18+ only, your media consumption is your own responsibilities. Warnings have been given. Do not proceed if these matters upset you.  

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I Have Wandered All My Unending Days | 𝐈𝐈

Morpheus x Naiad!Reader

part i

Summary: The God of Dreams assists you in escaping Poseidon's obsession.

status: ongoing

wordcount: 13.6k

warnings: Implied non-con (not Morpheus)

18+ only, your media consumption is your own responsibilities. Warnings have been given. Do not proceed if these matters upset you.  

Morpheus stands calf deep on the shore of her crystal clear water, holding her forearm in his hands, reluctant to let go. Kisses the veins on the back of her wrists laced over like Hornworts. 

Her giggles whistles softly under the Dreaming’s silver moon hanging in the midnight sky. He can’t help his own smile spreading over, notes the rustling leaves from the woods surrounding, to the Willow beside them. As if they approve of this courting between him and his sweet Naiad by gushing eagerly to one another. 

“Good night, Morpheus.” she whispers, leaning to kiss his cheek but he captures her lips first. She laughs again in his mouth, then kisses him tenderly, he captures all he could take. Trace the outline of her visage under the tepid moonlight and commit them to his eternal memories. 

“Sleep peacefully, (y/n).” 

After he kissed her cheek once more, she returned to slumber under her lake, saplings and trees stoop their heads low to protect her body of water. 

They adored her as much as him. How could they not? She is a part of the Dreaming as any written words in the library or fields of wheat that germinates from the dirt. Nurture and care as if she is their mother. Laughed and cried and raged then bared herself to every particle. How could they not when they have truly seen her for what she is? When her intentions have always been translucent. 

He returns to his palace, residing in his Throne room, pacing around as he tries to work, but thinks of the first time she kissed him that very same evening instead. He pores over it over and over again. Her shadow leaks to every being that dreams on that night. 

He wishes he needed sleep.

The Phantom of her kiss lingers. The stars seemed to tremble at her lips, landing sweet on his mouth. What he imagined for centuries is fleeting and brief and for a moment he despises his father Time and the rules of his work.

He feels like those days at the beginning of all things. The world was new and he was young. Love tastes so sweet that it paralyses him, he didn't know what to do. 

Morpheus sighs and closes his eyes in resignation, deciding to busy himself watching over his subjects of dreams and nightmares into the dawn. In the back of his eyes he ruminates still the way she looked at him, as if he had hung the universe in her hair, wove the dust into her clothes. He quite literally has done that, and in turn she had taken those universes and hung them along the branches of her willow tree. Illuminating her lake at night. Glimmering like flickering lanterns in a cold, windy night.

When he rises from his throne at the breaking dawn, he wills his coat into a black Chiton that slung over his shoulder and the other fastened on his ribs, then travels to her domain as he lets his sand take him away.

He feels the grass beneath his soles, sees his Naiad fluttering from the water as she drapes the ivory coloured Chiton around her skin, looping her arms through the fabric made from stardust he had sewn for her some centuries ago. 

“Morpheus.” she calls, her voice entwined with the grogginess of her breaking slumber. A lovely smile spreads on her face.

“(y/n).” he returns her smile, and strides to stand behind her after he takes the golden brooches in her hands. His fingers dutifully work his way about her shoulders cinching the jewellery. 

“You’re leaving?” she cranes her wet neck to look over her shoulder.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night.” he remembers exactly when he decided to tell her his comings and goings. Repeatedly falling asleep at the long table in the library, awaiting his arrival from twilight into the dawn. He unfolded her arms on the wooden surface and gently woke her with a palm on her cheek. To which she smiled at the sight of him and looped her fingers around his settled on her face.

“I’ll receive you when you return.” She turns her body towards him and takes both of his hands. His fingers instinctively reach for the scars on her palm and caress them.

“No more staying up, My heart. You should never lose sleep on my account.” he reminds her.

“You’re worth it, God of my Dreams.” She gives him a lazy smile, one that squeezes his chest and muddles his head in adoration. Turns him inside out, his moon—wrought innards and all. Centuries upon centuries and yet he is still unprepared of how much she affects him by doing so little, by saying so little.

There is no helping him from leaning in to kiss her on the lips, she who tastes of Saffron and fresh water and hints of early morning Crocus. Her gentle mouth playful with his own, flays his skin in pleasure. 

When their lips part, his hand lovingly grazes her cheekbone, he kisses her there.

“I will be home soon.” He promises to her skin. 

“I will be waiting.” she says as she presses her cheek against his. Found comfort at her fingers settling on the hollow of his neck.

1

Morpheus has Departed the Dreaming in the morning. His last kiss still leaves you in a daze. You swallow as you sit and lean against your Willow. When you close your eyes you can feel him all around you. The grass beneath your soles, the air in your lungs, the trees surrounding your lake. Your palm grips the grass, you miss him already. But a sudden breeze comes your way and tickles your neck, soothes your desire just a fraction. You chuckle. It seems the king is as eager as you do. 

2

Even within the dreaming, there’s always patterns of stable ecosystems you could find. While you could do everything in this place, you somehow find Hunting becoming your preferred sport, because you can take careful consideration of what you could bring to the dinner table at Cain’s or Abel’s. You always bring the best to your friends. Pigeons, Fowls, Partridge, Quail, and many others several times a week. You appreciate what the craft has done to your body. Your steps grew silent. Your arms are stronger. The pace of strategizing, you adore every single second of the hunt.

As you are left to your own devices, you don’t particularly feel like filling in the ledger in the library. So you take your woven bag and bow—carved by your own hands from black—barked Hickory, then slung them over your shoulder. You set off to hunt for lunch in the northern forest. You crave black Grouse for today, and you shall pluck many for your friends as well. 

The walk is long, but since you landed face flat into the Dreaming, you found walking is always a pleasure. Some parts of the Dreaming are unchanging but ones that do are magnificent, you find new splendour every day, in tune with the gradual change of civilization and cultures. You’ve witnessed the rise and fall of mankind beside the King, lingering in his throne room with your chin tilted to the ceiling, dazed by the beauty and the pain of the world that is no longer familiar for centuries upon centuries. 

You remove your bow from your shoulder, pushing deeper into the misty woods. The sun barely punctures the atmosphere for today, and you wonder why as you let your palm glide on the trees.

You take a step back when you hear a gentle chirping of the black bird, your eyes scouring around the woods and find Grouses flocked on the pine trees across your left shoulder, perched in rows.

You blink. Is it that cold already?

You pay it no mind as you crouch, take an arrow from your quiver pouch strapped on your waist, then draw in the strings. You breathe in, breathe out, and-

You stumble forward. The birds flew from the trees into the bright sky. For a brief second your lungs felt as if it could collapse. Water stings the back of your eyes with staggering pressure you fear your eyeballs might escape out of their sockets. The scars on your palm stings violently you thought there was a dagger digging through your bones. 

Then you blink. Stand as you sway, leaning on the tree. When your skin touches the bark, you flinch. Then press them again to make sure. Then to another tree, and another. Somehow, the trees feel as if it has the consistency of a hollowed glass. You’re afraid if you pressed them too hard they would break under your fingers. You don’t think too much of it, you don’t know how to. But you’ll have to ask Mervyn later. 

Something has happened. You breathe in for a second. Confused in your confusion. 

Still, you advance deeper into the woods. 

—

“Merv!” You called.

“Kid.” He greets. Raking another patch of soil for the Calamint in the side of the grove. His turnip head had changed into a Pumpkin, when it happened you almost didn’t recognise him. Suits him better somehow.

“You’re early. Good hunt?” He eyes your bounty. You’ve shot 8. 5 in the bag, 3 dangles around your hip.

“They flocked.” You reveal to him.

“Huh.” Mervin says to himself puzzledly. 

“And there’s something else.” You take his hand and place it on the nearest Pomegranate tree. His eyes squinted.

“What the hell.” Mervyn mumbles. Rubbing his palms against the tree.

Then a sound of shatter, gentle, subtle, delicate chimes against the wind leading to the sky where you and Mervyn find what you can only describe as a tear. Barely visible, you have to focus hard to be able to see, almost blending with the vast blue sky. The residue trickled down to the ground like embers.

You and Mervyn share a puzzled look, then course to the point under the tear of the sky.  Yet when you reach your destination, not a trace of the shattering can be found even as Mervyn prod and pick at the ground. Mervyn scratches his pumpkin head. 

“What’s happening Merv?” you ask. Slightly agitated.

“No idea, nothing’s ever happened to the sky before.” He scrutinises the tear. Deep in his thoughts.

“Can you fix it?” 

”Maybe. Though how the hell do you patch up the sky? 

