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Chapter Text

Morpheus

Silence. What is silence? Is it emptiness, or simply the absence of noise? Certainly, both of those answers could be applied here.

Morpheus stood, tall, silent, with an unreadable expression. Only moments ago, Lucifer had handed him the keys to her kingdom. Not his kingdom. Hers. A small bitter smile twisted at his lip. He supposed he owed that much at least. He glanced around him, briefly gazing at the vast landscape. The air smelt of smoke and fire, and while no visible flames were present, Hell’s atmosphere was distinctly different from that of The Dreaming, or indeed, the Waking World. A deep tract. 

It appeared as if it was permanently underground, trapped in smokey-hot fumes, the thickness of it burning at your eyes, the smell of coal clawing at your nose, seeping into your lungs. But there is no underground. There is only the being, the stillness, the restlessness..never knowing peace. Everything else only existed for the benefit of those who resided here. The smoke, the flame, the pit. A deep tract to give the illusion of suffocation. 

A core function of Hell: illusion. Why else, would Hell appear to have a sky, and a land, and a horizon that separates the two? It is and always will be an underground, smoke-filled, hot and unbearable. The sky will never clear, the sun will never rise, the land will never bear life. Yet here he was.

Grimly, he observed several hordes of demons clustering the area, wandering and weeping. They must have known prior to his arrival of Lucifers intention to abdicate. Despite everything else, he felt a small pang of surprise - and even pity - for the weeping creatures. They mourned their leader, their Queen, their Morningstar. He felt their fear. Where would they go? What would he do with them, now that Lucifer is gone? He couldn’t rule Hell and The Dreaming. Couldn’t or… wouldn’t. A sharp pain stabbed at his side, his stomach tensed, he cleared his throat. Later. I will think about this later. Taking in one last look at the fiery landscape, he clutched the key tighter in his palm, and turned his heel. It was time to return.

Hot stone crunched beneath his feet as he stepped towards the gates, tall and imposing, twisted like thorns. He had never been a regular visitor to Hell, and he did not intend to become one. Sordid land. He stepped closer, when a change in the air turned his gaze. Something smelt softer, slightly sweeter, notes of cinnamon, only a faint essence escaped upon him. Peering into the smoke, he made out a figure, striding towards him. He felt his heart beat a little faster. I can accept no more challengers. The outline of the figure became more defined, as they approached faster. 

And he saw her, then. 

‘Dream’

Her voice remained unchanged. Cutting. That voice, low and husk, had cursed him in the fires of Hell ten thousands years ago.

Suddenly, he noticed the unbearable heat. His palms grew damp, the back of his neck drenched in sweat. A slither of unease crept into his stomach. Not now. 

He felt his heart beat ferociously, he saw her, but yet could not believe she was there. He had thought about Nada, of course. For centuries. She was one of the last thoughts that had drowned in his mind before the Kindly Ones had ascended upon him. How is mind had pulled to her in those final moments, full of grief, eternal regret..and shame. Shame, that it had taken such circumstances, such brushes with Death, condemnation from the Kindly Ones, to force him in reflection. A fate he himself, condemned her to. A small voice whispered in the back of his mind. But you knew she was here, didn’t you? 

She was still glaring at him, gaze unflinching, fingers wrapped tightly into fists, body bruised and cut. His mouth felt dry as he formulated a response; nausea gripped his stomach. 

‘Nada’ 

He could not think then; too much was left unsaid, his mind swarmed. Even saying her name..feels like a gentle sin. He had not spoken her name out loud for centuries. Even with his shame, his guilt and grief, there was a tenderness that swelled beneath. He felt breathless as his chest tightened, and hung his head slightly. These last few days had taken a toll on him. He was visibly weaker, mentally and spiritually drained, his power waned. He felt weak, his knees jolted, struggling to stand. He looked at her then, heart thumping, mind swarming, knees weakening. How desperate he was, to feel her in his arms again, for all to be forgiven, to tell her of current events, to seek her advice… but none of that came. He only looked at her. 

Her dark eyes did not waver against his.

’I see you live’, there was no warmth in her tone. An uncomfortable pause hung between them. 

‘For now’, he answered. 

Though her face remained passive, her eyes spoke. Her anger was almost palpable. He knew. He knew that she knew. She nodded her head, slowly, eyes fixed on him, then with one eyebrow raised, remarked, 

‘For now’. 

Chapter Text

Morpheus

Nada walked past him, cold and unfeeling, her shoulder just brushing his. She did not say anything more.

‘Where will you go now?’ He murmured, keeping his back turned, unable to face her eyes again. He heard he footsteps pause.

‘I do not know. But I will not stay here’, she responded, flat and passive. He turned and faced her, and their eyes met. He stretched out a hand ‘Then allow me to take you from this place. I will give you freedom in The Dreaming. Once I have decided over Hell’s new ruler, you may leave, or stay, if you wish’. Nada shot him a look of cold fury.

‘And be your prisoner?’, she took a step forward, closer now, the air between them hot and cracked, ‘I will not be your prisoner again, Dream Lord. Much you have taken from me. But what have you given? What have you sacrificed?’ Her voice broke, as she spoke louder, ‘ … Ten thousand years, Kai’ckul!’ Silent tears streamed down her cheeks, her eyes pleading for understanding. Morpheus stood, still and silent as ever, as if a statue. Was it guilt, that made him freeze on the spot? He had only tasted essences of this feeling in mortals’ dreams. The feeling of flight or fright, of where their guilt is so overwhelming they crumble beneath it, paralysed, unable to move. Guilty he may be, but mortal he was not. He forced a response, his mouth dry. 

‘I cannot… give you back your life. I do not deserve your forgiveness, and nor would I be so brazen to ask for it.  But you will never be a prisoner of mine, or anyones, again. I only ask that you come, willingly, to The Dreaming, where I can -’ she interrupted, ‘-keep me safe?’

He opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly felt breathless, weak. He doubled over, clasping at his side where the Furies had torn at him. The pain was still there, raw and un-healing. The Dreaming called him.

‘Dream?’ He heard Nada ask, faintly, softer. His pain had caught her off guard. He put his hand up as he took a moment to compose himself. He needed to return to The Dreaming, now. The longer he stayed here the weaker he became. He stood upright, with effort, ‘I need to return to The Dreaming, Nada. Will you come?’ He strained, eyes unwavering. She narrowed her eyes, her arms crossed, considering him for a moment.

‘Yes… I will come’.

He closed his eyes briefly, and his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. He was ashamed that he felt some relief within him. But it also gave him hope that he could feel anything at all, all considered.

‘Very well’, he turned and waved his right hand in a circular motion, ‘together, we shall return to The Dreaming’. Then, a portal materialised within the dust of Hell’s landscape, blue and shimmering. 

 ———

Nada

The portal stretched open as Morpheus gingerly stepped inside. She noticed he was physically weaker than he was before, the subtle droop in his shoulders, the effort in his movements. She briefly wondered why, and decided she would find out later. For now, it was time to leave. She turned to give one last look at her ‘home’ of the last ten thousand years. Enough was enough. She knew then and there, that she would not forget her stay in Hell easily. While she was not eager to return so quickly to his realm, she had no desire to remain in Hell either. 

She stepped through the portal, and instantly felt the coolness of The Dreaming on her skin. A cruel clash to Hells hot and dusty landscape. They had appeared into the front entrance of the palace. It was darker here, and her eyes took a few seconds to adjust. She glanced at her ‘new’ surroundings.

The palace entrance was in no way lacking of grandiosity or beauty. It was clear that Morpheus liked to make an impression to those who entered his domain; one of power, influence, elegance. Tall, alabaster pillars climbed towards a ceiling that seemed to have no end. Looking up, she saw, perhaps for the first time in ten thousand years, stars. The ceilings were encapsulated with the dark night-sky, sprinkled its dozens of tiny stars, glimmering and shining. Full of constellations she did not know. Streaks of rich purples and blues swirled in the sky. It was truly beautiful. She hated it was beautiful. And she hated that she wanted to stand and observe it. But how long had it been? It was easy to just say ten thousand years, but it felt like an eternity. It was hard to turn her eyes away, as she hungrily took in the stars, the alabaster pillars, the cool marble floor… all of it, so different from that scorching landscape that she had suffered in for so very, very long. 

It had changed, though.

When she had walked these halls ten thousand years prior, it had shone brightly, full of wonder and bliss. It had been warmer, then. Too beautiful to belong to someone like him. She resented that she found beauty in it, even now. But… something had changed. She walked silently behind Morpheus, who strode across the obsidian, glass-like floor. Starlight reflected in the darkness… reflected or swallowed, she thought.

‘It is not as I remember it’ she said, quietly.

He replied with a murmur, ‘it is not as I left it’.

Her chest tightened, and she remained silent. What had happened, then, in the last ten thousand years, to her former lover? While her freedom from her cage in Hell was not unwelcome, it was nonetheless a surprise. She remembered how she felt, the day that Lucifers abdication came. She knew about it, everyone did. She had heard whispers in the darkness, of the Morningstar taking leave. Then, one day, the gates had opened. She had been hesitant at first, unsure - was it a trick? But as she saw hordes of weeping and wailing demons migrating across the hot planes, she knew it was true. When you had spent ten thousand years in Hell, this came as something unprecedented… momentous. Morpheus interrupted her thought as he greeted Lucienne.

‘Sir? Is it true, has the Morningstar abdicated?’ Lucienne flurried, full of questions, her face crumpled with worry as she helped Morpheus stand. Nada remembered her, too. She had always been kind to her when she resided here. Lucienne caught her eyes.

‘Queen… Nada?’ She asked, astonished. There was an infliction on the end of her sentence, a question. She felt her throat catch then, her eyes blinking faster so as not to weep, her hands twisting. No one had called her that for a long, long time. And she suddenly felt a hurricane of emotions. Her people…her imprisonment. Morpheus glanced at her then, guilt hollow in his face, and he avoided her eyes once more. 

She tipped her chin upwards, determined not to show any emotion in front of him.

‘Lucienne’

Morpheus looked again. He held her gaze for a moment, then turned to his librarian.

‘Lucienne, I need you to take Nada to the east-wing of the palace. There, you will find everything you need. I am to take to my study, and wish not to be disturbed. I must decide on Hell’s new ruler. I shall soon have every deity and entity in the cosmos at my door, wishing to own the keys to Hells Gates. As we cannot keep them out, we must invite them in’ with effort, he stepped away from her, limping slightly.

‘Sir?’ Lucienne asked, confused, ‘Invite them in? What exactly are you suggesting?’

Morpheus turned to her, with a grim smile on his face.

‘We will hold a banquet… and, I will observe’, his eyes swept to Nada again before continuing, ‘please see to it that Queen Nada has everything she requires’.

He disappeared into the darkness.

Chapter Text

Lucienne 

It had been an age and more since she had last set eyes on Queen Nada.

Lord Morpheus had not spoken of her directly, and those such as herself knew better than to question it, or speak of her name at all. So despite knowing Nada was in Hell, and that Lord Morpheus was indeed visiting… she did not expect to see her again so soon, or if at all. Lucienne could not deny the poor shape Queen Nada was in. Hell had taken its toll. She had deep lacerations across her back - which looked as though the wounds were only just being allowed to heal. Her skin was rough and callous, hardened by the thick smoke, and blazing fires. Her lips were cracked and dried with blood, and her feet cut and hardened. When she thought about Queen Nada before, when she had resided in The Dreaming and wandered freely, laughing and singing, it only made her gut churn more aggressively. She was loyal to Lord Morpheus, and in her own way, loved him. But when she took Nada up to her East-Wing chambers, helped her bathe and clothe, and sought medical assistance from the Dreaming’s nurse, she could not have been more ashamed and embarrassed. It was true, she thought, what those in The Dreaming whispered about Lord Morpheus and Queen Nada. He had done her a great disservice.

‘Lucienne?’ Matthew cut across her thoughts, as he jumped across to her. She had almost forgot she was preparing for the great banquet. ‘Yes, Matthew?’ Matthew shifted, his small raven feet nervously. ‘Is it true, that he has the keys?’ Hesitantly, Lucienne paused, but decided that it would soon become common knowledge. ‘Yes, it is true. He intends to throw this banquet, and invite all those that come to claim the keys to stay within the palace, so he may watch and observe’. Privately, she was unsure on how much of this was actually thought through with care. Lord Morpheus had not returned to The Dreaming the same as he had left it, when The Furies were forcing their way into the Dreaming’s walls, tearing and ripping at its fabric.

