."

His features softens slightly at the name you chose and gave to him. “My lady.”

“What have you done?”

“I inspired people, just like you said I would be able to.”

You flinch, as he’s spat your words back at you verbatim. You and him had been walking through the Dreaming once, your arm linked around his. It had been after your wedding to Morpheus but before the power transference ceremony. The Corinthian had asked what your intention was for him, as while it had been Morpheus who crafted him for you, you had decided his purpose. Even Morpheus had been surprised that you would choose to craft a nightmare rather than a dream, but you defended the Corinthian by saying nightmares had just as much power influencing a person and their decisions as much as dreams did.

“Confronting one’s fears challenges a person, but when they emerge, they come out stronger and firmer in their beliefs,” you had told him. “That’s what I want you to be. To be a mirror for humanity’s darkest self so they would choose to be better.”

He had smiled down at you in response, and dipped his head in a small bow. You tightened your grip on him as you resumed your walk, the sun warm down on both of you—so different from the cold that filled the air between the two of you now.

“I wanted you to inspire others to be good, Corinthian. Not…this.”

“I’m letting them be their true selves.”

“You’ve taught them to be selfish and cruel.”

He tilts his head before taking a step forward. You take another three back until you hit the door. But you don’t run. Not yet.

“Are you disappointed in me, my lady?” he asks lowly.

You toss your nametag to his feet in response. Of all his atrocities to you, that was the worst. “You made me that,” you spit out. Lady of Whispers. The name he gave you. He was the one who blew on the flames and built your reputation when he knew that you never meant to hurt anyone. It was his fault that people feared you, when you had been the complete opposite in the Dreaming.

“I gave you a name of your own,” he says through gritted teeth. “Something for people to know you by other than being someone’s wife.”

There is truth behind his words. People still knew you as Lady of the Dreaming, but now they feared you for you, and not because of Morpheus solely.

The two killers behind him fall to the ground, dead. Death was always the only one able to put a stop to your powers.

The Corinthian bends down to pick you your name. As he does, you seize his distracted nature and run, going after Jed wherever he is. As the doors swing shut behind you, you hear the Corinthian’s throaty chuckle, the sound raising bumps all over your arms.

You sprint up the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.

Floor after floor, you search the halls, hissing out Jed’s name. By the fifth floor, you’re breathing heavily. By the eight, there’s a sharp cramp in your side. On the tenth, you’re forced to stop against a wall to catch your breath. As you will the fire in your lungs to go away, you remember the key in your back pocket. The room reserved for you is on this floor. It’s a completely irrelevant point, but you can’t help but wonder what you would find if you entered that room: one bed or two.

A girl walks past you, her head tilted upwards to the room numbers. You stare after her in surprise, recognizing her from the picture you’re carrying.

“Rose Walker?” you ask.

She turns to you. She blinks, and you see the recognition flare in her eyes. “I know you, don’t I?” she says thoughtfully. “I think I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

That wasn’t possible. Mortals already rarely remembered the full extent of their dreams. They rarely remembered Morpheus being by their side as they went through the Dreaming, you even more, talking to them and guiding them through. The most they remembered was the warmth of your presence.

“Y/N,” she says. “You’re Dream’s wife.”

You stop. “How do you know who I am?”

“He told me I’d know who you were.”

“My husband?” You step closer. “He’s spoken with you? Is he here? Is he alright? What did he say?”

“He told me to tell you something.”

“What is it?” you ask insistently, the desperation clear in your voice. Was it an explanation for why he isn’t here? Anger or hurt? Understanding?

“He told me to tell you that I’m a vortex,” Rose says.

You freeze and stare at Rose. It takes a few seconds for the pieces to click—why your husband would want her to tell you that apart from everything else. But when it does click, your shoulders relax and you smile at her. Of course he’d have her tell you that. You never would have figured it out on your own.

“Why would he tell me to tell you that?” Rose asks. “Does it mean something special to you?”

Of course you pity her for what has to be done, but you’re also relieved that you’re almost done. But before you can give her an answer—a partial truth to not be so cruel—someone calls her name.

You both look down the hall and see Jed Walker standing there. Rose breaks into a smile, forgetting you, and hugs Jed tightly. You recognize the man behind Jed, Fun Land, who’s too busy looking at him like prey. He moves forward and starts to tug Jed from Rose, who screams at him and you for help.

You rush forwards and slam your elbow down on Fun Land’s neck, hitting a nerve that sends him crumpling to his knees.

“Run, Rose!” you bark at her, and though her eyes don’t turn gold, she does as you command anyway.The three of you sprint down the hallway, only to be forced to a stop as you reach a locked green door. You try to kick it down, but the lock is thick and made of metal. As Rose and Jed begin to knock on it desperately, shouting for help, you think about who you’d call for help—Morpheus. But he isn’t here. At least, not yet. And you couldn’t let someone like Fun Land appease the appetite that the Corinthian had inspired in him.

“Cover his ears,” you command Rose. As Fun Land reaches you, you shove the kids behind you, using your body as a protective shield.