”Let me help, I'll consult the elder dreams and nightmares-” 

“Hey, this is my job. I'll manage.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. But I want it roasted with duck fat.” His eyes pointed to the Grouse. 

You smile. “Alright. See you at lunch, Merv.”

“See ya kid.” He makes a gesture of tipping his invisible hat to you. 

__

You rasped your hand against the door of the house of secrets. Hear the coming steps of its host. 

“You’re early.” Abel greets as he steps aside to let you in.

“I got lucky.” you hand him the bag. He rummaged through it.

“Fine catch regardless.” he says as he walks towards the living room.

“You’re welcome.” He places the bag gently on the coffee table.

“I still have papers to finish.” Cain says.

“Can I wait in your office?”

Cain ponders for a moment, then flicks his head to the hallway, motioning you to follow him. You skip behind him happily. Being in Cain’s office is always a joy. House of secrets harbours many things, including magical and mythological items. Gifts from gods, goddesses, mythical creatures, the Box of Lady Pandora has left you stunned, to the Helmet of Rostam, the Gem of Kukulkan, even the flying throne of Kay Kavus. 

You can only look, no use for personal interests. A rule that Cain assures no one will break, including him. 

But the office is different today. A little sparse. 

“Redecorating?” you ask as your eyes gaze around some new items on the pedestals and the walls, many you have not seen before. 

“I need the space.” Cain says as he sighs when his body lands on the comfortable chair behind his desk. 

There are some things you don’t recognize. Some things you do by reading from the library. All are marvellous and dazzling and glittering in their own right. Myrrh Egg, Uaithne, Demeter’s Cornucopia. You can see the shimmering light inside the golden wood woven horn of plenty. 

But the items that pulls you in, catches your eyes with its banality, so ordinary it puzzles you why it resides in Cain office, are old and worn fishing nets on the corner of the room that wafts no magical air nor bear any marks of historical significance. 

Still you move closer to it, observe it quietly. Waiting for it to do something or move like some objects hovering in the air. Nothing. 

“These are new. What are these?” you ask. 

“Nets.”

You roll your eyes.

“I can see that, where does it come from?”

“Britomartis offered at the goddamn crack of dawn. 

You’ve heard of lady Britomartis a long, long time ago. Your cousins and sisters whispered of lady Demeter’s new bride to be. 

You don’t know if their matrimony continues.

“When? Why didn’t you tell me she came?”

“She didn’t. It was from the waking world.”

“What does it do?”

“Catching fish? Fuck all. I’ve inspected it three times over and nothing came out of it. Born from cryptic hands and incomprehensible and whatever, as all gods. As their kind do.” Cain says a little irritatingly, not lifting his gaze from the papers on his hands. 

“Gods and goddesses are pretentious like that.” You agree and you hear Cain snorts. 

“Pretentious god is my employer.” Cain said.

You chuckle. 

“No, our god’s not pretentious, just… theatrical.” you add. 

“Semantics” Cain replies after a grunt.

You have the itch to touch the net, wondering if it bears the same texture as any ordinary nets. But you refrain from touching in courtesy of Cain’s guaranteed wrath, and plop yourself on the chair in front of his desk. 

“Do you know that there’s a tear in the dreaming?”

“What?” he looks at you.

”In the sky.” you tip your chin to the window behind him. “There’s a small tear, you can barely see it.” 

Cain falls silent. Doesn’t bother to see if your words are true and returns to his work. 

”what do you think it means?”

”It means the king needs to come back soon and fix the hole. Or Mervyn could.”

You hummed in agreement. Satisfying yourself by looking around some more.

”Alright, I'll prepare in the kitchen, you just work here.”

”Go on, i’ll catch up.” he mumbles 

You mindlessly pluck the Grouse feathers, there’s a little nagging restlessness whispering in the back of your head. Lurking behind you but fractures when you turn. Not to mention what happened back in the woods, the way your body reacted…

for thousands of years in the Dreaming you know him like the back of your hand. A tear is something that has never occurred even once. Not in the books, not in any events. 

To simply put, you are unsettled and you wish Morpheus would come back home as quickly as possible.

—

You say goodbye to your friends, each of them returning to their respective stations and duties after a lunch of roasted Grouses, sauteed vegetables and potatoes with sweet port wine and gingerbread for dessert you and the brothers prepared. Without realising all of you had spent most of the evening with each other in conversations between chews and the ringing of the utensils against the plates. The sky wears a beautiful twilight blue. 

”You’re coming to the game tomorrow right? I have debts to settle.” You reminded Cain. Cards, you find, is not your particular forte compared to the Senet. And you have lost many, plenty of times. 

“Yes, I can't wait to watch you clean Gregory’s shed again.” Abel says as he walks you to the gates.

“I like Gregory, that’s why I let you win most of the time.” 

“Oh, of course. You let me win.”

“Yeah yeah I'll shake things up tomorrow.” You waved.

“I’d like to see you try.” Cain returns your wave of goodbye. 

—

”Evening boys.” You chirp towards the gatekeepers as you climb the stairs to the palace. Feigning innocence. Morpheus is sure to warn them tonight.

”Gonna doze off in the library again?” Griffin jabs, his cloudy white eyes staring right through your intentions, refusing to open the carved, towering doors. 

“I didn’t doze off, I was just- resting my eyes! Besides-” 

”The king wants you to sleep tonight. Turn away, (y/n.)” Hippogriff says. Emphasising his words by leaning down his head.

”Oh come on, don’t be like that. I brought you all treats! See?” you take the 3 Grouses hanging on your hip, save the fattest ones for this moment.

”My, that is a fancy looking treat.” Griffin says. 

”Only from the best hunter, I’ll let you have some if you let me in, yeah?”

The gatekeepers look at each other in contemplation.

”I’ll make sure he forgets that you let me in.” you push.

”Deal.” The Griffin flies down. 

”I’ll take that, and that.” He takes the Grouse's necks on his beak.

”Enter.” Wyvern gives his permission with his gravely voice.

”Pleasure doing business with ya!” You hear Griffin's voice behind you.

“you’re welcome!” You shout.

As you wait for Morpheus’ arrival, you scour the library for any information regarding the tear. But the Dreaming holds the collective formation of living things' progression, and the only accounts of Dreaming’s history was written by Lucienne. Nothing could be found from the many ledgers, nothing like this had ever happened before. You read until your eyes burn red, your yawns overwhelming, until the table is as soft and comforting as the bed of Coontail inside the waters of your lake. 

When you wake at the breaking dawn, you find Lucienne’s face instead of the King’s.

“You slept in again.” She tuts. Holding an enormous Ledger between her hands. Pristine as ever with her burgundy coloured coat. 

Compared to your sleepy eyes and the imprints of the table’s intricate carving on your skin, You smile sheepishly at Lucienne. 

“Where is he?”

“Haven’t returned actually.”

You blink. 

Morpheus has never been one to break his words, no matter small or insignificant it is. But perhaps Corinthian might be a little tricky to bring home. 

“Oh to be welcomed by your beloved the moment you return home.” Lucienne sighs dreamily. Teases you. 

You’re confident your cheeks could fry raw quail eggs right now.

“What are you craving for today?” your voice breaks and you’re rather embarrassed how your friends’ smallest of teasings could affect you.

“How do we feel about Hamam Mahshi?”

“Perfect. I’ll set off to hunt then. I’ll see you later.” You say as you rise from your seat, sling your bow, and squeeze Lucienne’s arm goodbye.

“Later, lovebird.” she teases once more. You bite the inside of your lip, holding back a smile.

You make your path to the nearest woods for Squabs. Finding your thoughts straying to Morpheus time and time again. Recent events itches your palm uncomfortably. If it’s connected to the King, you hope he will be home soon to make sense in it. 

Suddenly tears leak from your eyes for a reason that is beyond your capabilities to understand. You become inexplicably sad and tears become sobs. Sobs become dizziness. You have to sit on the ground to compose yourself in the grassland, the woods still a good long walk from where you are. But you can see it in the distance. You find comfort in the breeze slithering in the crevices of your body. Cooling your warm cheeks.

What’s wrong with me? You question yourself. Grasping the grass, it feels just as hollow as the trees in the woods yesterday. 

What’s wrong with the Dreaming?

You abandon your hunt, you make your way to your lake instead, realising your Willow is shedding a little more than usual. You drown yourself in the water that feels just as dismal. Even your water weeps with you. 

14

You wander under the water in the morning and watch your willow in the night. You count the seconds of his return, ask Lucienne at intervals. Moments that pass are spent in agitation. Your friends sense your restlessness.