A sudden change in the air captured her attention, drawing her away from thoughts of The Furies. The air grew heavy, a thick scent drafted through the room. It was not a foul or particularly odorous smell; it burnt like spice, like deep incense. The Dreaming’s wards stirred, the air stilled, a quiet command lingered. Lucienne felt it too; slow, deliberate, seeping presence. The air fell heavy, but something more lingered underneath: electric, static, like bees tapped against glass, buzzing to get out. It felt… like dark magic, she thought.

Mephistopheles did not knock. The doors opened on their own accord, and he stepped forward, confidently, with stride. Lucienne made an effort to control herself, her hand trembled slightly, her palms dampened. She had only read about this… creature? Man? Demon? In the oldest of textbooks. He certainly looked like a man, and a handsome one too. Tall, dark-beared, high cheekbones that slightly carved his face to highlight the sharper features, but not enough to make him appear gaunt. He couldn’t have looked (at least, in human years) older than thirty. So elegant, she noted, yet so deceiving. From what she had read, a creature such as this was characteristic of deceit, cunning mind..persuasiveness. Certainly not to be swayed by tall cheekbones. His real skin lay underneath.  

She glanced at him. He had dressed for the occasion. Hung around his broad shoulders draped a long, rich, cloak, black with green and gold sewn around the edges. He wore a rouge-trimmed suit, again, seemed with precision and complex pattern around the edges with gold and black thread; on his feet he wore black leather boots that curved at the toe-end, slighted with a heel; his fingers, long and thin, bore few gold rings also. His image was nothing short of charm and elegance. His face - charming - too charming, was flawed with only the knowing curl of his lips, as if he knew secrets that nobody knew, and saw what no one else saw. In a plainer context, it looked as though he was enjoying a private joke that was at the expense of everyone else in the room. Smug, perhaps.

Lucienne had Queen Nada close to her throughout the greeting of guests, as she had fore thought it might be an overwhelming experience for her. She suspected she was right when she felt Queen Nada stiffen at his arrival. Lord Morpheus stepped forward to greet the first guest of the evening. ‘My Lord Dream’, Mephistopheles bowed, slow and deliberate, to the point where it almost could have been mockery, ‘it has been too long since I have been graced with an invitation to your… elegant, domain’ he smiled, teeth beared. Morpheus remained passive, only fixing his eyes on this charming stranger, before acknowledging him further.

‘Mephistopheles’ he nodded. But Mephistopheles attention had already wavered, his eyes already having found Nada. He turned toward her, unhurried, soft and deliberate. ‘Ah, Queen Nada’, his voice honeyed, silky and smooth, ‘I had wondered if the rumours were true’ he smiled again, his head cocked to one side, playfully. Nada’s chin lifted defiantly, but she made no response. Lucienne watched him carefully. He smiled wider then, clearly delighting in the tension that resided among them.

‘A Queen in her own right… ten thousand years, unbroken, unsplit… unsullied. One might even call it,’ he shifted back to Morpheus, who was watching him just as fixedly, ‘and excuse me, Lord Dream, when I say this, but, one might call it… divine’ he smiled, wider as ever, savouring every word that dripped from his honeyed voice. Lucienne took a quick glance at Nada, who had remained close to her, and glanced again at Lord Morpheus. Though his face remained largely passive, she noticed a small curl in Morpheus’ lip. She knew his silences well enough to feel when there was a shift in them. Stillness and silence meant calculation. 

Just as she thought about intervention, Mephistopheles bowed to Nada, a gesture so brazen and polished it was outright insulting. She felt her eyes widen a fraction as she glanced again at Queen Nada, who only watched.

‘I pledge myself to you, Queen Nada, the flower still blooming after ten thousand years in ash. I knew of you then, as I know of you now, the mortal Queen who spurned a God. The dreamer who refused to yield under the Morningstar’s fire - oh yes - we knew of your dreams,’ he glanced at Morpheus, who remained rigidly composed, ‘tell me, Nada, is it better to go wrong in ones’ own way, than right in someone elses?’ He did not wait for a response. ‘I think so. Loyalty is a currency by which we are bound… so allow me to spend mine on you’ he bowed his head lower still, and stepping closer, the gesture as quick as the wind and as smooth as the water, he took her hand - Lucienne almost audibly gasped - but the demon merely bowed over it, almost in reverence, and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. It was then that Lucienne realised what he was doing, and what this meant. A servants pledge and kiss… to their sovereign. ‘My Queen’, a murmur only low enough that Lucienne and Morpheus could hear. It had all happened so fast that Lucienne had barely the time to react.

Suddenly, but subtly, The Dreaming grew smaller, more closed in. The starlight above them dimmed, with dark clouds swirling, warning of a storm. Lord Morpheus remained still and quiet, though his lip remained curled, and his nose twitched. ‘You presume much, Mephistopheles’, he said at last, his voice cold and sharp. Nada had remained quiet, but did not take her eyes from him. Lucienne had the feeling that Nada was not afraid as much as she was observant.

Lord Morpheus stepped closer to Mephistopheles then, closing the space between them. ‘You forget yourself’, he stood, soft and eye-level with Mephistopheles, who was smiling wider than before, ‘you are a guest in my realm. Tread carefully’. The black shadows at Lord Morpheus’ feet writhed and turned like serpents, and in those shadows, began to audibility hiss, The Dreaming turned darker still, and an uncomfortable atmosphere lingered. Mephistopheles smiled, and bowed again to Lord Morpheus.

Then, rising and nodding, he said again, ‘Lord Dream’ and walked on to the main hall, guided by wards. It was due time anyway, Lucienne thought, I will think on this later. The other guests had started to arrive. She was glad that display was at least private, not shown in front of others who might join Mephistopheles in his allegiance. Was it genuine? It couldn’t be… most likely a sour attempt to take a feel for Lord Morpheus’ potential weaknesses or vulnerabilities. After all, the keys to Hell could never go to Nada. Firstly, she would never want them. Secondly, Lord Morpheus would never allow it. She dismissed the idea from her mind, hoping it would be one of few unpleasant interactions. She looked at Queen Nada, who had stepped away from the scene, and was gazing out of a nearby window. Lucienne turned her attention to Lord Morpheus, who was silently watching Nada himself. She felt a pang of anxiety in her stomach and bit her lip nervously.

She had hoped Nada may be seated and avoid the greeting of guests, but Lord Morpheus had insisted that she ought not to be out of sight. Just in case, he had reasoned.

Chapter Text

Nada

She gently reached out and touched the glass with her fingertips, feeling the cold reflection beneath, gazing out of the window. The view was, of course, nothing short of extra-ordinary. The night sky was looming in The Dreaming, the warm glow of an orange sun setting in the distance, leaving an ombré of rich oranges, deep reds, and cooling blues. Small stars begin to shine in the darker depths of the sky, and guests lined up noisily outside, awaiting entry. They came in the dozens, stretching across realms and kingdoms far and wide.

She breathed outwardly, her dark eyes unwavering as she continued to consider the awaiting guests. What am I doing here? She had a strong suspicion that Lucienne had campaigned for her to be seated in the Great Hall, away from the noise - but she was glad to be within sight. An internal conflict brewed beneath the surface. She hated that she wanted to be near to Morpheus. But it is not out of love, she reminded herself. A solitary ten thousand years in Hell had made her never want to be alone again. She craved conversation, action, colour… anything that made her feel like she did before, when she was mortal and ruling. He could’ve been anyone, and she would have wanted to remain where she is. For now, at least.

She ran through previous events in her mind. It all seemed like a blur. One moment she was hesitantly leaving her cage in Hell, and now she was stood, gazing out of the palace of The Dreaming. She turned her gaze across the skies, and took notice on the stars that were littered across them. These were not her stars. These constellations were new creations, courtesy of Morpheus. She knew this because she remembered very well the ones that lay there.. Before. Many a night and day, she had gazed up at those constellations. Those constellations had been whispered to upon the breaking of the dawn, they had seen… everything. Names and prayers had been sent to those constellations. These however, were unfamiliar, distant, cold. I had once ruled beneath this sky, that of which was so intimate to me. This sky, which in time, she had long considered a friend, now gave away nothing. Yet for eons, she had shared the best years of her mortal existence with it. A smile twittered at her lips. It reminded her very much of someone else.

In the background behind her, she heard the hum and chatter of the great reception filling up, as guests continued to pile in the masses. They seemed to be endless. Gods, demons, deities. Creatures she had no name for. It made her equally uncomfortable and optimistic. So many new faces.. So many paths ahead. She felt a noticeable shift in The Dreaming as Lucienne welcomed more and more in. A restlessness. Was it reflective of Morpheus’ guests, or Morpheus himself? She pondered on this notion for a moment. They had not spoken since their leaving of Hell. Nada didn’t intend to break this silence. Let him suffer in uncertainty. As I have.

The Dreaming was a morphed state of being, constantly changing, adapting, evolving, in line with those who resided in it. Morpheus still held the reigns to the carriage, though. Ultimately, it reflected his state of mind above all else, even if essences of others slipped through the cracks. It would not surprise her if he were restless. A difficult task lay ahead of him… so many had come, to claim the throne, pledge allegiance…

Her hand tightened against the window frame.

Mephistopheles.

What to even think about it? He was a demon, to be sure - but - something about his words had struck a chord that she neither denied or embraced. Sweet words, covered in honey, clung to her like smoke; she was unable to shake the encounter as quickly as she would have liked. A Queen in her own right… ten thousand years. The words echoed in her mind, as she tried, with great effort, to stay in the present, and not think too much on the past. Yes, he was flattering her. A language she was not entirely unaccustomed to. And most likely to probe for weakness, a dig at Morpheus, calculated. Not bowing to him, but bowing to her? It was surely just a calculated action to get a reaction from him. 

Yet… she felt like there had been more beneath the words than false flattery. What was it exactly? Recognition? Genuine reverence? The thought unsettled her, more than she would have liked. She had not left Hell only to be revered by its demons in her freedom. I have no interest in ruling Hell, only escaping it. Let the Demon flatter. It will change nothing. Flattery were just words, poised and beautiful, a vain and hollow attempt to gain favour, to sway power. She suddenly remembered what her grandmother had said to her once, before she had become Queen of The First People, in preparing her for her role.

‘When power to flattery bows, is all is lost’.

She bit the inside of her cheek, and clicked her tongue, breathing out. Despite herself, she felt her eyes well at the memory, hearing her voice. Swiping the tear away, she sniffed, and remained still and composed. Now it not the time. Later, privately, she would allow herself to cry. But not now. It was too much to think about; her head began to swell, thoughts never ceasing. She steadied herself, hand on the window frame, breathing slowly. 

And Morpheus… she had made an effort, and pointed notice, not to look at him after Mephistopheles grand gesture. She had known him well once. She was not so sure she knew him at all now. It would have offended him. She resisted the urge to cross her arms.  He was a monarch, this was his realm. But, she countered internally, was I not once a monarch, too? Before he ripped away that privilege, that life, that right?

She had still not turned from the window. She knew he was watching her, from a distance. She felt his eyes against her back, his gaze sharp and cutting, unreadable. Perhaps once she might have cared. Now she was unsure which part of her despised him more; the part that was reminded he was her former lover, to the part that remembered him as her judge, condemning her. Lucifer was her captor, technically. But who put her there? Who sentenced her? The Morningstar was fulfilling a function, a role. But Morpheus? And it wouldn’t have been as cutting, had her sentencing not come from the deepest depths of betrayal. The deepest betrayal I have ever known.

She straightened her shoulders, and arched her back. Enough of this. She would not stand still and keep quiet any longer. And nor would she be paraded like some relic at his banquet. If Mephistopheles had attempted to make her a pawn in his game, he would soon learn that, that was never her piece. She was a Queen.

And Queens are the most powerful piece on the board.

Chapter Text

Lucienne

Within the Great Hall, seats began to fill, cups were emptied, and chatter had begun. Lucienne had spent the remains of the day (after the incident with Mephistopheles) ensuring that the Great Hall looked exquisite for the arrival of guests. It has been entirely reshaped for the banquet, long black drapes hung in each corner, thousands of floating candles were sprinkled across the Hall. The ceilings appeared open and endless, scattered with starlight that seemed to come alive, slowly moving in their constellations. Long oak tables filled rows of the hall, each filled with a wealth of food and wine. Fine china plates were laced with Ambrosia, large gallons of Ichor filled each chalice, and deep wines that smoked as they were poured, sent rich scents swirling in the air.