“Stop,” you command. Gold fills his eyes, swirling in his irises like sand. Fun Land halts a few step from you, standing completely still and waiting for more instruction. “See yourself for who you really are.”

Immediately, he flinches and recoils into himself. He starts to whimper and seek forgiveness from Jed and Rose and every other unfortunate child he’d collected that would not and should not ever be given to him.

“What are you doing to him?” Rose whispers.

“Exactly what I said,” you say coldly. If the Corinthian inspired them to be who they really are, then let them see just that. He would see the monster he is.

Fun Land’s whimpers begin to turn into screams as he slaps his hands over his eyes to hide the world. Because that isn’t enough, he digs his fingers into them, the squelch as he hits his eyeballs echoing in the hall despite Rose’s horrified gasp and Jed’s cries. You only continue to stare, true, merciless and just, just as the Lady of Dreaming should be.

Fun Land’s cries are cut off when he suddenly drops dead. His body falls to the floor, a dagger protruding from the back of his head. Standing behind where he one stood, is the Corinthian.

“What a waste of a snack,” he says with a tut of his tongue. He licks his lips. “But my lady. We haven’t finished our conversation. Shall we?”

The Corinthian tosses your nametag to you. Out of instinct, you catch it.

“I did not make you this way,” the Corinthian says. “Dream did. If there’s anyone to blame for your talent, your gift, it’s him. He made you this way, just as he made me this way.” He takes a step towards you. “This is who we are, and if you would just stop running for one second and look in the mirror and see how much better you are in this form—with your powers and without him—you would be a lot happier.”

“With you?”

The Corinthian looks taken aback. “What?”

“Do you think I would be happier with you than with my husband?”

If Morpheus made him, then perhaps he had put his affection for you in the Corinthian as well. Perhaps that was why the Cortinthian insisted the bounty be for you to be taken alive, and why you had never been able to use your powers to stop him. You’ve always known those emotions were there, even if it went unsaid by you or him. Even before Morpheus’ capture, the Corinthian’s affection for you had always been soft, gentle. Lingering touches on your arm, laughing a little too loud at your jokes, his gaze on you longer than a friend’s should. But you always ignored it, as you never saw him in the way you saw your husband. You loved the part of him that was Morpheus,, but you could not love him completely. You could never.

“I did them for you,” the Corinthian insists. “Inspired them for you. They worship you, just as everyone should. Dream never let the others see your beauty and talent, but I did. I let them see you as you really were and they adored you. Because of me, you are loved.”

His words and the veneration in his tone—something you wish he was faking but can tell is genuine—struck you into silence. He’s standing before you now, one hand brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His movement is gentle. A caress.

“My lady,” he says quietly, his voice deep and thick with emotion. “I have missed you.”

Was it possible that he was right? That he loved you in a way Morpheus loved you differently? In a way you should be loved? Whereas Morpheus hid you from the world to protect you, the Corinthian showed you to the world and gave the world a reason to fear you—your own protection. Was he right?

He’s about to brush your cheek with the pad of his thumb when you grab his wrist tightly; painfully. A stark contrast against his touch.

Through his shades, your eyes meet. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Though you don’t see his eyes, you know they fill gold as the effects of your powers take control. The Corinthian yanks his hand back like you were the surface of a hot stove. He tries to slap you, but his hand stops inches from your cheek and he cries out in pain as his other hand grabs his wrist and pulls it away forcefully. He stares at his hand in repulsion, then up at you in anger, and just like that you know that whatever emotions he has for you is gone. The Corinthian had rebelled against Morpheus so he would not be under his maker’s will, and now you had just forced him under yours.

His lips curl into a nasty smile. He directs his attention to Rose, who’s been watching with fearful eyes this whole time.

“You don’t think she’s going to protect you, now do you, Rose Walker?” the Corinthian says, his tone sickly sweet and charming. “Do you know who she is?”

“Dream’s wife,” Rose says hesitantly.

“Oh, she’s so much more than that. She’s one of his tools.”

“His tools?”

“Dream is known for three of his tools: his pouch of sand, his helm, and his ruby. But what’s lesser known is his fourth tool: his wife. While the first three were crafted, his fourth was given to a mortal that he fell in love with.”

“Enough,” you snap, but the Corinthian doesn’t listen.

“The ceremony was beautiful. A slice from his palm to draw blood, which he placed on top of hers so that his blood may enter her veins. In his blood was his power. When the blood had dried, it was done. She had been remade into one of his tools, and like his other tools, she has powers. Did you see what she did to Fun Land?”

“She told him to stop,” Rose says slowly. You can hear her piecing it together, and as you turn to her, you see the growing fear and apprehension in her eyes. “You told me to cover Jed’s ears…it’s because you didn’t want him to hear what you would say. Your order. Is that your power? You can tell people what to do?”

“The proper term is she inspires,” the Corinthian said.

You aren’t blind. You’ve seen the slow, small steps he’s taken to Rose, as if he’s offering her his protection. And you can see how Rose has been leaning away from you and towards him too. He’s always been good with words. That he got from you.

“Dream stored inspiration in her,” he says. “The ceremony turned her into the physical manifestation of inspiration; of the aspect of our thoughts and dreams that incline us to do something.”