You work with Mervyn and try to figure out how to fix the slowly, ever expanding discoloration in the sky. Gradual, inches by inches, but sure to grow. Nothing seems to work, not science, not magic, not the elder Dreams and Nightmares of the Dreaming even knows.

At night you watch it bear a deeper, darker, darkness inside the lines of the discoloration. A creature of primal emptiness. Most times you turn away from it because it infuses dread in your stomach. As if you could fall into the abyss and never to return, unhinging its jaws for you to fall into the dark for eternity. 

A dark omen brewing in that very patch of sky.  

118

“Has he returned?” You ask the gatekeepers as you climb the stairs.

”Not a grain of sand.” Hippogriff answers. You frown at that, make your way to Lucienne’s office. 

“Any news?” 

“Not yet, not even Jessamy returns.” she leans back on her chair, you sit in front of her desk.

The state of the Dreamers is puzzling. Some stay longer than they should, some don't return at all. The Dreaming longs for his King, distressed without his presence. 

“What do we do? Can we… Can we search for him?” 

“This is my post, who else to oversee and protect the Dreaming?” Lucienne answers. Her eyes cast down in regret. 

“What about me then? I could swim-“

“No. No, (y/n). You’re not a raven or even a Dream. Without the King you cannot, you’ll destroy yourself.”

You fall into silence. Uneasy in your inaction, in your lack of abilities and magic. Your palm itches. 

”What do we do Lucienne? What could we do?”

Lucienne stands and perches herself near where you sit. 

“I’ve dispatched Dreams and Nightmares to find him, all we could do is wait for his return.”

You nod. Lost in your own thoughts.

“Some people say he follows in his brother’s footsteps.”

Lucienne paused. 

“And do you believe that?” she asks,

“No. The king would never.”

Lucienne nods. 

“I believe so too.”

229

The blood stains your skin, but not your Chiton. The earth stains your feet, but not the star-sewn hem on the edge of your body. Morpheus takes consideration of everything when he crafts something for you. Remember how wet and damp you are most of the time. You are, after all, a being of water first. 

Amidst the dirt and your blood soaked hand, Cain grunts beside you as he shovels the rest of the soil. Both of you bury Abel into the witching hour. 

This has always been a dilemma. You never liked when Cain kills Abel. But you always want to participate in giving Abel a good and comforting grave for his short death. That is how you found yourself burying Abel in a wooden coffin next to Cain for the longest time. Hoping that the dirt wouldn’t find its way into his orifices. 

After that, you returned to Cain’s residence. 

“Here.” Cain gives a towel, you wipe yourself clean as he lights the fireplace, then you warm your body in front of the hearth. Sitting on the armchair. 

Cain heaves a quiet sigh when he sits on the other arm chair just beside you, offers you a glass of whisky which you take heartily. 

He is quiet tonight. He’s always been abrasive. Cruel even. But sometimes, you find, his actions contradict the words he frequently spouts. Consideration shows itself in between. Like the towel mere moments ago, the fire. He could just end the night without a wave goodbye, yet he cares. You know he cares. And he is quiet tonight. 

“Don’t come to bury Abel next time.” Cain finally opens the conversation. 

“I don’t mind.” you say as you sip the liquor. 

“Well I do, it’s my job.” he counters. Eyes never stray from the fire.

“Friends help with jobs all of the time. I just helped Mervyn plant Upas in the grove.” 

He falls silent. Eyes still on the fire. Then he takes off his glasses. 

“You look tired, Cain.”

“You don’t have a single idea of my weariness.” he spat.

“Then tell me, give me an idea.” 

A moment of silence passes once more. He looks conflicted even. 

“I cannot help it.” He starts.

“Abel, he’s- When my compulsion blinds me, I feel… well, you can’t even begin to imagine.” Cain’s words laced with contempt. Mourns his inescapable nature. Over and over again you wonder how much he has it in him for more kills before drifting away to madness. If he can grow to be blissfully mad at all. 

“Go to bed, Cain. I’ll put out the fire.”

“And you?”

“I'll… I'll help Abel wake up. I'll wait for him.”

“What? He’ll be fine.”

You melt deeper into your seat.

“I don’t think I want to go back to the lake.”

“To be frank- I dreaded the lake now.” you continue. 

The ache in your heart grows by the day. His absence is a sore within you, a splinter piercing its way under your fingernail. 

He grunts in understanding. That your lake has become slightly empty. Your water lilies are dying at  the edges. Sometimes you can’t bear looking at it without feeling a little nauseous, a reminder of Morpheus’ absence. 

Abel and Cain’s residence is affected too. The bushes have overgrown and regrows as fast in a cut, the mists are slithering in, plunging colder and colder there.

“Shame, other bedrooms in this house have never been used.” 

He grabs a bottle to pour another glass. 

“You should change that.” he says as he sips. You smile at him. Rest your hand on his arm for a moment and nod.

“Go to bed. I’ll put out the fire.” you say once more. 

●

Morpheus doesn’t know how long time has gone. The day passes like any other. The Burgess son is his only clock, an indication of the passing time, for the elder is returning to his youth.

Day by day watching the raving of a mad man begging for what he could not give. Watching his tools be desecrated by a mortal

Morpheus closes his eyes, the only place the mortal cannot take away from him is the palace of his own mind. His bones feel heavier to carry. He pored over memories. Dreaming of the Dreaming. The moons, the endless vast blue sky. He replays over and over again coming to her at the end of the day, where his grief overwhelms him.

She took him so readily, to sit beside him in silence under her tree, the only sound would be shaved wood by her knife carving little pieces of the Dreaming. Deft hands working even in the dim light of the evening sky. 

”Move into the Palace.” he proposed. Watching her fingers paused. 

”I require water. This lake is as good as the Palace.” she smiled softly at him. Then return to her work. 

“There’ll be water inside. Lakes, thousands of rivers, anything you require.” he pressed.

“That’s very kind of you, Morpheus. But… I really like where I am now.” (y/n) said without lifting her gaze.

Morpheus replied with only silence. Strangely upset. Of course, as empathetic as ever, she noticed even subliminal changes in him. She put aside her knife and wood then shuffled closer. 

”What changed? Why the palace?” Her voice was gentle, careful.

He paused, unsure whether he could say it at all. But she was patient, waited. Always waiting for him to gather himself. 

“I require you closer.” he finally managed. 

She pursed her lips, inched even closer until their arms touched. 

“I am always here.” She rested her palm on his chest. Where his heart is supposed to be, if he had one. For a moment, she believed enough that he believed it too. He grasped her hand tight in return. 

If he were ever to be trapped again, he hoped he’d be trapped in that dear moment of time. 

1831

Dreams and nightmares have gathered at the palace’s courtyard, exchanging what information they scraped after long years of searching. 

There’s fissures in the palace that even Mervyn can’t quite fix, slithers on the stones like blood vessels. Growing by the day, everything is inching into dispersion in tune with the tear these days. Everyone can see the prominent discoloration inside it in the sky now, an oddity in the vast ocean of blue. An eye of indifference that watches them all. 

You sit on the palace’s steps as you watch the information pours from dreams and nightmares, their voices overlapping each other like the drones of the blood in your ears. All bear the same conclusion: Nihil. 

”He’s really gone. And he doesn’t want to be found.  What use are we in this hollow shell of a  place?” one dream says. Their beautiful horns glow in shades of red. Bitter and exasperated by the desertion of Humanity in the Dreaming. Only a few dreams anymore. Some are bound to wander in perpetuity. 

”We are protecting this place, our home, that is what we are doing.” Lucienne says firmly, but it goes on deaf ears.

“A home without its host. Why stay when he could no longer tolerate our presence? We are mere tools for the king. It is best we accept this fact at once.” 

Elder nightmare, Terrere, said somberly. One of the first elder nightmares created at the beginning of the Dreaming’s conception. The chains’ on his neck coils restlessly.

It is no secret that the King is not beloved by all. His words are absolute, unmitigable. His rules are iron fists. You understand their lack of affection.Yet… 

”That’s not true, Terrere.” you chime, holding the baby lamb-changeling in your arms a little tighter. She nuzzles against your neck, seeking your warmth. 

”He marvels at you. All of you. You’re everything to him.” You plead. Swallowing nervously as gazes turn to your direction.

They’re my whole being. His words once spoken lingers within you.

”I respect your words, daughter of the water. But his fondness for you surpasses us all. That belief is easy to form when your kinship runs deeper with the king, your perception is coloured.”  Terrere replies. 

You feel heat creeping up to your neck, to your cheek, burning the tips of your ears. 

”I know. I know that. But you must understand that I also know there is a grain of truth in my words.”

Your spoken words did not deter some dreams and nightmares from leaving the dreaming. 