Everyone from everywhere had come. Of course they did, she thought. She glanced around the Hall, looking at her guests. Her eyes fell to the nearest table in front of her, where she saw Dionysus.

‘Where’s the boss?’ Matthew cooed, cutting across her thoughts. She looked down and saw the raven at her feet, looking up at her.

‘Lord Morpheus will be joining us shortly,’ she said, glancing up again, eyes fixed on the laughing Dionysus, who was on his third chalice already, ‘why is he here?’

Matthew flew up and perched on her shoulder. Lucienne turned her head slightly, frowning. She had asked him many times not to do that.

‘Dionysus? Well, probably to drink lots of wine, considering his nature. Who is he sat with?’ Lucienne sighed, and brushed Matthew away.

‘I have asked you many times not to use me as a perch, Matthew,’ he began to protest, ‘-and, he is sat with Odin, a Norse God, and.. Oh’ she trailed off. Matthew looked at her again.

‘What is it?’ Lucienne sighed and blinked. ‘He’s also sat with Eshu. A Trickster. A trouble-maker. We must keep an eye on that one’. Matthew stared ahead, and began to make a response, when Morpheus appeared at the centre table in the far-end of the Hall.

‘Gods, deities, demons, welcome,’ Morpheus spoke, clear and calm, and the chatter fell quiet almost instantly, ‘tonight, we host you as our guests. I am under no mistake that many of you are here, with the belief that you are Hells’ next ruler. Only one of you will leave with the keys of that domain.’ All eyes were now cast upon him, hanging on to every word he spoke. Lucienne noticed Mephistopheles titling his head, smiling at Morpheus’ words. He always looked like he knew something everyone else didn’t. She narrowed her eyes. She neither trusted nor liked his character. Lord Morpheus continued, ‘For now, I invite you to enjoy the evening, and I will announce my decision tomorrow’. He raised his chin slightly, and signalled an end to his speech, and the chatter resumed, louder than before.

Morpheus took his seat in the centre of the only table faced forward (all the others were placed long-ways), when Lucienne noticed Nada was not present. She opened her catalogue, and wondered where she might be - when the Hall doors swing forward, creaking, and Nada walked through them. Lucienne’s eyes immediately fell on her.

Nada strode through, gracefully, amongst the chatter, which quietened when she walked by. All eyes were now cast upon her, and whispers and murmurs filled the room. Lucienne could see why. Draped in flowing black silk that seemed to flow with elegance, thread of molten gold shined at each hem, glinting like starlight. Her arms, long and bare, glimmered with chains of carnelian and onyx, and her hair bore a crown of simple gold, thinly twisted into what resembled branches of a tree. Around her neck, she wore a thin gold chain, with the centrepiece of a sun. Her dark eyes did not waver under the murmurs, and instead, she lifted her chin, and resumed her seat beside Morpheus.

Lucienne could see them, then. Morpheus, who had remained passive until she took her seat, turned his head ever so slightly towards her. She made no effort to return the gesture, and looked straight ahead. Lucienne had to admit, it was a difficult scene to watch. Nada had graced The Dreaming a lifetime before, and they had sat right where they are now, so regal, yet so soft together, always laughing, touching, never far. Now, they sat like statues of marble, draped in façade, refusing to really acknowledge another.

‘She looks beautiful’, Matthew cooed.

‘I know’. Everyone knew. She carried herself like a Queen, as if she had never been in Hell at all. Lucienne could not help but admire it, even if it made her sad to know that, the reality was far from the truth. Nada had been to Hell. And she had come back.

‘May I?’

A deep, rich voice slithered through the hall like smoke. Lucienne turned.

Mephistolophes had approached the centre table, and stood a few feet in front of it, in open space of the Hall. He had dressed himself in riches - of course - his jacket a deep scarlet, ribbed with black fabric, and gold lace. Each hand bore one gold ring with emeralds that were twisted in the shape of a serpent. He smiled, a wide smile, that suggested neither kindness nor grace, and as he stretched out his hand to Nada, his eyes glinted. He carried something. What was it? Lucienne squinted her eyes.

On his outstretched hand, a black velvet box, small and unassuming, which he cradled as if it were a living thing. Nada remained soundless, but her eyes watched him with intensity. Morpheus too, she noted, was watching. The hall had fallen quiet again, and murmurs rebounded.

‘An offering, ‘ he smiled, his eyes sweeping the hall, but settling on Nada, ‘for your court. For your… guest, Lord of Dreams’.

Morpheus remained passive, but Lucienne saw the slightest look of contempt; his nose twitched, his chin lifted, and his eyes bore into Mephistopheles. He would not make a scene here, she knew. But he would be enraged all the same. She felt a pang of anxiety, and bit her lip.

Mephistopheles strode forward, confidence and swoon in every step, carefully measured to draw the eyes of everyone present. He reached the table, and with a theatrical flourish, opened the box. Gasps and more murmurs resounded in the Hall. In the box, nestled a crown. Or was it a diadem? It was small and thin, with twisted gold than looked as though it had endured a thousand dreaded blows, at the centre, it bore three cruel, sharp facets shaped like serpents, of which were encrusted with blood-red rubies the size of fingernails.

The Diadem of the Damned.

Lucienne felt her heart beat unnaturally fast, and her own fingernails dug into the leather of her catalogue. She knew of this object. It was something she had only ever read about in the oldest of manuscripts… an inherent relic of Hell. The origins of it were subject through debate and myth, but it was generally accepted that it had belonged to a mortal queen. She is said to have traded her soul for her empire, and was thus condemned to wear it for all eternity, to serve as a constant reminder of to whom she belonged… or where.

‘A small token’, he murmured, bowing low, though his grin could not be missed, ‘The Diadem of the Damned. Once worn by one who ruled men and demons alike. I think… it is appropriate’ his voice dripped with malice and his eyes flickered towards Morpheus for just a second, but he smiled as if he appeared genuine. Nada held his gaze for a moment.

‘I cannot accept-‘ she had begun, her tone cool, but he had already swooned closer. With surprising gentleness, but nonetheless deliberate movement, Mephistopheles lifted the diadem and stepped behind her. Nada paused for a second, stilled, and then titled her head ever so slightly, inviting him to place the crown upon her. His fingers brushed her hair as he removed her own crown to replace it with the diadem. A quick, sudden and swift movement… and an intimate one.

The hall went still, the constellations pinned above halted in their slow dance. Morpheus remained rigid, watching, his fingers gripped around his chair.

‘There’, he whispered, leaning just close enough, ‘as it was always meant to be’. Lucienne shivered slightly, and felt the air grow cold, the walls of the Hall darkened. Morpheus did not move, but the shadows that lay beneath his throne lengthened, twisting and choking.

Mephistopheles either did not notice or pretended not to, but Lucienne could guess. His grin certainly suggested otherwise. He raised his head then, and louder, to assert the room, spoke with a poised hand that was out-stretched, ‘Will you honour me with a dance, Queen Nada?’

Nada looked quickly at Morpheus, who did not meet her eyes. After a moment, she turned back to Mephistopheles, rose, and took his hand.

Lucienne did not know what unsettled her more. That Nada rose and took his hand… or that Morpheus did not react. Yet.

The chatter was returning once again, lower this time, and though Nada and Mephistopheles were still the focus of attention, the guests began to draw away from it. Lucienne, nor Morpheus, did not draw their gazes.

He is so brazen…and that Diadem, surely not simply a gift? She thought, watching the floor clear instinctively for the pair to begin their dance. He should not have let her take it. Or, let him bestow it. She continued to watch carefully, as they brushed across the floor. 

He is short of no charm. But then, that is what Demons do. Looks are deceiving. Mephistolpheles moved like a man made of smoke and fire, guiding Nada with ease and swoon. She kept having to remind herself he was not a man at all, and possessed no soul. He could not be trusted. And yet… his charm, his countenance… it had a strange pull towards it, as if you couldn’t look away. Lucienne gazed at the pair again. He spun her once, then twice, the silk of her noir gown gliding almost seductively through the air, pulling like a liquid shadow, gold threads catching in the light like twinkling stars. She did not stumble. She did not resist. Did she lean in to it, slightly? Lucienne studied Nada’s face. No. Her eyes were slightly narrowed. She knew exactly what was happening. Flattery to a monarch is no stranger.

The music, soft and mellow (had it always been there?) sent a strange melody through the hall.

‘Do you feel their eyes on you?’, Mephistopheles purred, loud enough for the ring of onlookers to hear. His words were coated in honey, meant to humiliate as much as they intended to flatter. Nada made no response, only continued in her dance, though her eyes remained narrowed and intent. He continued, as they stepped on, ‘Gods and Dreams alike. They stare as if they forget what a shine of Heaven means in the depths of Hell… power unchained’ he murmured.

Lucienne gripped her book. Something itched at her. Something about the Diadem. It was no normal crown, yet she could not understand why she felt this way. What was it, that I distrust more? The diadem, or him? 

Nada tilted her chin, raising her features. ‘And yet, ‘ she replied, coolly, ‘you dance like a jester who mistakes himself for a King’. The hall tittered with a low, nervous laughter. But Mephistolpheles only smiled wider, welcoming the conversation, and leaned closer to her, his lips ever so close, just brushing against her ear. Lucienne saw him whisper something into her ear, but this was clearly only intended for Nada. But she saw the effect. Nadas jaw tightened, and though her expression remained unchained, her grip on his hand loosened.

Across the room, Lord Morpheus had not moved. He sat, ridged and straight, fingers steepled in his throne. His gaze was unrelenting. But the shadows at his feet were growing restless, the air had turned humid, and not too far in the distance of The Dreaming, dark clouds cracked together, rumbling. The inescapable feeling of dread spread through the Hall, and Lucienne was certain it was felt by all who resided.

‘Ah’, Mephistopheles said suddenly, spinning Nada into a slow turn, his eyes flickering towards Morpheus, ‘forgive me, I forget myself. It must be… difficult, to watch’ he grinned.

It was then Lucienne saw it - the faintest twitch of Morpheus’ jaw. Morpheus stood then, directly addressing him.

‘Enough’

The word was not spoken too loudly, but it rang through the Hall, and Mephistopheles froze, mid-step, before laughing softly and releasing Nada’s hand. He bowed a a low bow, and taking Nada’s hand once again, as a final act of defiance, brushed a kiss against her knuckles. ‘Until next time, my Queen’. He slipped into the audience as easy as a shadow does the night. After a moment, murmurs slowly emerged, and chatter filled the Hall. Nada retook her seat beside Morpheus, her expression unreadable. Together, they stared out into the audience, watching the chatter, but neither looked at the other. The dark closure of the room slowly ebbed away, and light returned once more, the air less heavy. 

My Queen…. Luciennes quill hand itched. The Diadem… the dance. She was unsure what to think. She glanced up again at Lord Morpheus and Nada, both sat staring, looking straight ahead. Finally, they reside in the same realm, but they could not be further apart.

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

The Hall had begun to clear, as guests took their leave to retire to their chambers for the night. Aside from that little stunt with Mephistopheles, the evening had gone as well as could hope. No fights had broken out, no quarrels… which, surprised him. He had expected more.

Morpheus remained seated on his throne as the Hall grew emptier still, staring into the space of where she had danced with him. A horrible feeling had taken him, like a parasitic growth, twisting and churning his insides, refusing to relent. What was it, that bothered him more? Purely the act of the dance alone? His gift? Or the open insult of it all, carried out in his Hall?

Restraint, he told himself. I just need to show restraint. It’s not like he could claim Nada as his own anymore. He felt a guilty pang in his stomach, sharp and bitter.

‘Well, Brother’, Desire had slinked into the Hall, and leaned lazily against a table, swirling a half-empty chalice of wine. They wore black fishnets, shiny black heels, and a red corset that was bound with black lace. The usual. Morpheus made no response, only flickered his eyes in acknowledgment of their presence.

Desire smiled wildly then, eyes glinting with malice, his voice low and seductive. ‘Will you not speak with me, Brother? Won’t you talk to your sibling… of what’s troubling you? Though I could hazard a guess,’ they continued to swirl the wine, gazing down into the chalice.

Morpheus drew a breath. ‘Leave’, he said, coldly.

‘Oh, come now. I only came to..console you’, Desire strolled over, and brushed their fingers over the abandoned chalices across the tables, ‘I’m worried about you. You sat so stoically while she dances with him. So unlike you, Brother… do you know what they are all saying, I wonder?’ They dipped their finger into a rich chocolate sauce and sucked it. Morpheus turned his head towards them.