Rose looks at you, perhaps waiting for you to say he was lying or there was more to the truth, but you don’t say anything. You can’t.

“Dream’s coming to kill you, Rose Walker,” the Corinthian whispers in her ear.

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re the vortex.” He turns to you. “And as Dream’s tool and his wife, she’s going to kill you too if she can.”

There’s betrayal in her eyes towards you as she tugs Jed closer to her. And fear. That’s what’s in her eyes. That’s how everyone’s looked at you in the past century.

“Is he telling the truth?” she asks. “You’re both going to kill me?”

“You have to die, Rose,” you say, void of emotion. “For everyone. For your brother’s safety. You are the vortex.”

“Is that why he had me tell you that I was one? So you could finish the job if he couldn’t?”

Perhaps it was one of the reasons he told her that, a sign that he still had trust in you. But you knew the main reason he had her tell you that was to reassure you that he still loved you and was coming for you. As the vortex, Morpheus had to come for her. His message—the unspoken words behind it—was to tell you to stay close to Rose Walker so that he could find you.

In other words, he was asking you to wait for him.

“I’m sorry, Rose,” you say softly. Behind your back, you reach for the hilt of your dagger. Morpheus will find another way to get to you. But he won’t be able to do that if the Corinthian has Rose.

But before you can grab onto it, the Corinthian moves. He’s a blur of speed and strength, and you’re soon slammed against the wall with a syringe sticking out of your neck. You gasp and dig your nails into his wrist, hard enough to draw blood, but it’s too late. When he pulls the syringe out, it’s empty. The liquid burns through your veins and dulls everything immediately, and you go slump against his body as he brushes your hair out of your face.

“He’ll come for me,” you mumble.

“Oh, I’m counting on it, sweet thing,” the Corinthian murmurs. He grips your chin with his thumb and points and points your face towards him. “What do you think the reward for the bounty is?”

Your eyes widen in horror. The Corinthian smiles and nods.

“Dream, your husband who’d do anything to get you back. Well. Let’s see just how much he means that, shall we? When you get home, why don’t you tell your husband that I’m waiting for him?”

You try to push away from him, but you’re too weak. Soon, you can’t feel your limbs. Then, you begin to drift. For the first time in a long time, you’re falling asleep and entering the Dreaming. But before you do, you feel the Corinthian press his lips against your forehead. His words are the last you hear.

“I’m sorry, my lady.”

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

Morpheus walks slowly towards the Corinthian, the weight of his footsteps and anger to be felt by all as the world tremors. Across the waking world, dreamers encounter nightmares that haven’t been seen since the Morpheus was first captured. They stir and cry out in their sleep, unable to wake and escape the monsters. Some wake up and find that the monsters have followed them into the waking world.

They all scream.

But in the hotel, where the cult of serial killers are asleep in their seats, it is only the King of Dreams and Nightmares and the Corinthian.

“Where is she?” Morpheus asks eerily calm. His voice is deep and dangerous; wrath being barely restrained from being unleashed on the Corinthian.

The Corinthian smiles. “You can feel her, can’t you? Feel her strength? Or shall I say, her strength diminishing?”

“What have you done, Corinthian?”

“I want to kill you, Dream. And what easier way to kill you, than to kill your wife.”

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀? 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝗂'𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁. 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌??? 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗋𝖽 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂'𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽??? 𝗐𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇.

𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗒. 𝗂'𝗆 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (𝗅𝗈𝗐-𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝖼) 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍!

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗋, 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗂 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌: 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝖻𝗒 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆.

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @aurorarevenclaw1927, @hueanhdang, @queen-taryn, @cyanide-mustard, @azrielloveselain, @sherazyjade

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @justviktormlolm, @amirahroronoa, @sunna-fangirls, @mrs-captainsteverogers, @absbdbshhs, @urbanbts, @theamuz, @ac-procrastinator-13, @thegreatestsandwich, @julegrav009-blog, @harrypotter55, @blossomedfloweroflove, @lestaikkeullsokka, @thetrashypanda423, @ponyboys-sunsets, @izzicle, @dilfsandtherapy, @mischiefmanaged71, @grippleback-galaxy, @cynic-spirit, @thecrazytealady, @violet-19999, @junobutbored, @avanisbored, @redskull199987, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @ladymoon666, @celestialceremonials, @mm2305, @ttae-yong, @thegreatestsandwich, @notabotiswear, @boofy1998, @crimsonsabbath, @megumimind, @itsnanabun, @spygrrl99, @regulusblacksimpsblog, @maverey, @storm4433, @writerinlearning, @lokigirlszendaya, @thesadvampire, @thestarsanctuary, @floreoo, @pinkpunkdynamite, @jesllianaquilesrolon, @aegeanblues, @anjimimimoo, @imaginativefanatic, @book-place, @littlemoistcarrot, @lorosette, @wondermia69, @commanderfreethatdust, @flowerpersephone, @carrietrekkie, @mividaesmeh,

@tea-effect, @lex-the-flex, @dreamamubarak, @witchxlove, @mxtokko

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

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