Almost a quarter of its populace has left. Those who remain would do so out of a sense of duty. Some remain out of fear. 

1878

You sit with Mervyn on the grassland after another attempt of fixing the tear in the sky. Each time a futile attempt. Tomes you’ve brought along you thought would be useful rests idle beside you.

”Do ya really believe he didn’t just pack up and leave?”

The question pauses you. Mervyn merely stares with his hollow Pumpkin eyes. Sometimes you miss his white and green Turnip head. 

”Yes.” is the only answer you could give.

He huffs his cigarette for a moment. 

”Ya don’t think he’s gettin tired of all this?”

You sigh and tilt your head to the sky, charting the tear. 

”let it out Merv”

”It’s just, He’s an Endless. This ain’t the first time an Endless just walks away.”

”He’s not his brother.” You take the cigarette dangling in his mouth and smoke a couple puffs yourself. 

Mervyn shakes his head.

”You know, sometimes I wish he was. Like Destiny, I mean. He could learn a thing or two to not blow things out of proportion and leave to god knows where when a minor inconvenience happens.” 

“Blow things out of proportion, such as? 

“Such as her.” 

You ponder his words.You have an inkling of where this is going.

“I like ya kid, i really do. I’ve known you for years and years and, well… the point is- as much as I want to help ya when it comes to it, this ol pumpkin won’t be enough to save ya from a literal goddamn Endless.” 

You swallow

“you believe he’d hurt me?”

“I believe he’s got a big nasty pride and you should keep on your toes.”  Mervyn takes his cigarettes from your hand. 

You understand the sense in Mervyn's words, for the Dream lord is powerful. Terrifyingly so. His paradox of cruelty and kindness, you are fortunate you have only felt the latter side of him. 

But perhaps time and longing distorts your memories, because all you can remember was his smile, his comforting hands for you. Gentle and warm.

This you know for sure; not once upon Millenia has he ever touched you wrong. 

your eyes water from the overwhelming love. The longing overwhelms you.

“I love him.”

Mervyn’s eyes stare into you. 

“I didn't get the chance to tell him, but I have for a very long time. Just like I spent Millenia with you, I spent Millenia with him too. Even after I found out about her. His anger and all.” 

“So there ain’t no helpin it after all.” 

“No, Mervyn. I’m afraid not. I’m sorry.” 

Mervyn sighs heavily. 

“But thankyou, old man.”

“for what?”

“for caring.” 

Mervyn passes you his cigarette. You take it from his hand. 

He sighs the smoke from his mouth. “Can’t help it, Kid.” 

1881

You drench your body in the water of your lake, freshening your skin from the weariness of the day. 

You think of Mervyn’s words, lost in it for quite some time lately. Lost in a memory you’ve replayed from time to time. 

Some centuries ago you can’t remember when. Your agitation was felt by the king of this realm. He hounded you. 

Even as you navigated through the trees and the bushes, held your bow tight in your hands. When you drew your strings your prey eluded you by the sound of arrival the King indifferently made. 

You sighed. 

“You are avoiding me.” he stated. 

You bit the inside of your lip. Tracked your prey instead of facing him. He trailed behind you. 

“Is this a game? Am I supposed to understand the rules?”

You found the hoofprints, then followed on the side of a narrow ravine the deer strayed to. The sound of the rushing water drowned Morpheus’ voice. 

In a blink he stands before your eyes. You stumbled back. 

“Talk to me.” he said. As if he begged, if he ever begged. You counted the glimmer of stars and the universe in his eyes for a moment. (The revelation of solar systems frequently happens when you stare into his eyes for a little too long.)

”I finished a book a few days ago.” you finally said. 

”Was it disturbing? Is that what ails you?” He brushes a leaf from your hair. 

”Yes, Morpheus. It is a bitter read that breaks my heart.”

“Tell me which book it is and I shall raze it out of existence.” 

Your lips twitch from his care. Your prey had been long gone, slinking back deep within the forest.

“Nada, is the title of the book.”

Him and the Dreaming had paused for a brief second that felt as if it stretched for far too long. The leaves suspended their fall, the water delayed their stream. 

“Morpheus…” you started.

“What you did was… unforgivable.”

There was a shadow in the sky threatening to take hold of the sun like an eclipse. His visage was as cold as the startlingly foreign winds of winter enveloping your surroundings. Your shoulders twitched. 

“You dare question my judgement.” He took a step forward. The temperature and the shadows of the realm plunged further with it. Fear struck the base of your heart. You persisted your gaze on his as you noticed everything grew darker with each passing moment on your periphery. 

But still, you remained without a flinch. You can be stubborn, you’ve played this game well. You learned by his hand. 

”Yes, Morpheus. I dare because I care for you. Because what you did was unjust.”

He towered over you. He shutted away the universe and his eyes grew morbidly, stunningly dark. 

”What do you know of justice? Have you given it? pass the sentence yourself? You-” His voice dangerously low.

”You asked me of Justice? I who ran for centuries upon centuries, who lost everything and everyone I have ever known by no fault of my own while my tormentor still roams as he pleases, hurting countless others?”

Your throat strained, a wave of anger engulfed you. 

Something flickered in his eyes. You grip your bow tight in your hand. For a fleeting, thin moment you almost believed that he might…

But there is restraint behind those eyes. Pain, even. The darkening shadows crawled away. 

“I do not need you to question my decisions.” 

he left your presence in a whirlwind of sand. The grains found its way into the crevices of your clothes. Lingered on your skin. 

A few days later you met him at the library. Neither knew what to say to each other. There is too much pride in him (and you) that stretched into days, into weeks of constant avoidance with only passing glances as some form of feeble attempt at communication. 

It wasn’t easy for either of you, that much you know is true. You see the longing in his gaze, his presence lingered a little longer in the library watching you work. You felt the yearning under your skin to be beside him. Your scars itched just a fraction from time to time. 

His agony, you found, was a little more overwhelming than yours. It surprised you that he was the one who yielded first. When you sat and weaved flowers at the shore of your lake under the moon, and the stars hanging on the branches of your tree, he appeared to sit beside you. As if he never left. 

“Have you eaten?” He started.

“I have.”

“What did you have?” His voice was hesitant.

“Persimmon, Cain’s Fesenjoon, Abel’s tiger nut sweets.” 

He hums. 

“Have you?” you asked.

“I have.” 

“What did you eat?”

“Some Peaches and Saffron infused Malpua.” 

“Just Malpua?” 

His lips pursed momentarily.

“A lot… of Malpua.”

A smile faint your lips. The king always has a sweet tooth that exceeds anyone you know. 

“That’s exciting.” 

You noticed his smile from the corner of your eyes. The warmth of his body protruded your skin, you’d love nothing more than to shift closer. Yet…

”I can’t help but wonder… whether you would do the same thing to me one day.”

”Stop.” He chastised as he closed his eyes. 

“What if it was me?” you whispered, turned to look at his painfully beautiful face. 

”What if Poseidon casts me into Hades to suffer for eternity for rejecting his offer?” your tongue ran dry at the mention of his name.

”I will chain him to a pedestal and carve out his heart for eternity myself. I’ll never let that happen.” His voice softened, careful. His hand reached for your face. At his touch your eyes felt heavy. You blinked a few times.

Dream and his tricks.

”But you let it happen to her.” You almost yawned as he pulled you to his arms, your head drooped on his shoulder. The moon and the dangling universes in your tree bathed him in a soft, heartrending glow.

”Let her go, Dream…” You said against his neck. 

”I can’t.” His voice broke from the pressure of his own malady. You felt the ache in it, what in truth is his wounded pride, an eternity of love, an eternity of rejection. Just like his endless kindness, his pride and rage are also eternal. You hate yourself for feeling sorry for his nature. Nada deserves it more. 

”You must, one day.” you pushed one more time.

He falls silent for a moment. Lost in his own thoughts. 

”Are you afraid of me now?”

”Yes, my friend. I am.” You whispered. An inconsistency of a statement from how much you felt dangerously whole and content in his arms at that very moment.

”I could never hurt you even if I wanted to.” He whispered in your ear. 

”Do you want to?”

”Never.”

Your eyes fell closed. 

“Will that sentiment change, someday?”

“I am an Endless. My words are binding.” Was his answer. Which is as good as saying I cannot change. 

“Do I repulse you?” He sounded somewhat nervous.

“no, not even, I cannot.” 

You don’t exactly know how to feel, there is only so much to feel, so much you could process in your small existence compared to him. But you cannot ever forget the abundance of sweetness he gave you in kind. 

“What would happen when I repulsed you? When you are sick of me?” You asked in turn. 