‘I do not care what they say’. I will not take your bait today, Desire.

Desire laughed richly, throwing their head back.

‘Liar,’ they taunted, grinning more wildly than ever, ‘it must sting, just a little?’ They cocked their head to once side, mouth turned into a knowing smirk, eyes focused on Morpheus. ‘Watching him press his hand to her back… whispering sweet nothings… kissing her hand,’ he paused, eyes darting around the room, as if in thought, before turning them to Morpheus once more. ‘Did you see how she let him?’ Their voice dripped with soft poison, intending to hurt, to provoke.

‘Enough’. My patience wanes, my dear sibling. Do not push me. 

‘No, not enough. You can feel it, I know you can..that little treasure he bestowed her. It’s clever, you have to admit-‘

‘I know what the diadem is’ he held Desire’s gaze, a warning. Push no further, Brother.

Desire stepped closer, voice sweet and soft, ‘Then you know what it does….’ They leaned closer then, whispering, ‘You’re losing her Dream. And we all know how fragile you are when you lose something…’

Morpheus rose from his throne, the shadows at his feet snapped and hissed. Desire smiled down at them, unfazed. They step forward, and drag a finger across his shoulder as they step around him.

‘Leave my realm. You do not command me here’. Desire continues to circle him. ‘Oh Dream, you don’t still blame me for Lyta keeping her son from you, do you? You’ve been so… sour, with me, since… I was doing you a favour, you know…’ he purred, and stepped back. ‘Try not to shatter too loudly’, they grin, and disappear.

Morpheus stood alone in the Great Hall.

Irritation flowed within him, his fingers curled. Typical Desire. Always looking for a reaction. For what feels good in the moment, with little thought for the aftermath. His mind wandered back to Nada, to tonight, the dance, the diadem. Did others see Mephistopheles’ show as an act of genuine devotion? They had all come believing themselves to be worthy of Hell… but he had proclaimed Nada instead of himself, to be rightful. And she let him. I have not lost her. How is it possible to lose something you no longer have? 

He strode out, decisively, making his way to her chambers.

He reached her door, silver with moonlight. He did not knock.

Morpheus slipped quietly into her room, unannounced. It was quite beautiful. Moonlight from the scape of The Dreaming streamed through her long windows, casting over the room, illumining all it touched. Nada was stood before her mirror, still in her noir silk gown, removing her jewellery. The Diadem still placed upon her crown. Morpheus stood silently in the doorway, gazing at her.

‘Do you knock for anyone, Lord of Dreams? Or am I simply an exception to this courtesy?’ She pulled off her silk gloves, not looking at him. He stepped forward, the moonlight casting over his skin, cutting sharp shadows over his cheekbone.

‘You should not wear that’ he said, abruptly. Nada looked up from the mirror. ‘And yet, I do wear it’, holding his gaze. Morpheus stepped forward, closer again. ‘You allowed him to touch you. In my Hall. At my Banquet,’ his voice sharp but measured. Perhaps sharper than he meant. She continued to hold his look.

‘Would you have preferred it was done in private?’, he flinched, ever so slightly, but she notices, and continues, ‘What was I supposed to do, Morpheus? You did not stop him. I looked over at you. You allowed it in your silence’. He felt a surge of anger, but swallowed it, she needs to know that it is not a gift.

‘I did not allow it. You let him humiliate you. You let him kiss you,’ she avoided his look, he stepped forward, beams of moonlight spilling across his face. ‘This is not about us. I understand that. But you must understand that he does not bestow gifts on you for sheer flattery or pleasure alone,’ he snapped, colder than intended, irritation flaring. Nada cast him a look of fury. She removed the rest of her jewellery and turned to face him.

‘And where were you, Morpheus? You were sat right next to me, and could have intervened at any time. You chose not to. And-,’ she closed the gap between them, rising, stepping forward, her nose only inches away from his. He felt his pulse spike. The faint smell of cinnamon and vanilla filled his senses. ‘For the first time in centuries, I am being recognised as a Queen in my own right. A courtesy no one else has offered,’ he noticed the emphasis, she continued, ‘what is so wrong with that?’ She stared at him, waiting for a response. His anger quelled as he studied her face, the moonlight spilling across her skin, her dark eyes unwavering and focused, her her loose and cast across her shoulders. He turned away from her, unable to formulate a response.

‘The diadem is not a gift, and you ought not to wear a relic of Hell so easily. You do not understand its nature-,’

Nada placed her hand on his shoulder, turning him to face her once more, ‘You will face me when you address me, Lord of Dreams!’, she was breathing heavily, her eyes wide, voice rising. 

‘You may rule this realm, but you do not rule me. You must understand this,’ she holds his gaze, her hand still wrapped around his arm, eyes narrowed. 

Her breath remained heavy as the moment between them suspended in the air. His gaze dropped to her hand that lay on his arm. Her eyes flicked and she quickly withdrew. The silence lingered between them, and he stared at her then, unreadable. Abruptly, he turned and left the room.

Nada let out a long breath, shoulders slumping slightly, eyes darting around the room. Her hand still tingled from where it had touched him. She wondered if he had felt how hard hear heart had beat, in that moment.

She hoped he hadn’t.

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

Morpheus stepped angrily into the corridors, his pace quick. How could she not see, he was trying to protect her? And he did not allow ‘it’ to happen.

His steps faltered for a moment, pausing in his thought. Laughter faintly echoed around the corridor. It sounded suspiciously familiar. He turned, quieter and calmer then, and saw a golden thread, floating. It was a thread of dreaming. It meant that someone near had slipped into slumber. Intrigued, he followed it. It led directly to Mephistopheles’ room. He narrowed his eyes. If I am about to see what I think I will see… I will reside with his insolence no longer…

He stepped soundlessly into the dream, as he usually would, when observing mortals. Even mortals and demons dream the same.

The dream was decadent, rich… indulgent. The shift was almost instantaneous. One foot in, and sweet scents came to him. Burnt cinnamon. Nutmeg. Ginger. The sweetness of the spice was so cloying it almost choked him.

As he looked upon the landscape of this dream, he felt a strange feeling wash over him. Confusion? Fear? Something felt.. Unbalanced. Thick smog of orange and red hues surrounded him, blurring the view. He continued to step forward, intrigued. A few moments passed, and the faint outline of a building began to take shape in the near distance. Squinting, he looked further, and realised… this was Nada’s palace, when she ruled beneath human skies. His pace quickened, and with great strides he was soon outside the palace doors. The palace was not as he remembered it. Familiar yes, but distorted. The usual white-sand walls that had absorbed centuries of hot sunlight, were now seeped with long drips of liquid gold, as if the inside of the palace was overflown with it. He rested his hand on the door, and pushed forward.

Instead of expecting the palace reception, he immediately found himself stood within Nada’s throne room. Or at least, this version of it. The light was dimmer in here, and only columns of it seemed to focus on the centre-piece: Nada herself. Positioned directly in the centre, crowned and adorned upon a throne too ornate to be tasteful, she sat, back-arched, gazing absent-mindedly ahead. Or at least, Mephistopheles version of her.

Where terracotta should have lay, the floor appeared consumed by colour so dark, you lose your reflection rather than gaining it. Regally she sat, the floor around her engulfed in what resembled a shiny black lake, rippling and reflecting. She was surrounded by total darkness. What is darkness? Is it simply the absence of light, or something more… dangerous?

Morpheus considered her image, for a moment. Where regal attire would normally drape, a long dress of molten gold had moulded, clung seductively around her shape; it flowed to just below the wrist, and birthed a modest neckline. Her fingers, wrapped around the arms of the throne, bore so many rings that it bordered banal indulgence; a thick choker inlaid with gold and carnelian gems wrapped itself around her neck, and seemed designated for worship rather than comfort; finally, a black, thin-mesh cape hung elegantly from her shoulders, encrusted with dozens of tiny constellations that moved slowly in starlight. Her crown was perhaps the most luxurious of all. Upon her head, she bore the diadem. That diadem.  The dreamer had gone to great depths to put the devil in the detail. Morpheus noted that even her ankles bore thin gold chains, encrusted with smaller diamonds, leaving the rest of her feet bare. She moved slowly, and deliberately, but not all entirely absent either.

At her feet, a figure knelt in deep reverence, like a priest on a pew. Dressed no less humbly, Mephistopheles bore a coat of deep rouge, patterned with gold threads that glimmered in the streams of light, as he moved softly around her feet. He was not dressed as her equal; his head bore no crown. How modest, Morpheus thought, with a touch of a sneer. His head was bent low, and he whispered things only the Queen could hear - she occasionally offered a laugh here and there in response. His hands rested at the foot of her gown, but his fingers remained outstretched, as if he though he were under great restraint at touching what he revered. ‘My Queen’, he murmured, his voice honeyed and low, ‘is this the face that launched a thousand ships?’ He looked up into her face, titling his head slightly, studying her features, eyes wide, with his lips slightly parted. For a moment he held her gaze, then averted his eyes, moving closer once more, close enough now that his breath brushed the hem of her gown. The movement was almost desperate, greedy.

‘How is it’, he murmured again, his fingers slowly tracing the fabric, ‘that a god may betray you, cast you out to the shadows, and you emerge the same? Is this a resilience so rich that even He envies you so?’ Nada made no response. His fingers had trailed the edges of her gown, but paused, a restrained hunger. Morpheus felt his chest tighten. This dream felt too intimate to watch, yet he could not bring himself to turn away.

Mephistopheles tilted his head once more, smiley faintly to himself. ‘Were I braver’, his thumb now grazed the bone of her ankle, just once, before retreating, ‘I would ask to touch what no God deserves’. Nada made no answer, though not from a meekness; she was absent-minded, only a essence of herself, the way Mephistopheles had imagined her. This was after all, his dream. Morpheus seethed silently, watching the scene unfold. His feet remained rooted.

Then, he stilled and turned slightly, while Nada remained silent and unmoved.

‘Do you enjoy this, Lord Dream?’, he echoed, gleefully, to the empty space within. He cannot see me, Morpheus thought. He is provoking me. This is a show. I am the audience. Another beat.  Mephistopheles continued, ‘you, who cage even your own desires. You, who would sooner burn the world than admit what you covet. You, who watches’ his smile returned, ever widening, filled with malice. Morpheus’ nose twitched. Mephistopheles reclined his head once again, murmuring into the hems of her gown with benediction. ‘You watch, as any man would’, he spoke, softly, head bent, ‘as any God would’.

He felt his jaw clench, and his lip curled. He had seen enough of this dream. He turned, briskly, and strode out the door, slamming it with thunderous rage. The dream shattered then, and fell delicately, like a dozen shards of glass from a frame.

He returned to his study in silence.

The room had felt smaller than it was when he left. Too quiet. The faint scratching of his ravens lay outside, and the hum of magic that always lingered with his walls persisted. It felt suffocating.

His hands found the black chestnut arms of his chair. Cold, cooling wood. Familiar grounding, he breathed, massaging his fingers into the intricate carvings. He sat for a moment, but the feeling did not leave. His hands tightened around the arms, wood creaking beneath the force.

That dream. That spectacle, he spat in disgust.

He had seen mortals dream of lust, power, vengeance. He had also seen demons conjure horrors and gore of their own making - but - this? This? It was an insult. To him and to her. And it was deliberate; a play conjured for a very specific audience in mind, and he had remained to watch, like a fool. He felt his heart beat a little faster, as he replayed Mephistopheles words over and over, each echo clawed deeper, as if the demons voice lingered in the room, rebounding and refracting from every surface…

‘You, who cage even your own desires… You, who watches… as any God would’.

His jaw tightened. He could not decide what stung more - the insult or its accuracy. He did not like to feel out of control, or out-witted, let alone by a deceitful, lustful creature such as Mephistopheles. His head began to gnaw in pain, and he took a deep breath in, closing his eyes, gripping his chair tighter still.

Restraint. It has been his one constant, his only reliable crutch. It was the same as when he sat on his own throne, or when he was imprisoned by Burgess. Restraint equated control in his mind. Restraint was pure. He would not let a devil unravel it. He would not -

Yet… the words clung to him, sickly and sweet. It was beyond reverence, and bordered obsession. Was it deliberate or genuine? And the worship. So overt that it rendered on blasphemy. It was a mockery, a show. Wasn’t it? Each thought that came to him was more unpleasant than the last, and all equally unsettling. He pushed them away, but the image… her image, remained. Soaked in gold, draped in starlight…

Something in him snapped.

In one quick, violent motion, his arm cleared his desk of all that lay on it. For a few moments, he breathed heavily, staring into nothing.  Small ink bottles smashed across the floor, parchments lay ripped, thunder rumbled in the distance. He stood over the wreckage, his breathing deep and shallow, fingers trembling ever so slightly. The sound echoed through his study, hollow and sharp. Then, it fell silent. The air grew drier still, and the storm outside had quelled. Morpheus narrowed his eyes.  The quelling of the storm was certainly not his will.

And then, from the corner of the room, three voices spoke as one.

‘Temper, Lord of Dreams’.

He did not need to turn to know them.

The Fates…had arrived.

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

The voices came from nowhere and everywhere all at once, rebounding, mountains of whispers. His breath stilled, and composure regained, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. It was important not to let appearances slip, lest of all now, when he was no longer alone. He straightened himself, unhurried, and adjusting his coat, drew himself to full height. He did not turn when he addressed them.

‘Fates’, he spoke, cold and measured. He faced them then, and ignored the shattered remains of his desk. The thunder that had roared only a moment ago quelled, and all that could be heard was the soft putter-patter of rain, falling against his long windows. ‘Or’, he continued, ‘rather, welcome, Clotho The Spinner, Lachesis The Alloter, and Atropos The Unturning. To what do I owe the pleasure?’, then added, colder still, ‘I note you come, unbidden into my realm’.

The Fates smiled faintly, each looking at him directly. Clotho, was the oldest of the three. The Spinner, she spun the threads of life, and represents what has been set in motion - in this sense - the past. Her hair greyed at the parting, the shallow around her eyes dark, her skin slightly sunken. The middle sister, Lachesis, appeared younger and not yet as aged. Within her role as The Alloter, she determined the length of each thread - how long a life will last. The last and youngest of the three, Atropos, is The Unturning. She holds the shears, and decides when a life is to end by cutting the thread. She represents the future - what is to be. Together, they are the Rulers of Fate, the Masters of Destiny.

Clotho stared, still smiling faintly, ‘But, you called us, Lord of Dreams’, her voice high and brittle, each word savoured, as if she knew what Morpheus had just witnessed. Morpheus said nothing.

‘You ought not to linger in dreams that are not for your showing, Morpheus’, Lachesis laughed. The youngest of the three, Atropos, seemed to take a little more pity on him than her sisters.

‘You called us, with your heart. The welt tightens’, she added, but Clotho continued,

‘A thread returns to the loom,’ Lachesis interrupted again,

‘-and a crown awaits the hand that dares take it’, she whispered, drawing out thread from her cloak, and straightening it. Morpheus remained ridged, and made no reply. He needn’t to. Atropos continued, ‘But, My Lord, the crown perpetually blazes,’-

Clotho ravelled her thread,  maliciously, ‘one throne has been abandoned, and another trembles unseen. Choose wrong, and lose both!’ she grinned, showing her blackened teeth.

The candles suddenly blew out, the air grew cold, the room darker and enclosed, the three sister stepped forward, voices overlapping, whisperers rebounding,

‘She is the beloved

She is the forsaken

She is the sovereign’

Morpheus’ flicked his gaze, just once. Only one sister remained, as two had departed. He held her gaze, and was certain she felt his fear.

‘Atropos-‘

‘Do not mistake where she must reign, Morpheus. All paths lead to this’, she spoke softly then, glanced at him again, and for a split moment, his eyebrows furrowed; did he see pity, in her eyes? Pleading? He was once again, alone in his study, staring into a darkness that only Nyx herself could challenge.

Chapter Text

Lucienne 

The Library was quiet that morning. It always was, though there was no peace or content stillness in the air. The air felt awkward, tensed, quiet. Lucienne felt it unnerve her, as she continued to fill in ledgers for the guests. Countlessly, she had paused her quill, looked up, or paced the room, fingers twitching, ears too sensitive to any sound that came. It had been difficult to concentrate, in light of Hells abdication.

Dust swarmed lazily in the pale streams of sunlight that spilled from the open windows, and in the distance, she heard the hum of insects and creatures in The Dreaming. Was this the calm before the storm?

Breaking her thoughts, her ears prickled at the sound of soft footsteps approaching the outside of her door. She placed her quill down, ceasing its scratching of parchment, and waited patiently for her visitor to come.

‘Come,’ she said when she heard a faint knock. It would not be Lord Morpheus, then. He never knocks.

Lucienne looked up above her half-moon spectacles.

‘Good morning, Queen Nada’ she spoke, surprised. Nada stood but a few paces away, her dark silk gown exchanged for something simpler, perhaps more attuned to how Lucienne had grown accustomed to seeing her before. The diadem still rested on her brow, noticeably glinting in the streams of sunlight.  Lucienne noticed, but did not comment. She did not wish to take sides on the issue… even if she believed Morpheus to be right. She did not want Nada to feel as if she could not come to her.

Nada’s eyes swayed around the room, taking it all in. Her eyes lingered for a moment on a high stack of dusty books that lay on Luciennes desk.

‘I hope I am not disturbing you, Lucienne?’

‘Not at all. Please, come and sit,’ and she gestured a seat opposite her. Nada sat, and said nothing, only her eyes continued to wander around the room. Lucienne let a moment pass, before asking, ‘Is everything alright?’. Nada glanced at her then, considering her answer.

‘You know him best, don’t you? Lord Morpheus?’

Lucienne had braced herself for this. She took her seat, and placed her hands on her lap.

‘I serve him. I know his nature. I know of the realms nature’

Nada’s eyes softened slightly. ‘That is not what I asked’, unwavering. Lucienne considered her for a moment. It was not in her nature to speak of Lord Morpheus to others, especially when he was not present. It felt… sticky, and uncomfortable. Few would have dared to speak to the Lord of Dreams so brazenly, and few still would have continued to press his librarian. But Nada is not anyone.

‘He is… not easily known. He has deep grief, that lingers within him. Not many would say they are close to him.’

Nada looked at her, listening intently. She pressed on again, ‘And yet, you are’.

Lucienne tilted her head slightly, and she responded, not unkindly, ‘I am his librarian. It is my role to document, remember, recall things that… others cannot. That is my role within The Dreaming. Nothing more’.

Nada hesitated at her answer. Her fingers twisted in her lap. She seemed… nervous.

‘Could you recall something for me? Tell me… who he was, before this. I have come from Hell, after ten thousand years of torment. I thought it would have lasted an eternity. After the first thousand years, I relented in my hope that he would come for me… but then, upon stepping out of Hells Gates, who is it, that my eyes first laid eyes on? Morpheus. And now I am here, unknowing of why, unknowing of so much. I do not know who else will tell me, but I do know that he will not,’ then, as if to appeal to her better nature, she added, ‘please’.

The request hung in silence, and for a while, neither said anything more. Lucienne rose from her seat.

‘Words would not suffice’, Nada looked dismayed, until Lucienne followed, ‘follow me, please,’ she spoke quietly, her voice trailing off as she turned away. 

Lucienne led Nada to a quiet alcove, deep within her Library, where a Great Basin of polished obsidian stood. It was only half the size of Lucienne, and she had not needed to visit it for sometime. In fact, she could now not remember when the last time she had needed to use it was. She felt a guilty pang rise in her stomach. It felt… wrong to use it now, and have Nada here, but she could not deny her request. She needed to see. She needed to see what Lucienne had been forced to watch. Nada stood by her side, slightly behind, gazing into the basin.

‘No hands have touched this water for a long, long time,’ Lucienne moved her hand swiftly over the surface of the water, and it began to ripple, a warm glow of blue illuminating from beneath its depths, ‘Dreams and Nightmares are not the only things the reside in this realm. Memories leave their mark too. Some are… better left unseen. But others are worth understanding,’ she continued to make circular motions over the waters surface, the glow becoming brighter.

Nada stared into the water, then turned her gaze to Lucienne. ‘What am I about to see?’ But Lucienne did not respond. She whispered faintly, chanting words that twisted her tongue, and small strands of gold began to emirate from the surface.

‘A moment he does not speak of,’ her voice grew quieter then, softer, tinged with pain, ‘The day he survived The Furies,’ Nada’s eyes widened, just a fraction. ‘You must understand,’ Lucienne continued, gently, her eyes flickering up to Nadas, ‘it is not an easy memory to witness’. Nada held her gaze, her lips slightly parted, eyebrows curved upwards, ‘And yet you offer it to me?’

Lucienne gave a faint smile, almost ghost-like. ‘I will not deny you from your understanding, Nada. Perhaps it will shine some light on your..questions. We all have a purpose to serve. Much of the time we spend living, breathing, existing… is spent in an attempt to find out what that purpose is. But be warned. This is not an easy thing to watch’.

The light flared, and the world around them unravelled, stringed into darkness. 

Chapter Text

Lucienne

In fragments, the small alcove of the library melted away.

Lucienne and Nada stood together, like ghosts of a past picture, and took in their surroundings. Lucienne did not need to look in the same wonder Nada did. Instead, she bore a solemn face, her eyes half-cast, mouth slightly pulling down, as if she had a desire to be anywhere else. She looked across at Nada, whose eyes took in the landscape. It was all ash. They were at the deepest core of The Dreaming. Grey, desolate, a place where Hope is a well that runs dry on first pull. Broken fragments of a ancient ruin lay around them, stone and ash becoming a thick paste across the ground, as the earth swelled with rain. It came thick and fast, unrelenting, angry, scared, hopeless. No moonlight, nor shine of stars reached this place. The air tasted of iron, stones beneath their feet vibrated, shadows snapped and scattered.

Lucienne looked across at Nada. ‘When we are here, no one can see us. We are just revisiting a memory, exactly as it was remembered by the person who saw it’. Nada looked across at her, her face giving away only a hint of fear, ‘And who’s memory is it, that we are in?’ Lucienne gave her a tight smile. ‘It is mine’.

The scene began to unfold in front of them. Rain, thunderous, full of rage, pelted relentlessly. Stones cracked, trees grew restless in the wind, smoke and ash bound together, the air tinged with iron and blood. Shrieks and screams that could curdle blood, send shivers across your neck, rebounded and overlapped, everywhere all at once. They were without mercy. Without love. Without compassion. Their sounds filled the listener with dread in its purest form - could it have been despair? Hopelessness?

The Furies.

Merciless implementers of ‘justice’. They were without body, but only voices and spirit, deafening and cracking. The storm wailed in the distance, the winds stronger now that surrounding trees began to uproot, bits of stone flayed through the air. At the centre, Morpheus knelt. On two knees, he lent. His long black coat torn, soaked in both blood and rain, crimson seeped from his side as he bent over, overcome. His hair of ebony stuck, soaked across his pale skin, his eyes dark and down cast. His thin long hands trembled, and hollow despair clung to him. He knelt, though remained awkwardly upright, as if trying to hold some semblance of dignity.

Nada’s breath hitched. She gripped Lucienne’s hand. Lucienne let her. They continued to watch.

A figure stood defiantly, hand outstretched, in front of Morpheus. She was coated in black leather, her hair frizzled and blowing in the wind, her eyes determined, showing no fear. She was calm, steady, but the wind and rain beat against her relentlessly. She held up a single hand, as three bodies materialised from no where in front of her.

‘Enough!’

The command cut through the storm, halted the rain, the wind tamed, for just a second. ‘You have no power here. This has gone far enough, Kindly Ones!’ Her voice shouted and echoed around The Dreaming.

Nada’s arms prickled at the scene, and her eyes filled with tears that had yet to fall. Lucienne turned her face towards her, and squeezed her hand.

The Furies hissed as they stood in front of this lone figure, the only thing stood between Morpheus and his final moments. ‘This is not for you to decide, Death. Justice must be served. Blood must be met with Blood,’ they spat.

Death did not flinch, but raised her chin defiantly, and spoke with power, ‘You have had your justice. This will not serve. This will not stand’.

Behind her, Morpheus swayed where he knelt, a faint sound escaping him, too hoarse to hear, all efforts strained. Abruptly, a single, loud crack whipped, and spread across The Dreaming. The ground trembled, the storm momentarily ceased, a humid air had begun to rise from the ground, the hissing of vapours escaped smaller cuts from the ground. Deeper cuts split the whole of the earth, and scorching winds that blew torrent howled through the chasm left behind. Fire spat and roared, and from within the centre, she emerged.

Lucifer.

Such brilliance was cast upon her then. Her wings, folded like silver knives, sharply-edged at every incline, her expression carved with disdain.