”An impossible feat for you and me to act.” he said adamantly. He kissed your forehead to sleep as he took you to the bottom of your lake to rest beside you. 

●

”Do you ever sleep?” She patter beside him 

”Never. I don’t need to.” 

”Then… what do you do with weariness, don’t you feel it? How do you alleviate it? There!” She pointed to a bush and skittered away to gather his falling star. 

He stayed silent when he took the star in her hands, then hung it back in the sky. 

”Was that the last one?” she tipped her head to the sky of the Dreaming. 

”That was the last one.” he affirmed

”I could've sworn we did a lot more last year.” She brushed the foliage that clung to her chiton. 

He silently realised this too. They did more last year. 

As they walked back they took the long path. He tucks her strand of hair behind her ear. 

”I come to your lake.”

”what?”

”when… the weariness of my mind breaches my body, your lake, your lake makes me forget.”

Now she fell silent. Then her smile beamed bright for him 

“Happy to be of service, my lord.” She takes his hand and tangles her arm around his as they walk side by side

For the first time Morpheus wants to groan like mortals do because it is already a year since he asked her to lose the title but she seems to enjoy teasing him out of it.

But something creeps to him.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Her face scrunched 

“Alright, alright, I understand, Morpheus.” She shook her head.

For a brief, rapturous moment, he feels as if he is home inside that prison of glass.

His body longed for the water that bathed his skin in love and comfort. The stooping willow over the lake and the Naiad that resides there, ever warm, ever loving, infinite and beautiful. 

Infinite things he wishes to say to her, he is afraid his broken promise in the morning he left would be the last. 

But then, hope

Jessamy managed to slip in.

Morpheus, if he had a heart, is sure that it would beat out of his chest. He is overcome with unparalleled joy, blinded with it his fingers shakes, freedom is but a light away.

Easily, his hope is dashed. 

All that's left on the ground is the blood and gored, lifeless remains of Jessamy’s. Her bones and blood scatter the floor. 

Morpheus mourns his loyal companion. Mourns the lost time he should have spent with his Naiad, mourns the possibility that she thought he abandoned her. He mourns the Dreams and Nightmares restless without him. 

But he bites his tongue. He would never give Burgess what he wants, even if it takes him an eternity in that dome. Morpheus will watch him suffer for all the things he did. 

His tears fell.

3659

A raindrop falls on your head. One by one, until it is an overwhelming downpour like nothing you have ever seen in the dreaming. 

Bewildered, you slither into your lake, overwhelmed by the intensity of the rain that feels so much like rage and sorrow. 

When your lake rains, when the Dreaming rains, it is never as violent as this. The water plunges sharp against your skin. As if trying to painfully penetrate. You bear it still.

Why do you cry, my Dream? What has happened to you? 

You sleep under the rain with him, until it recedes, the rain takes the whole day, from the night to morning to a dreary twilight

When you wake, you find the rain has almost razed your Willow, the shedded leaves floating about your Lake in droves. Decaying, yellow and brown, no traces of newly budding leaves on the branches. 

7601

The waking world changes every day, yet the Dreaming has regressed, refusing to follow Humanity’s victories and horrors. 

The palace is disassembling each day, shedding its skin. Its inhabitants too, slowly leaving one by one, no longer stayed behind in the shadow of their fear. 

Even so, downstream you wait for his arrival. Floating away every second that passes in the water. Between the shelves of the Palace’s library. Read and read to a dreary, slow time into another world. Stories are your only comfort. 

Even in the break of dawn you climbed the palace steps with eagerness. 

”Morning lads.” You chirp, your eyes focusing on the chipping marble arc of the palace. You’ll need to work on it with Mervyn soon. (You know it’s a futile attempt, but it’s better than doing nothing.)

But you stop midway, something is amiss. You retreat from the palace steps to take a good look at the Gatekeepers perched on the walls of the Dreaming. 

”Wyvern? Hippogriff?” You called. Waiting for them to reply. 

”Griffin? Hey!”

They don’t even move an inch. 

“Are you all ignoring me?” You shout a little louder. 

”Guess you don’t want these birds I fetched you? I’m feeling generous so you can have Mervyn’s portion too!” You put on a cheery note. Coaxing them

But nothing. 

“Gatekeepers?”

Silence.

You sit. You feel nauseated. Does this mean your friends are gone? Your hands feel cold and clammy. 

You feel a familiar hand on your shoulder. 

”Lucie.”

She sits beside you on the steps. 

”since when?” you ask. 

”last night? Yesterday? I don’t know exactly.” Lucienne said somberly. 

”Is this truly the extent of the King’s power? Years where I watched him go to the waking world, there is always a portion of power reserved for the Dreaming.”

“my hypothesis? Either he went to another universe, one where no life blooms, sealed himself like…”

“Destruction.” You continue. Lucienne nods. 

“Or…” she trails

“A binding.” 

“Yes.”

“No…”

”No, that’s- that’s not possible. He’s… he's an Endless. How could you even enslave an endless?”

“You could enslave a god if you know the rules.” Lucienne says bitterly. 

“They never should have stopped searching.”

”That is merely a hypothesis, for all we know, he is entangled in something deeper that he cannot return.”

You stand.

”Where are you going?”

”Where I should have gone a long time ago.”

You run to the chamber of sigils. Panting harshly when you reach there.  

”Great lady Death of The Endless, goddess Teleute, i, daughter of Nemea, blood of Potamoi, call to you by the bond Dream of the Endless and I once shared. Bless me, my lady, with an audience.”

You begged the sigil one by one. Desperate. You begged for hours until your voice hoarse, your feet hurt.

You restrain yourself from throwing it to the ground. Restrain yourself from tearing apart Destiny’s book.  

The gods are watching. The gods let this happen.

11592

Everyone has reached a consensus that the Dream king has followed his brother’s footsteps three decades ago. You plead in vain to the ones readying themselves for their departure. 

“Terrere. Don’t do this. This is your home.” he replies with only silence.

“He could be in trouble! We must look for him.”

Terrere Looks at you with something that makes you want to look away. You don’t know if it’s a look of pity or sympathy. You don’t like it.

”(y/n), he is an Endless. He is the son of age himself. Even if he is in trouble, To be overcome is not in his nature. Everything that is would be his decision.”

You feel tightness in your chest. You don’t know what else to say when you hear the finality in his voice, the resolute belief in other Dreams and Nightmares eyes. What care Morpheus has for them has decayed, and they could spare none for the king.

You swallow dryly. 

”Be safe, ancient ones.” 

Terrere steps closer and rests his hand on your shoulder.

”We shall try to find ways to transport you into the waking world. We can protect you, and we shall live as-”

“I thank you, but my place is here. Always have.”

Terrere nods. Something sombre about his eyes.

“Your devotion is admirable, daughter of the water. Vast, like the waters in which you were born. I hope he deserves it, should he ever return.” 

He steps away. Give one last look over the Dreaming behind you. 

”May we cross paths once more.”

—

You stand on the shore overlooking your lake. Ruminate on the half dead lily pads, your Willow with its dried leaves. 

“Miss (y/n)!” You hear the familiar voice of a child. 

“Frida?” you feel elated, relieved. You gather the little rabbit in your arms. She burrows into your warmth. 

“I thought you’d left.” You said.

“I can’t. I won’t know what to do in the waking world. This is the only place I've ever known.”

“Me too. This has become the place I have ever known too. I’ve forgotten what the waking world feels like.”

”He loves us, I know it, he’ll return, won’t he miss?”

”He will. I believe so.”

You tip your head to the sky and watch the discoloration that almost takes half of the dreaming, the realm preparing to receive whatever emptiness that lies outside its boundaries. 

15340

For a decade, you have asked for an audience every month in the sigil room at intervals.

Everytime the Endless leaves you with no answer. 

You wish the love you bear for Morpheus is enough to push you to beg in front of the endless sigil for eternity. 

But you are so tired by the Endless’ silence, their silence to a simple Naiad begging and begging for  an audience left something bitter in the back of your tongue. You’d prefer it if they reject you outright. 

“ANSWER ME!” You scream until your lungs burn and your throat chafes. 

You are always content with who you are, you’ve accepted the fact that you are not talented in magic and sorcery since a very long time ago. 

But times such as these make you detest yourself, doubt who you are as a species.

What good are you if you can’t save those who you love.

You slid along the wall. Sitting as you trace the scars on your palm. You kissed it, hoping it would be felt wherever he is. 

For almost half a century that feels like millenium, you think you have no more tears to shed. But you feel it falling down from your eyes anyway. The heat is a welcomed comfort compared to the hollow of the Dreaming surrounding you. 

18250

The words, when you document everything that happens within the dreaming on to the volumes of papers, are too thin and pale.