She cast her eyes around, almost in disgust. ‘How tiresome’, she remarked, stepping from the flame, ‘Even in his misery, he insists on spectacle. I suppose you always did crave attention, didn’t you, Dream?’, she sneered. The Furies turned to her at once, and the storm began to grow once again. ‘Why do you come, unbidden, Morningstar? You trespass in matters that do not concern you. Justice must be served,’ they hissed, banding together in body now. Lucifer turned a slight, bitter smile, her nose twitching. Every word she spoke dripped with disdain, with resentment. ‘I do not come for pleasure, I assure you,’ she glanced at Morpheus, wrinkled her nose and continued, ‘I bring a message. From the Creator’. The Furies drew closer together.

‘Blasphemy!’ They shrieked together, a scream so high pitched it could have shattered glass. Lucifer flexed her ears, irritated.

Lucienne glanced at Nada again. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her eyes red. ‘We can leave…if you want,’ she whispered quietly, but Nada shook her head. She turned forward once again, her hand still clasped around hers.

Lucifers smile sharpened. ‘Call it what you like. I care not. But hear this, and hear it well-,’ she stepped forward, between Death and The Furies, her back to Morpheus, ‘This one will not fall. Not today. Not by you’. The Furies writhed, their rage wrestling like a snake uncoiled, almost violently spasming. ‘His thread is cut! His hour is done! This is justice! This is our function!’ The storm raged on, seemingly more violent than before. Death stood behind Lucifer, watching, still shielding Morpheus.

Lucifer dropped her gaze, and spoke in a low, soft voice, ‘Justice?’

It was almost pitiful. ‘Do not mistake your hunger for destiny. This was written long before you birthed into existence. He will live. By all that is Holy and Not, he will live’. Her words struck with a tone of finality. They seethed, and shook. One shrieked, unable to contain her rage, ‘Why? Why must he be spared?’

Lucifer turned and cocked her head, looking at Morpheus. He lifted his head barely an inch, and their eyes met.

She turned again to The Furies, her wings flaring, long shadows cast from them, smoke rose. The rain continued in its unrelenting storm, and her face too, grew sodden from the storm. She made no effort to notice. Her eyes fixed on The Furies, wings spread. It was glorious. Beautiful, beyond anything else that had encompassed this landscape.

‘Make no mistake, Furies,’ her little patience waning now, ‘you do not rule me. There can be no Hell without Dreaming’. The Furies widened their eyes, faltering. Lucifer pushed forward, fire sparking from her heels, eyes lit with vengeance and rage, unyielding, unrepenting.

‘Tell me’, she snarled, ‘What powers would Hell hold, if those that resided there, in that curs’d and fiery domain, could not dream of Heaven?,’ she spat the word, as if it burnt her, yet her eyes welled, as if the same word brought her pain beyond her own devastation, ‘If they could not dream of the forgiveness for those they hath wrong’d, or dream of repentance for those heavenly gates? And to dream of this and more, with the knowledge that they will be eternally depriv’d of everlasting bliss?’. Her eyes burned, shining brightly tears wept silently, streaming her cheeks, as if the talk of Heaven struck chord of dissonance deep within her. The fires at her feet licked higher then, and she rose, arms high, above The Furies, in all her terribleness, her voice rumbling deeply, and with what seemed like all the powers of Hell behind her, she shouted in cold fury,

‘Their souls will know no peace!

Their minds no rest!

For these dreams, his dreams, will serve as an eternal reminder of such deprivation, of perpetual damnation to this sordid empire!’,

- her wings, full-spread, grew hot at each spike, ‘No! There can be no Hell without Dreaming’. The Furies recoiled at her words, their forms shrinking, the storm ceasing, finally, they hissed, but seemed unwilling to defy her further. Lucifer cast a look of pure disdain, and curled her lip. ‘You have overstepped, Furies. Begone!’ With a flick of her hand, and at a roar of her command, a root of a nearby tree violently uplifted and seized The Furies, dragging them, hissing and withering, below the depths of the earth. The storm ceased upon their departure, almost immediately, and left an eerie silence in its wake. Lucifer folded her wings, returning to the ground once more. She cast a look at Morpheus, nose wrinkled, eyes narrowed. Her gaze flickered toward Death, who held it. ‘Do not thank me. I did not do it for him. I did it…,’ her voice lowered, her eyes flickered for just a second, ‘…because I was told to’, she seethed in a low whisper, holding her glare. The earth cracked open once again, and she stepped into the fire, blazing and hot, as the ground swallowed her figure. Death stared for a moment into the space of which Lucifer had disappeared, an unreadable expression on her face. Behind her, Morpheus groaned, still kneeling, seeping crimson. She rushed to his side.

‘I think,’ Lucienne said quietly, wiping away single tear, ‘We have seen enough’. Nada stared at her, seemingly lost for words. She only nodded, eyes hollow, cheeks tear-stained, and took her hand.

And together, they returned to The Dreaming, in silence.

Chapter Text

Nada 

The scene had faded away, and they soon found themselves beside the obsidian basin once more, surrounded by old scripts and books, tucked in the crook of Lucienne’s study. Nada’s hand, clammy and clenched, still held Luciennes. She unwrapped her fingers slowly, one by one, and pulled away, turning. Lucienne stood still, her face solemn, her look slightly cast down. She could feel her eyes on her, and a knowing silence hung between them for a moment.

‘Are you…alright?’, her voice gentle, but awkward, ‘I know it is not easy to see’. Nada remained turned; she did not want to look at Lucienne right now. She didn’t want to look at anyone. In her many centuries in Hell, she had condemned him over and over. But to see him like that…She bit the inside of her cheek, her breath felt as if it would never calm, her teeth tingled with sensation. She cusped her mouth with a trembling hand, sniffing. It is a reminder, the pain. That I had loved him once.

Then it came. A flash of an image, in the front of her mind. Morpheus, knelt, bleeding, vulnerable. More flashes followed, unrelenting, unbidden, unwelcome… Lucifers taunting, Deaths defiance… and the rain that never ceased, the wind that spat in your face… and him, at the centre of it all

She scrunched her eyes tightly, only few tears gently cascading her cheeks, before opening them again and wiping her nose. She swallowed.

‘You saw it. Twice. For me’. Her voice thick, full of emotion. It was more of a statement than a question. It had been terrible enough to witness once. Nada did not know if she could’ve seen it twice herself. But on her insistence, Lucienne had beared it a second time.

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder, knowing and comforting. ‘Oh Nada,’ Lucienne sighed quietly, ‘I could see that memory once, or one hundred times. And the way I…how I feel about it, will never change. You wanted some truth, and I wished to give you some’. Nada turned to her then, her eyes meeting Lucienne’s face, eyebrows threaded together, eyes wet.

A moment hung, then she suddenly threw her arms around her, burying her face into the crook of her neck. Lucienne, startled at first, gently hugged her back.

‘I am so sorry, Lucienne,’ she choked, ‘I… I did not know,’ she sobbed. Warm hands made rubbed her back assuringly. ‘Shh, there now.. There is nothing to forgive,’ Lucienne soothed, her voice low. ‘Shall I make us some tea?’

She led them back to her desk, where they had sat only an hour before, though the time had felt longer. The fire was stoked, and the tea was poured, steam rising from fine china cups. Tea. Such a small comfort in so many worlds. Nada thought fondly of her Grandmother then, in those days where the crown had felt too heavy to bear, and they had sat together, soothing her days with tea and long games of chess. Her shoulders slumped slightly, as she relaxed into the comfort of Lucienne’s armchair, fingers wrapped around her cup, pulling it closer to her chest. She sipped quietly, brooding on what she had seen.

‘If you don’t mind my asking,’ Lucienne cut across her thoughts, and leaned in closer, ‘Why do you think Lucifer has abdicated?’

Nada gazed into the dark amber of her tea, considering her answer. She shook her head slowly, and sighed.

‘I do not know. But what I do know… is that the Morningstar will not sever herself from Hell so easily as giving away its key, or its throne,’ she paused, and Lucienne said gave no reply, only continued to look at her, listening. ‘Many believe Hell to be a physical place. A deep tract beneath the Earth. This is… true, to some extent. It breeds regions of sorrow, meanders rivers and lakes of molten fire, tosses dark seas in which Leviathans lurk. Absolute abyss,’ she murmured, staring into nothing, ‘But people forget what Hell was created for.’ Lucienne looked at her questioningly.

‘What did you mean?’

Nada raised her eyebrows, looking down into her tea once more. ‘When the first woman and the first man were cast from Eden, did Hell exist after, or before?’ She said, quietly. Lucienne adjusted her half-moon spectacles. ‘I don’t follow. Hell existed before they fell from Eden’.

‘Yes, exactly. Hell was not primarily made for the fall of man. It was made for the fall of angels. Eternal punishment for eternal beings, cast from their Creator… depriv’d of everlasting bliss, as she put it,’ Lucienne gazed at her, her lips slightly parted, her head tilted. Nada pressed on, ‘That deep tract beneath the Earth, that… that Pandemonium wasteland..it is simply a physical cage, Lucienne,’ her eyes drifted away from Lucienne’s face, and almost absentmindedly, she added, ‘Hell is everywhere. It is a state of being’.

Lucienne’s eyes fell upon her face, and for a moment she seemed elsewhere.

‘Perhaps..,’ Lucienne said, slowly, ‘…you are right. Even so, Hell still needs a ruler. It still needs a monarch’. She seemed to say this more to herself than Nada, who remained quiet. A monarch, she thought, almost bitterly. A monarch is not someone who reigns Hell. She thought once more of the memory she had witnessed with Lucienne, and her head began to throb sharply. She felt it was time to take her leave.

‘I think I had best return to my chambers,’ she said, placing her teacup on the desk, and standing upright. Her feet suddenly felt uneven, her legs weak. A nausea contracted in her stomach, and she felt her surroundings blur. She head Lucienne’s voice faintly in the background, ‘Nada?’

And suddenly, it happened.

She was no longer in The Dreaming. No longer in the comfort of Lucienne’s library. Smouldering flicks of ash drifted through the air, and a humid blaze rose from the ground. Nada looked around, and felt her stomach clench, panic rise. She was back in Hell… but something was different. Shakily, she stood to her feet. Wherever she was remained high, and for miles vast around, she saw the volcanic landscape stretch. She narrowed her eyes to look closer… what was it that lay before her? She gasped, almost in disbelief. Thousands of legions spread the plain, chanting, in reverence up at her. She heard a clink of chain nearby, and her head turned towards the noise. Her mouth parted, her eyes wide, she could not believe it - Morpheus - lay chained to her right, bent and crumpled as she had seen him in Lucienne’s memory, she did not want this, this could not be-

Nada awoke with a start, breathing heavily, sweat sticking to her brow. She was on Lucienne’s floor, back in The Dreaming. She glanced around quickly, eyes flickering wildly from one thing to the next, chest rising.

‘Nada!’ Lucienne drew to her, placing her hand on her brow, alarmed. ‘What happened? Are you unwell?’ She felt the diadem pulse on her forehead. ‘I think..’ she panted, ‘The diadem..’

She sat up, and with the help of Lucienne, returned to the armchair. Lucienne fetched some water and a damp cloth, soothing the throbbing of her head.

‘What happened?,’ she asked, dabbing the damp cloth on her forehead. Nada told her what she saw, the things she saw. Lucienne considered this for a moment, brows furrowed. ‘I think,’ she started, slowly, ‘That diadem is not good for you. I think it is trying to… claim you, Nada’. Though she spoke calmly, and without judgement, Nada felt herself stiffen slightly. She crossed her arms.

‘It is not claiming me’ she said, sharper than she had intended. Lucienne looked up at her in surprise, taken aback by her tone. She faltered.

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she said, a little too quickly, and then, more quietly, ‘I just do not know why this is happening to me’ she looked down. Lucienne simply looked at her, not unkindly, but said nothing. Her silence felt worse than rebuke. Nada felt her cheeks grow warm. Why did I react like that? The diadem continued to pulse faintly against her temple.

Luciennes hands reached over the desk and found hers, her eyes kind.

‘As you wish’, she paused, the silence between them heavy, ‘if there is anything I can help you with, anything at all, you need only ask’. Her tone was gentle, and she gave her a faint smile. It was kind. But it was also a dismissal. Nada stood, awkwardly, and thanked her before taking her leave.

Only, she would not return to her chambers. She intended to seek out Morpheus. For what desire she did not know, but she knew she needed to talk to him… about everything. 

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

The day had come to decide. Hell’s new ruler.

Morpheus stood in his study, still and brooding, gazing out of the long windows. The day shone brightly, it was not yet mid-morning, and guests were slowly beginning to gather in the Great Hall. He had sent Lucienne to account for them, and once she was finished, he would address them, once and for all.

He stood and gazed out into the palace gardens, thinking about the Fates prophecy. ‘All paths lead back to this… do not mistake where she must reign’. He flexed his neck, aching. Since the Fates had paid him that vision, he had been unable to think of anything else. Nada had only just escaped the fires of Hell, and now… now they prophecise she must reign there? He felt his heart beat a little faster, his palms dampened. It made no sense. He had escaped fate once, though he doubted he would do so twice.

His eyes focused on the flower beds below; wild and beautiful, they grew in all directions, bees buzzed among their petals, dragonflies hovered above. His gaze drifted to the outer of the garden, and he narrowed his eyes. Where it should have been in full bloom, a small corner had become barren. The grass yellowed, as if it had undergone drought, the surrounding blooms withered. And yet, a single bloom had forced itself through the nestled weeds and withered flowers, growing straight, tall, healthier than those that lay around it. Rising in the ruin, a single white flower, with a yellow eye centred in the middle, which was faintly lined with crimson. It blew gently in the breeze, singularly. A narcissus.

It should not have been there. He wondered briefly if the Fates had planted it, a silent yet irritating action that marked their recent interference. In some myths, it was said that Persephone plucked a narcissus from the ground, and upon her doing, the earth had crumbled away, and swallowed her into the underworld. It had been her undoing.

But Hell is not the underworld, he thought.

A movement drew his eyes back into focus. Nada had entered the gardens, walking slowly, deliberately, as if with purpose. Her hand gently browsed the top of the flower-heads, feeling them as she walked the path. He watched her intently, eyes following her figure and movement; his fingers twisting behind his back, restless. Do not mistake where she must reign.

 Nada had reached the top corner of the garden, where the narcissus had grown. She paused and approached it, as if drawn to it. Morpheus watched her, uneasily. Don’t pick it. Don’t pluck it from the ground.

She crouched slightly, her fingers tracing its petals delicately, and paused. He felt his breath hitch tightly, ready to call to her if her fingers reached the stem... Then, as if she felt his eyes on her, she turned abruptly, and for a moment, they held each others gaze. Her dress was different to the black silk he had last seen her in. It did not flair ceremonial finery, or flaunt the most intimate of her features, but something about it… the way it flowed, unadorned, freely. The colour of rich earth after the rain, long, soft, comfortable. It suited her well. A thought stirred in his mind, an unspoken desire know the touch of the fabric, feel its softness, its warmth…

Neither broke their gaze. What was it, in her eyes, that lingered when she looked up at him? Pain? Sadness?

The door swung open behind him, and Lucienne entered the room.

‘Sir,’ she started, her voice brisk and formal, ‘The guests are gathered in the Great Hall, as requested. They await your address’. He did not turn, but continued to hold Nada’s gaze. A dream ward from below called out to her, and she broke away from him, turning her head.

He turned to Lucienne.

‘Very well. I will be in attendance soon’ he murmured.

The Great Hall gleamed as though nothing of the night before had occurred - all signs of empty chalices, china plates, various mess - had been cleared. Sunlight spilled through the roof-top windows across the floor, and guests hummed in assembly.

Morpheus stood, silent and watching, at the head of the hall, his shadow long and sleek against the marble. Behind him, his throne loomed, curved in onyx and scattered with starlight. Beside it, a new throne stood. It was smaller than his, and softer in its design. It curved slightly at the edges, seemingly not as sharp, and narrower in its form. It too was carved from onyx and glinted with starlight. Only a small difference lay between them: in this smaller, softer throne, a diamond the size of a small apple shone from its head, encrusted within the stone. There was a murmur among the guests; they had noticed it too. He waited. She would be here soon.

As if on que, the doors of the Hall swung open, and dreaming wards shouted abruptly,

‘Presenting Queen Nada’.

She slowed in her movement, eyes slightly widened, taken back at this grand entrance. She looked around at the Hall, which had fell silent upon her arrival. Her gaze found his, and drifted towards the newly-created throne. Her eyes flashed slightly at him, sharp, questioning. Irritated.

For a moment, the Hall watched, low whispers echoed. Then, with a quiet dignity, she crossed the floor and approached him. She was not dressed as she was in the garden. An elaborate occasion called for an elaborate wear. Instead, she wore a bronze silk that clung to her form like liquid light, her hair gathered elegantly away from her face.

‘Sit’, he said, voice low, holding her gaze. He had not meant it to sound like a command, yet he noticed a flicker of indignation spark across her face. Her jaw tightened, and her chin lifted defiantly, but she said nothing, and she brushed past him, residing in her throne.

He felt her disapproval, and knew they would speak about this later. In spite of himself, he… welcomed it. At least she does not fear me.

Much of the morning, his mind had frequently returned to the Fates and their words. He had wondered then, should he lean into Fate? Or resist it For now, let them see where she would reign. Her place, for now, was here. At his side.

His eyes flicked across the room, and from the shadows, he observed Mephistopheles, who met him with equal observation. His head tilted as Morpheus looked at him in contempt, a sly, fox-like smile curling his lips. His eyes glinted knowingly, as if to say, ah, so. You have watched. You have acted.

Morpheus’ expression did not shift, but his fingers curled ever so slightly at his side.

‘Lords, Ladies. Dreamers, Nightmares. Angels and Demons’, his voice carried through the hall, cold and clear, ‘You are gathered for my judgement. For the decision relating to the Keys of Hell’. The hall fell silent, eyes looking towards him, hanging on his words. He could almost taste their desperation, and resisted he urge to sneer.

‘I will entrust it,’ he said, deliberate and slow, ‘to the hosts of Heaven’. The words plundered into the crowd, taking immediate effect. Remiel bowed serenely in acceptance. The rest of the Hall hummed, disgruntled.

A tall, silver-eyed courtier of the Fae stepped forward, seemingly unable to contain their shock.

‘You give Hell to the angels?’ He said, voice laced with disdain, ‘how very… unimaginative’.

‘Would you prefer I give it to your Queen?’ Morpheus replied coldly. The Fae did not reply, but stepped back into the crowd, bristled.

A low chuckle rose from the corner, silky and smooth. It was clear Mephistolpheles took great pleasure in the rising disdain. ‘How fitting’, he purred, ‘the angels return to the pit once more. A circle complete. How very… poetic’ he smiled wider then, eyes locking with Morpheus. Around the room, demons hissed resentfully, muttering of betrayal.

Morpheus’ gaze swept over the hall. He lifted his chin slightly, surveying the room.

‘It is done’, he stated, with a tone of dark finality, ‘Hell is no longer my concern. The Dreaming will neither rule nor endure it. That burden lies with the host of Heaven. This is my will,’ he paused, and added, ‘and my will is fate’.

No room was left for debate, and as if to cement his finality, he turned and took his throne, residing himself beside Nada, who looked over at him, her face dignified, knowing. The guests began to depart, and with the aid of Lucienne, the Hall grew empty. Only Mephistopheles lingered, his cat-like grin catching one last, fleeting look at Nada before he swept away, satisfied.

The Hall quietened, and they were left alone once more. Morpheus turned to her then, and offered his arm.

‘Nada’, he asked, with an effort to make it sound like more of a question than command. She hesitated for a moment, then rose and took it. His arm tingled slightly where she held him.

They walked in silence from the Great Hall, footsteps echoing across the long stone corridors, until they emerged into the gardens. Night had crossed The Dreaming, and stars shone brightly above, moving slowly in their constellations. The air lingered in humidity, the sweet smell of lilies and damp earth swarmed around them. Only then did she speak.

‘A throne’, she spoken breaking the silence, her arm still within his, ‘You seated me on a throne before all of the realms to witness, and you did it without a word from me’. Her tone, though quiet, was sharp. His gaze remained on the path ahead as they walked on.

‘It is where you belong’ he replied, simply.

She halted. ‘Belong?,’ she pulled lightly on his arm until he faced her. ‘Or where you have always desired me to be?’

For a moment, silence hung between them, and the night pressed close. Her dark eyes held his, and he sighed, resided. 

‘You are no one’s pawn, Nada. Not theirs, and not mine’.

Her brow furrowed slightly, as if surprised at his answer, though not wanting to show it. ‘Then’, she said, softer, ‘do not play the game on my behalf without me’. He inclined his head by an inch, not an apology, but an acknowledgment. A rare concession.

They continued in their path, her arm still in his.

‘I do approve of your decision, though’ she said at last, almost as if pained her to concede, ‘I would have done the same’. She did not look at him then, but if she had, she would have seen that despite himself, a faint smile tugged at his lips.

Chapter Text

Nada

As the banquet had drawn to a close, and they had strolled through the gardens later in the evening, Nada felt herself struggle against what she wanted to say, and what words came to her. Few things have failed to trouble her since her return from Hell. The memory that Lucienne had shown her, as well as the diadem were foreboding in her mind. More pressingly, neither her or Morpheus had spoken about any of it.

A small part of her wondered how long she really intended to stay in The Dreaming. ‘I cannot give you back your life’.

No, you can’t. She looked into her mirror and stared back at the reflection. It still felt like a novelty. To be able to look. Of all the courtesys of Hell, having a personal chamber with a mirror in it was not one of them. She had not looked properly at her own reflection in… centuries. Her hand drew, almost timidly, to her face, smoothing across her cheek, examining the skin. It was as young as it ever was, despite her time in that…place. Some scars had remained across her back, deep cuts that had only relented in their pain since she had been here. She had felt them, when she undressed. Rough, rigid lines, that had cut through her skin, like a forming river within the earth, deep and meandering. She had pulled at her dress fabrics, smoothing them across her back, as if the skin also could be smoothed, cleaned, reconstructed.

It was strange. She hadn’t really aged, physically. But the marks were still there. A constant reminder. But then, I suppose I’m not really alive anymore. How can you age, if you don’t live?

Morpheus had bid her goodnight upon the approach of her chambers, and sleep had not come easy. It evaded her, refused to yield in its avoidance of rest, and left her awake and alone, with nothing but her thoughts for company. There must be some irony in it, she thought, her stare still boring into her reflection. To sleep so restlessly in The Dreaming. Maybe it reflected his state of mind as much as it did hers.

She had intended to talk to him, confront him.. Ask him, about the day the Furies had arrived. But why should that conversation take precedence over her imprisonment? They had yet to discuss this, too. He had made some small comments when she had first laid eyes on him, outside of Hells gates, the air hot and humid, dust drying the back of her throat, barely able to contain her overwhelm. But what had he said since then? Where were the apologies, the explanation? Or, even if this were offered, was it …simply beyond her now?

A soft knock came from the door, pulling her away from the mirror and her thoughts. She turned her head, and paused for a moment. An uneasy feeling gripped her, small slithers of nausea snaked in her stomach. She did not want to see him now. She needed to think.

‘Nada?’

The door pushed open gently.

‘Lucienne,’ Nada felt herself flush then, surprised, ‘I did not expect to see you. Is everything alright?’

Lucienne smiled faintly, and stepped in, closing the door behind her.

‘I just came to see how you were doing, after our chat the other day’. She sat down on the edge of Nadas bed, hands folded in her lap. Nada shifted uncomfortably.

‘I didn’t mean to leave so abruptly,’ she started, ‘I just felt I needed some time to think it all over’. That much was true, at least. Since her return, she had felt… overwhelmed with information. So much to take in, so much to think about, to consider. Her eyes flickered towards the diadem, perched near his bedside table, behind Lucienne.

‘There is no need to worry. I imagine things have moved quickly for you, since you have returned,’ she paused, hesitating, ‘If…you did want to speak with Lord Morpheus, I know he resides himself to his study. I would ask though, ‘ she looked Nada directly in the eyes, ‘that you refrain from telling him what we saw the other day’. A slight awkwardness hung in the air. Nada had wanted to address this, but equally, did not wish to grant Lucienne the disservice of denying her, especially when she had gone to great lengths to be honest with her. She smiled reassuringly, and placed her hand on Luciennes.

‘No. Of course not’, she squeezed her hand. Lucienne returned the gesture, and stood up, seemingly resolved. ‘Well’, she sighed, ‘I will leave you to it,’ she turned towards the door, and as her hands clasped around the handle, she spoke quietly, with her back remaining to Nada, her head cast down.