You and Lucienne dipped your quill in the ink many times over, just so it could mimic the bold colour of black it usually has. 

Your actions are futile. 

You watch your friend worry about it until the words are completely gone. 

And when it does, your throat constricts at the way she dejectedly sits on the long table, rifling desperately page after page, book after book to find a single character.

When she leans back on the chair and closes her eyes, you never watch Lucienne seem so devoid of life. The library has been her life.

All you can do is hold her hand. She curls her fingers in response. Her lips tremble slightly. You’ve never seen Lucienne on the verge of tears before. 

21915

When you wake, your body’s prickled all over. The hair on your neck startles up. 

You rise to the Dreaming still wearing its night, caught a shadow at the edge of your vision. It looks like… no, it can’t be.

You follow them to the fields of wheat. The familiar black chiton drags by the rough drooping wheat biting the hem. Your bare feet crushes some, dusting the ground under your soles. 

The closer you are, the chiton disappears. Black hair melting into gold. Pale shoulders curling into black feathers. 

You stop in your tracks when they turn to you. When you blink, their face merely inches away.

“Hello, sweet thing.” They purr, voice rich and dark as blood. Golden eyes flicker. 

“Your Grace Desire.” You curtsy. 

They turn their head from side to side, leafing through their surroundings. “My, this place is ghastly.”

“Your Grace, it is an honor. Thank you for answering my call.”

“Whoever said I am here to answer your call?” Desire’s lips pout, mocking you.

Your heart stops for a beat.

“It’d be a pleasure of mine to know the purpose of your visit.”

They look at you for a moment. Taking their fill of you. Measuring your miniscule presence.

“A whim. To command you, that all the useless begging and crying and your pathetic little whimpers has got to stop. Nothing is going to change, sweet thing. He won’t ever come back.”

Your throat strangles. 

“You know where he is then? Your grace, tell me and I will not bother you or any other endless again. I swear it.”

They laugh, as if they are laughing at a joke only you cannot understand. As if only the Endless does. 

“You know, I can make his desire completely disappear, if it makes it any easier for you to leave.” 

You bristle at how much they take lightly of your devotion. Your existence too.

“It doesn’t matter. He’ll return. I'll always wait even if he no longer bears me in him.” 

“How loyal, what a dog.” Their face turns still. At that moment you are suddenly afraid of them, realizing just now they could obliterate your existence into dust of wheat just right there. 

“But all the whining has to stop, little dog. You’re irritating.”

Your boiling blood scalds you. Or desperation. You know neither. 

“You have to tell me now. Tell me!”

They hold your face between your hands, dagger nails digging into your skin. “Or what, runt? You’ll shiv me with your little pocket knife? Shower me with your tepid magic?” 

“I will if I have to.” you reply. 

They smile at you, amused. Letting go of their hand, inspecting their own nails.

“He doesn’t want to be found. That is all I can say.” 

Tears bite your eyes. Has Morpheus really given up on the Dreaming? On you? You swallow your coming sobs. The words startlingly pierces you more than you thought. 

Before they departed the Dreaming, you called out to your grace Desire. 

“Why me? Why not someone else more worthy of him?”

They smile. 

“Mystery of the ages.” 

22370

You age, you realise this. 

You may not revert to your former growth rate of mortality, but you notice the difference in your appearance. 

You age. 

There is a mirror inside of Abel’s house. When you pass it, it’s like looking at a doppelganger of yourself, not the image of you that has always been what you perceived inside your head. Your laughing lines start to show themselves more after you smiled for centuries. So thin a passing eye could miss it. 

The sockets under your eyes are hollowing themselves more, gently. So thin even an inquisitive eye could miss it. 

But your friends notice this. Your friend you spent Millenia with. Friends you’ve seen almost every day of your long life. 

It is a curious thing. If Morpheus truly gives up on his faith for you, you understand the growth rate of usual Naiad.

Has he given up on you?

They worry over the candles of your weekly game.

The one thing that keeps all of you sane, a semblance of normalcy where you pretend that nothing is wrong in the Dreaming, inside Abel’s greenhouse all of you tried so hard to maintain as if it is not decaying gently, is shattered by your very presence. 

“Yer not gonna die on us are ya?” Mervyn with his bluntness made you snort.

“Th- That’s not nice, Mervyn.” Abel continues.

“If I do, I heard his sister is an absolute sweetheart. At least one of the Endless finally decided to answer my call.” 

“That’s not funny.” Cain says harshly. His words stills the room. Your humour is lost to the gravity of reality. 

You set your cards on the table. 

Lucienne does not say a word, instead looks at you with the saddest eyes. A film over her eyes. Twice you’ve witnessed Lucienne on the verge of tears, this time you feel guilty. 

There is a restless cloud hanging over Cain’s brows, 

Abel chews on his lips worryingly 

Mervyn looks as if he regrets his own statement. 

They strip your heart into ribbons.

You swallow. You hold Lucienne and Abel’s hands beside you on the round table.

There are no words that would suffice to comfort them, to comfort yourself. Since he’s gone, everything dissolves away into the black fissure in the sky. 

25574

The dreaming has grown silent. Hibernating inside its own disease. 

For years in your lake you can only hear the ring of your blood and the ring of your heart. Alone in its cells.

Your lily pads have decayed entirely.

Your willow has lost its colour and leaves. Your water is murked by dead Hornworts and so forth. 

When you look up, the discoloration has taken almost the whole Dreaming.

Except the sky above your lake, a patch of Blue, a patch of hope above you. The only traces of life that can be found in the realm of the Dreaming, fighting the illness that threatened to destroy him. 

You wonder whether that small patch of colour is a sign of something. 

You should’ve looked older. From the day he disappeared you should’ve looked much older.

You look up at the sky once more. You wonder whether Morpheus is trying to keep you alive.

29241

You’re sitting on the Carpet by the fire with Abel, Cain with a cloudy glass of whiskey sitting on the worn out armchair behind you, long after the game has already finished. You do this a lot lately with the brothers. The air surrounding their houses is exponentially colder than what it was. 

“I miss your lake, (y/n). I mean, well, back when the water’s blue.” Abel sighs.

you smile wistfully. Remember when the lake used to reveal the Algaes at the bottom of the crystal clear water. The fishes play around the stems of the lily pads and coontails. Willow leaves settle on the surface. 

“Me too, Abel.”

“What do you miss?” he asks. 

You inhale. Stretch your feet, rest your hands behind you. 

““Well, Wyvern, Pegasus and Gryphon. I miss the Migration of the Phoenix every season.”

“Oh me too, All they do is sleep now.”

“And you? What else Abel?”

“I miss baking pies with fresh Raspberries, Peaches.”

“Figs dipped in Honey.” you hum. 

“Fresh pomegranate Juice. The sweet Saffrons on your lake.”

“yeah. I almost forgot what it tastes like.” You chuckle to yourself. 

“We- we can eat till our bellies burst when he returns.” Abel, sweet Abel, says it as if Morpheus would return tomorrow from a visit to one of his few friends such as Hob Gadling. 

“That you can count me in.” 

you and Abel giggle to yourself, imagining stuffing yourself fat with pies and fruits and saffrons until your eyes drop sleepy.

“Shut up, all of you.” Cain hisses. 

You turn to look upon him. 

“What’s wrong?” you questioned. But he merely shakes his head and clicks his tongue distastefully. 

“Put out the fire when you leave.” he says as he retreats to his bedroom upstairs. 

32872

There is a hole in your chest. You’re afraid it will eat you. 

There is a hole in the sky. You’re afraid. 

36525

There used to be a meadow not even a mile from your lake filled with flowers that would bloom with pearls inside the Stigma. You used to separate the beads for hours. You’d adorned your carvings with it. 

Once, you remember Morpheus sits beside you, crafts you a bracelet with the pearls by the flick of his wrist. 

The dreaming is Mania and frenzy and fever rolled into a whirlwind of sand constantly. You love every second when you are lost in it.

Now you almost grow mad from idleness. There is only space, and time. Primal emptiness you once feared when you swam into this place. You reckon this must be what it looked like when Ouranos yawned life into existence. 

No. Father Time. Morpheus' father. Not Ouranos. Like the birth of the beginning of all things. 

You watch the day away all the time. There is no more library. No more healthy soil for vegetation to grow. The stars have blinked off long ago. 

The colours have faded away everywhere you look around the Dreaming. You don’t remember exactly when it started. One of the little comforts you find in the ruins of your home is the patch of colour in the sky that is shrinking and shrinking, corroding by the tear. The colour of a bygone days, by now it is so small you have to squint when you look up. 

So small you can’t find any sleep at night, instead watching the luminous dark blue being eaten away by the mouth of Kronos. 

When morning comes, that reminder of bygone days is completely gone. The tear successfully replaced the sky of the Dreaming. 

There is a sleeping fear within you from this great loss. The dreaming plunges into a strange quietness. 

You swallow the feeling away and course to Abel’s house. Not wanting to be alone for the moment, only to find Abel sniffing softly on a stump near the gates of his residence.

”Abel? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, oh (y/n).”

he stands feebly, and you hold him in your arms for comfort, he returns your gesture.

”My dear Abel, what is the matter?” you ask as you lean your chin on his shoulder. He pulls away. 

”Cain…”

”Is he hurt?”

”No. He’s- he’s leaving.” 

It is strange how much this shocks you, somehow betrayed by this revelation. Your frantic heartbeat disturbs your stomach and you try to stave away the nausea rising. 

You briskly walk to Cain’s office, the door is ajar, and you find him filling his trunk with his essentials.

”You’re leaving.”

”I'll have to sew the mouth shut out of that dimwit.”

”Blame it on your brother, like you always do.”

Cain merely glares at you then walks towards his desk, rifling through the papers. 

 “Why?”

“You know why. Everyone knows why.”

“What about your responsibility? Your duty to this house?”

”My responsibility has been rescinded the moment he left and never to return.”

”So what? Does his kindness mean nothing? One of his antics trumps every goodwill he has ever given us?”

”His goodwill means nothing when one of his antics is destroying all we have ever known!”

“not all.” you step closer.

“Look at me, Cain. I should have looked older by now, a lot more. But I do not wither, he is trying to keep me alive… he has faith in me still… isn’t this fact the antithesis of what you believe?”

“I have never known you for being stupid and yet you’re always fooling yourself for him. Willingly blind to what he truly is.”

His words stuns you. Your throat feels a little heavier.

“There’s nothing here for us anymore. He’s left you here to die. And I’ll not wait around just to watch...”

You swallow. Needles sting the back of your eyes.

”You’re a subconscious, Abel. your place is here.” your voice breaks at the beginning.

”And you’re a spirit of the waking world. But look where you are now.”

Your mouth pulls downwards. Tongue hard as ice. 

“It’s time for me to go, before he returns. If he ever would.” he scoffs. 

He brushes past you as he puts his quill and papers in the trunk. 

As you leave Cain’s house you meet Abel standing at the doorstep, fidgeting. 

You shake your head to him, and his face falls all over again. Your heart breaks at the look of him. 

”whatever shall we do, (y/n)?

”I don’t know, Abel.”

“Come with me, I don't want Cain to kill you.” 

You walk with your arms interlinked with Abel. Deep in your own faint thoughts. 

Then, something loud can be heard, like the collapse of a glacier rumbling across the Dreaming.

You see birds fly from the trees, whatever it is that causes it in the distance, the birds storms in a particular direction, to you

“W-What’s happened?” Abel voices his concern, bewildered as you are.

But something awful is settling in your stomach, to the hairs on your arms and on your neck begging for you to avoid whatever is coming your way. You grip tight Abel’s arm.

“I think- I think we should go back.” He senses your fear. 

But you are rooted to the ground, hand wet with sweat. You find dread strangling your chest like a coiling rope, your heartbeat fights wildly in response.

Dread, you found, has salt for a smell. Like a memory you flung away for centuries upon centuries ago. 

“(y/n), come on.” Abel tugs your arm

The birds fly past you in droves and instinctively your arms shield your eyes, abel turns his head away. 

You blink open your eyes. 

“Little nymph.” His voice almost spilled the contents of your stomach.

A waning god stands in the distance. Same savage beauty as you remember, clinging desperately at the brink of ageing from his lost worshipper. Beastly on the edges of his unnatural youth. Strained with trinkets of gold shells and green jewels that seem it could drag him down like ship anchors. 

Abel grips your fear—addled body by your arms.

“Run.” His wide eyes beg, his voice trembles. You try to drag Abel along but he pushes himself away, to the devil behind you.

”Run!” he screams once more.

The drone of your heartbeat pumps the blood to your ears, you can’t hear a thing. You try to be as fast as you can through the trees and the foliages. 

My bow. Heavens, my bow… 

You left them by the tree in your lake. 

You trip by your own feet and a sharp stone is digging under your collarbone, your blood soaks your Chiton. 

Your tears blurs your vision, your stomach boiling and rising and you're on the edge of letting it all go. 

There’s only one place you knew that would keep you safe, where no one can enter the same room twice.

You run to the house of mysteries. 

You can see the gates of the house, you see Cain holding his trunks in his hand behind it.

Cain sees you, still bears the scowl. Then quickly dissipates when he realises the look on your face, when he sees you running. Sees the person chasing behind you, someone not from the Dreaming

“(y/n)-“ 

You take his hand to pull him away from Poseidon, like his brother, he stands his ground. 

“Egil’s bow in the basement on the eastern side of the wall. Use it.” he says with wide eyes. Egil, brother of Volund. Even in a situation like this, your brain can’t stop from making the connection that you’ve read about him somewhere but can’t seem to recall what he was. You blink your thoughts away as he hands you a key he took from his pocket. You pocket it safely in your Chiton. 

“Use it. Go.” you nod and make way to the house of secrets instead.

You hear Cain’s resistance and grunts behind you, and when you look back, he is lying on the grass from his confrontation.

“Cain.” You cried. And the god of the Sea turns before he lands his last blow, smiles satisfied at your desperation. 

“(Y/n). The bow.” Cain screams harshly. 

Your fingers brushes the doorknob of the front door

But You fall flat on the wooden ground, he has taken you by the leg. 

“Little Nymph. Stubborn little Nymph. Do you know how long I have dreamed of this day?” He presses his forehead to yours. Your body recoils from his touch, he smells of rotting seaweed and fish scales it chokes your throat with your own saliva. 

“What did it take for me to get here?” He whispers, nuzzling against your neck. You cried. You feel dizzy, your senses are slaughtered by him. The smell of decaying ocean in your nose, the sharp scent of salt on the back of your tongue. His oily, merciless grip on your skin. And the face you wish you’d never see again is lechering down at you. You can barely think. 

“Surely you will pay the debt for me? Water’s where you belong. And I will brine it with salt.” 

He reaches for the hem of your Chiton, terror lashes you like a whip across your lungs and skin, bile rises in your throat. In response you lift your knee and kick him on his groyne as hard as you could—your knee pained by the trinkets—just enough for the impact to give room for you to take the small knife inside your pocket. 

You push through the blade to his side. He strikes you across the face and you cry out. You feel blood trickling from your nose. 

He rises to his height, hissing as his hands hover over the blade.

“What goes on in that stupid little head that makes you think you can harm me?”

He spits as you scamper away, finally able to get inside the house, for Cain’s basement. 

You reach for the door, rummage through your pocket. Your hands shake terribly; the key slips from your hand and falls to the floor. You curse and hastily collect it and push it to the slot, in the corner of your eyes you see him drawing close.

Click.

He manages to grab your elbow and pushes you through the door. You fall against one of thousands of piles of towering objects.

The base of your skull hits something blunt and thin, stars burst behind your eyes, disorienting you. You think you feel something wet on the back of your head

your tears leak in streams as you watch him step closer, your knife still hangs on his side.

No. No, Morpheus… help me.

You raise yourself with your arms, your head pounds. 

You eye the blade still lodged between his ribs. 

Dream lord, help me, come home, help me. You scream inside. Wishing, begging. 

Still, you stand. You’ll die in the fight if you have to. You need to make way for the bow. You need to be slippery. 

With all your strength you bolt away. Slithering through the maze of piling objects. Evading him behind you. Ignoring his impending footfalls. Your collarbone throbbed a vicious pain. Your head and nose pounds. But you run, and run, and run around the neverending basement. As Theseus in a labyrinth. 

Cain didn’t mention that the basement stretches on and on and on. Finding the bow is a circle of hell. But on and on you run, your lungs decaying with dust. 

Until you see Egil’s bow hanging on the eastern wall of the room. You dashed for it. 

“We can do this one more time. I know you just love the chase.” 

You reach for the bow, climbing a throne and chalices and paintings and hear his ragged breathing behind you. 

“There is no place where you can escape, your king has left you to rot!” He howls, madly. Pacing around like a beast, like a Minotaur. Your knife dangles between his ribs like a proud medal he had adorned. Your hand brushes on the silver material of the bow. 

“I am the blood of Chaos, I am the only life you could never destroy, I am a force you can never escape. Abysmal and rebirth are interlinked within my very being and I will erode your faith until i become your only god-“ 

Once you grasp the bow you draw the strings swiftly, an arrow, translucent and silvery, appears between your fingers. When you let loose it barely graze Poseidon’s shoulder, he laughs as he evades it with ease. You can feel sweat and blood running down your back. The tears running down melting into your blood—caked nose and mouth. 

You dash away as fast as you can. Twisting your body at every turn of the Labyrinth and towering trinkets. Curse at the way your heart jolts every time his voice bellows behind you. 

But you know there’s really no escaping him except deciding to be brave enough not to run anymore. 

You stop running and turn to look upon your terror in the distance. You hold your bow tight despite the wetness of your palm. Ignore the blood pounding at the back of your head, the sweat varnishing your body, and steady yourself to watch him closing the distance between you. 

A few feet away, just enough for him to reach out to your neck, you take steps back as far as you could and pull the bow, shooting an arrow directly into his heart.

Another to his stomach. 

The impact is enough to stagger him backwards.

Another, then another. You will your hands to be as fast as biting thunders. 

Then you see Cain behind him, a flash of gold covers Poseidon and he howls in pain. 

Cain traps Poseidon’s head inside a net. His hands flail about in a frenzy and confusion. He takes this as an opportunity to pull the silver arrows from him and bind the sea god’s body in another net. When he falls into the ground, Cain binds his feet. 

“Wretched, demented, abomination of a creature, I swear you’ll never soil our doorstep again.” Cain hisses.

Poseidon squirms on the ground, contained within the nets. 

Then Cain, terrible and lovely Cain rushes to your side. Asks if you’re alright when his own face is blotched with bruises. 

You nod. Swallowing the dry in your tongue. 

You watch Poseidon thrash about, groaning and panting. Yet every time he moves the Net shocks him to the flesh and he is left strangely paralysed within it. You’ve never seen this kind of magic, the kind that captures a god alive. Reduced them to no less than a mortal. To an animal. Lower. Lower than that. 

What did Lady Britomartis do to attain such a high form of magic? 

You don’t care what she did. You care that he finally suffers before you. You care that his eyes now look the part of a mad man dancing wildly under the woven strands.

You kneel beside him, remove the trappings from his head, then dislodged the knife between his ribs. 

When he opens his mouth again you prevent his coming words by pushing the knife in his eye. The blood that bursts is blue and smelled like Oysters.

Then to his other eye. Over and over again.

But the god you puncture only laughs in return.

“Don’t you know you can’t kill god?” he smiles with blood on his mouth, looking at you without his eyes. 

You can’t remember when your every line of vision turns bright, violent red. When your hand saws his neck with your blunt knife. When Cain helps beside you with his own blade. Both of your hands soaked in Poseidon’s dark blue, wicked blood. 

When your knife and blade finally separates his head from his body, Cain is quick to wrap Poseidon’s head back in the net. Fasten every fibre tight. Then carry it away. 

You sit beside his squirming, headless body. Centuries of exhaustion passes through you. Then as if you were struck by a flail, you realise it was over. No triumphant bells or crowning laurels for you. Or winning speech too. Just blood and sweat lathering your face and body, cold by the slightest change of wind or temperature.

You feel hollow. 

Cain returns without the head. 

“Come.” Cain settles his drenched hand on your shoulder, locks the basement behind him then guides you out of the house. Where you find Abel hanging on Mervyn and Lucienne's shoulders. 

Lucienne removes herself, Abel leans on Mervyn, limps a little, a bruise about his one eye. He finds relief when he sees you as his eyes are smarting. 

You trudge down the stairs of the porch and Lucienne holds out her hands to help you, she envelopes you in her arms. You melt in her warm, homely, embrace.

Indifferent to the blood staining her pristine coat. 

“Come on kid, sit down.” Mervyn says as he sets Abel to sit with you on the stairs. The Pumpkinhead stands before you. 

“God, you’re hurt.” Mervyn says somberly. 

“But I hurt him too.” You reply. 

“You did.” Cain confirms behind you.

You nod. Your heartbeat starts to quicken again, your tears fall. Your fingers shake. Sobs clawing out of your mouth. 

Lucienne holds your hand, Mervyn settles his gloved palm on your shoulder. 

That night you sleep with Lucienne beside you, holding your hand from the restless night to the new morning. 

It feels as if you don't want to be alone again from that moment on.

36526

You woke up to a perpetual cloudy day. The soft bedding and silky sheets unfamiliar to your skin in the morning haze of the dreary world.

Your limbs ached, your nose, cheeks, and the back of your head throbbing viciously. Your collarbone stings at the slightest movement. 

Even though you don’t want to, you force yourself to get up. Wondering where Lucienne has gone to.

After you trudge down the stairs of Cain’s house, you see Cain and Lucienne sitting on the dining table. 

“Look at you, sit with us.” Lucienne calls out for you. You comply and sit yourself before them as you observe the gruel on the silver bowl. 

“Is that rice?”

“Eat up.” Cain said.

You take a small scoop and bite the edge of the spoon, your mouth stiff from the pain. You thought the gruel would taste bland and ashy just like the food in the Dreaming these days. But you are startled by the warmth and the richness of the grains as it melts in your mouth. 

“This is extraordinary. How?” you ask them.

“Cornucopia.” Abel answers. 

“In your office?”

“Yes.”

The trinkets, the offerings, and the magical objects from the relatively good to unmitigable evil have always been under the protection of Cain so it would never be misused by the other creatures.

You are tired of crying your skin raw. But you found yourself almost spilling more tears at Cain’s change of sentiment. 

“We have scattered Poseidon's body to the four corners of the Dreaming With the nets. No one will ever find him.” Cain continues.

You fall silent for a moment.

“What about the Pantheons? Won’t they look for him? The Ward’s gone. They could be here at any moment.”

“Yes, I suspect that was a protective Ward the king made.” Lucienne chimes.

“They can try. I’ll scatter their bodies just like that filth.”

“We’ll think of setting the wards back again.” Lucienne, for once, said something naive. Perhaps she’s as desperate as you are.   

You close your eyes. You don’t know what the future will hold, whether the Pantheons will hunt you down as well. 

You are afraid for them. 

“Don’t do this. You need to leave the Dreaming. I’ll handle the Pantheons. This mess is mine, and it started long before I knew any of you." It sounds more foolish when you say it out loud. But you don’t care in the slightest. You will never line your friends for the impending Gallows. 

“I appreciate your concern but no.” Lucienne says. 

“I will never leave before the King returns. I have a post to keep.” 

You sigh. 

“Cain. You’re all packed, no?”

“I’ll be damned if I leave the house to that dimwit.”

You laugh.

“Gods, Cain.” you mutter.

“Mervyn and Abel then-”

No rumbles of a glacier, no thunder across the sky. But all of you shared a look, that all of you felt someone had entered the Dreaming once more. Someone familiar. Ancient, like the home you once knew. 

Your heartbeat beats in your throat as you walk to the door. 

Sometimes A Wild God | 𝐈

Aerion Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Trapped in his own undoing, cornered by his guilt and shame, he rushes to a place where relief can only be found.

status: ongoing

wc: 2245

Warnings: Body horror, Blood and Gore

18+ only, your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. Do not proceed if these matters upset you.  

—

The wild god points to your side.

You are bleeding heavily.

You have been bleeding for a long time, Possibly since you were born.

—

Someone left the window open. 

He hears locusts in the depths of his depths. Even in the middle of the razor-slicing rain. Hammers his head. Rings him the long sleepless nights at the Red Keep, a figure drenched in the black of shadows between the stoned arc—her ghostly footsteps stain the red floor, deafening when he is away from the palace. I have to go to King’s Landing. 

Omgg i promise i’ll be back very soon!! I’m struggling to finish IHTMWD’s ending but i’m getting there!

Here’s a snippet of it!

—

Yet he didn't resist. He didn’t care. He missed the chance to take a breath, his nose rushed with the beckoning water and it stung the back of his eyes. A transition from breathing air to water he gladly welcomed for millions of time. Then she squeezed her hands a little bit more. There a quietness surged. The warmth of her skin penetrated his. Even if he is mortal and he can’t breathe under her lake, he wouldn’t care. His eyesight dimmed under the moonlight. He focuses on the outline of her face. Her hazy eyes, her chin, her giddy smile. She could choke him to death, he still wouldn’t care. She leaned and kissed his cheek. As intuitive as his grains of sand guiding the universe,his arms slithered around her waist. Reaching for the macrocosm inside of her, blooming only for him, he realised. There’s only love that night. And perpetual joy. I love her. I love her. She makes my heart ache.

For a brief, rapturous moment, he feels as if he is home inside that shackle of glass.

—