‘I am… so sorry,’ she trailed, distant, ‘…for what he did to you. There is not one within this realm who does not condemn him. Including himself’. She turned to face her then, eyes looking up, with a heavy countenance. ‘You have carried so much, Nada. Do not carry the weight of what remains unspoken’, she held her gaze for just a moment, before bowing her head, and closing the door behind her once more.

Nada sat for a moment, still, her eyes lingering on the closed door.

Had her words intended to.. Comfort? To offer some glimmer of reassurance, that in fact, this decision to condemn her to her suffering - of which she had endured - was not unanimous? Her jaw clenched slightly. How kind. How generous. That everyone condemns him now, when it is all said and done, when it costs them nothing. Turning her head slightly, eyes cast down, these thoughts came unrelenting to her, each more despairing, more bitter and rageful than the last. She knew Lucienne had meant well, beneath her anger. Her eyes caught the mirror once more. For one, terrible moment, she hated her own reflection. These scars. This room. Everything. The scars cling to her, unable to shed them, just as he does.

‘I should not be youthful as I am,’ she said out loud, though she was alone, ‘I should be old. Aged. Lived’. Her gaze lingered on herself for a moment, before she stood, abruptly, her breath short as if she could not sit thinking on it for a second longer.

Her feet seemed to carry themselves. She had intended to have this conversation yesterday, but it had become… overshadowed. Not this time. Not today.

She walked briskly, with purpose, through the long corridors of The Dreaming. It was all soft whites, cream, pale golds that swirled around her. Even that had changed. The last time she had walked these corridors, a life time prior, the walls had shone with brilliant forest greens, rich sunburnt oranges, deep sea blues. Now it seeped of.. Unfeeling. Not a numbness, exactly. But an absence of love.

As she grew closer to his study, the corridors became narrower, and if possible, quieter. Suffocatingly still.

Finally, two long doors, joined at the hilt and engraved with curved pattern were within her sight. She approached them gingerly, her anger not as potent, but still simmering. She reached for the handles, her hand resting on it. Was there… hesitation, in her approach? It had been a long, long time since she had walked these halls, faced these exact doors. It had been so easy then. To push them open, enter without hesitation, without worry, to indulge in long hours of…time, with him. She exhaled and closed her eyes briefly. It has to be done. She has to confront him. If not now, when? Should she stay weary forever, never having her voice heard? No, it would not serve. She opened her eyes, and gently pushed forward the door.

To say the room was dark would be a plain and understated descriptor. Nearly all light had been sucked out, hidden, vacuumed away. Windows remained closed, thick cloth curtains blocked the sunlight, all other doors remained shut. The fireplace remained cold. Only few tall candles shone, illuminating only part of the room in which they stood. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust.

The room was certainly not as it was the last she had seen it. Where colourful vials of unmade dreams and nightmares had lay, shelves were instead bare, coated in thick dust. A few feet in front of her, a long wooden desk, scattered with parchment and empty inks. For a moment, she thought Lucienne was mistaken; it was seemingly empty. She took a step forward, delicately. Torn cloth and ragged parchment scattered the floor, and as she walked towards the desk, she heard loud crunches of glass beneath her feet. What had happened here?

Then she heard it. A long, broken exhale. Quiet and needing. She turned her head to where the sound came, and saw him crouched in the corner of the room, underneath one of the long windows which cloth spilled over. His back sagged against the stone wall, face hidden within his hands, fingers clutching at a small, cracked lyre, against his forehead.

She froze, halted within her movements.

There, in that corner, the Dream Lord was. Shoulders hunched, frame folded inwards, as though in… despair?

The sight was not what she had expected, and despite herself, her anger faltered. All of which she had come to confront, to demand, felt weaker now. She felt caught off guard. A horrible urge grabbed her to leave, slip through the door as she had entered, unnoticed, silently. But then, as if out of compulsion -

‘Morpheus?’

His head snapped up immediately, eyes bloodshot and dark, shining in the candle light. She saw a flicker of surprise in his face, and… something else. Then it vanished as quickly as she had seen it.

‘Nada,’ he spoke quietly, his voice raw, ‘I… did not think you would come to me. To here’.

Her throat caught, and her mouth suddenly felt dry. A grip ran through her stomach - guilt? She swallowed. Why did she feel nervous? Was it the sight of him unravelled, disheveled, unkempt? A figure that was nearly always in order… so disordered.

‘I could not sleep,’ her eyes avoided his, but as she looked at him again, her feet moved unwillingly. Carefully, she stepped over the shards of glass, parchments, rags, and sat beside him, back arched against the stone.

He did not rise, or more much at all, but no longer slouched as much as he did, and his hands lay in his lap, cradling the lyre. Nada stared ahead, looking at the mess of the study, brooding to herself. She hated him. For his cruelty, his condemnation, his coldness towards her. But when she had seen the way he slouched, weakened, quiet, vulnerable, her heart ached, just a bit. And once more, she resented what conclusions this drew her to; that simply, a part of her, however small, still loved him. Or else, why did her heart pull so painfully, as if stretched over itself, at the sight of him? Why else, did her anger, which was formally impenetrable, falter when she heard that raw, deep etch in his voice?

The stone fell cold against her back, the dust of the room clawing at the back of her throat, and the smell of wood and parchment swirled around her. For a moment, she said nothing, and only thought. What comfort could she offer? What words did he deserve? It was hard to chose. And harder to give.

‘He had,’ Morpheus broke the silence, murmuring, ‘such a voice..I remember how it changed. When he grew older. When he stopped sounding like my child,’ he stroked the lyre with his thumb, tracing over the delicate engravings. Nada unintentionally clenched her jaw, just slightly. She had learnt, through whispers in darkness, in her imprisonment, of Morpheus’ son…and wife. When she had first known, it only made everything worse. She had made the mistake to assume that, just because you’re in Hell, that was the worst it could get. But as she came to the realisation that the outside world continued to live on without her, it soon became clear that it could get worse. Her eyes cast down, unable to respond. What could she say, that would offer anything of value? At least he had had the privilege, the opportunity, to be a parent. That honour had been taken from her.

A moment passed, and almost hesitantly, she moved with deliberation, and gently placed her hand on top of his. It was not forgiveness that compelled her to do it, but a shared grief, which was all she could give him, and for now, all she wanted to give him. 

Neither said anything more, both brooding, both lost in their thoughts… 

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

Her hand rested on his, the silence hanging between them, dense like summer air. It was a knowing silence, and for now, that was enough. For a time, he she sat by his side, and said nothing. A clenching guilt lay heavy in his stomach when he had mentioned Orpheus. He didn’t know if she had known about his wife or son, but if she had, she made no comment, and concealed her surprise well enough for him to be unsure. He glanced around the study, and suddenly, felt embarrassed. It was truly a mess. He decided he would rebuild it, when she left. Then a thought came to him.

‘There is something I would show you,’ he murmured, in a low voice, his hand stirring beneath hers. ‘If you would allow me’, his voice remained quiet, but steadier than before. Nada inclined her head towards him, her eyes looking searchingly into his. She only nodded, withdrawing her hand, and stood up beside him. He too rose, and as he did, the air around them began to shift, the dusty floors of his study along with the stone walls fell away from beneath them.

The light dimmed, the colours ceased in their endless swirling, and objects around them started to take shape. A few moments later, and the study became a distant memory, as if they had never been. Now, together they stood, surrounded by dense foliage. He watched her take in the surroundings. There were no ceilings in this place, or walls to contain them. It was a vast, open plane - like a blank canvas that had only been partially filled in. What lay beyond their immediate surrounding was shaped on the will of its creator. Large thick leaves of forest green stretched outwardly, shining and shimmering in the small glimpses of light that spilled from above the canopy. A faint mist caressed itself around their feet, throughout the trees that thickened throughout the space, and lingered on the path that had carved itself for them to walk along.

‘What is this place?’ She asked, gazing up at the treetops, which were clouded with mist. The air was humid, laden with heat, almost tropical.

‘This is a deeper part of The Dreaming. It lies beneath the realm, more closely rooted to its core. It is where I come, when I want - or need - to create new Nightmares and Dreams. The dreamscape will change and morph as we walk through it, or will mirror whatever it is we create’. He looked up towards the path ahead, and slowly stepped forward. Nada followed behind him, her own steps softer, and more hesitant.

‘And how is it, that you create them?’. He turned around, the path narrower as more leaves and foliage began sprouting, pushing further out, as if they had a will of their own. Small fireflies lingered in the air, glowing faintly.

Morpheus lifted his hand gently, moving his fingers with deliberation. Above the tips, small, spherical orbs of light swirled above. They glowed with white and faint blues, leaving trails of essence in the air.

‘These’, he murmured, focusing on the orbs, ‘are what all Dreams and Nightmares start as. Essences of… feeling. Ideas. Concepts. All ready to take form, to be moulded and shaped at will’. His gaze flickered to her for a brief second, and he saw her focusing on the orbs intently, their light reflective in the darkness of her eyes. He cleared his throat, continuing, ‘These, for now, are just essences. They still need to be moulded’. Idiot. Repeating yourself.

‘How do you determine which will be Nightmares or Dreams? How do you… separate them, distinguish them?’ She continued gazing at the orbs that lightly circled his fingertips, eyes wide, lips slightly parted in wonder. He smiled faintly. What was it, about this sight, that was so appealing to him? Was it the way her eyes shone in reflection of the light? Was it the warm glow it cast over her skin, sharpening over her features, radiating her presence? Or was it the look of sheer wonder, outright awe, at his work? Though he did not diminish the importance of creating new Nightmares and Dreams, it was routine for him. She breathed life into something that had faded into the background. She made it feel..special.

‘Well-,’

He paused, mid-sentence, distracted. A deep, guttural rumbling came from the shadows beneath the vibrant foliage. He heard it before he saw it. Nada noticed too, and turned her head instinctively towards the sound. She had begin to turn towards it.

‘Wait,’ he held out his arm gently, still looking intently into the shadow. Shadows were areas where undeveloped Nightmares would linger. Secretive, unknown, ready to pounce. And just then, two yellow orbs appeared from the darkness, blinking. He furrowed his brow, examining it further, coaxing it out.

‘What is it?’

‘I think,’ he said, stepping back slightly, and taking her hand to follow, ‘it is an un-developed Nightmare. Though..I am not sure how it got there’. He had certainly not moulded any new Nightmares yet. Everything that lay here was supposed to be..shapeless.

Then, out of the darkness, it stepped into the light, full-form.

Black, sleek, muscular. Soft fur and large padded-paws. Yellow orbs that lingered on you uncomfortably. He heard Nada gasp faintly, covering her smile with her hands.

‘It’s a black panther! I have not seen one since … since I was in my Kingdom. They are majestic creatures,’ she took a small step forward, closer to it-

‘Nada,’ he said, grabbing her arm, and stepping in front of her, his back to the Nightmare, ‘This is not a black panther. It is a Nightmare. And-,’ he turned his head to glance at it, ‘should not be here’ he said quietly. She halted and looked behind him, eyes fixed on it.

‘Why? Are these not your own creations?’ Convinced she would no longer try and approach it, he stepped beside her gingerly; the panther looked at them with equal fascination. It no longer growled its low gutteral rumblings, but only cast its gaze upwards, head kept low, ears prickled.

‘Yes…’, he murmured, still looking at it intently, ‘But it is not something I have personally moulded…’

Then, as if the Nightmare had sensed his unease, it began to violently contort; its spine snapped with an audible crack that made Nada jump; its skin tore, flecks of flesh spitting outwardly, its eyes stretched and popped under pressure, a thick yellow substance now oozing from the pockets-

Nada grabbed his hand, and held it tight, drawing them both back from it. It continued to rapidly morph, and the spine that had been cracked began to grow outwardly again, a ribcage was now forming, a skull, dark skin stretched over it, a distorted screaming, heart-wrenching and terrible came from inside it - why did it look so familiar? -long dark hair began to sprout from the scalp, faint whispers of ‘Morpheus’ rebounded around.

He stepped swiftly in front of Nada, not wanting her to see anymore, sensing where this was going. He held out his arm, stretched towards the creature.

‘Enough’. His tone was calm, but the space around them trembled slightly. The Nightmare shrunk to its original form, the sleek, black panther with yellow orbs, casting a look up to its master. He narrowed his eyes, and more sharply this time, ‘Leave’. The panther hissed quietly, but cowered its head, and slinked back into the shadows from which it came. He watched it disappear into the darkness, before turning back to Nada. He held out his hands.

‘Are you alright?’ She was a little paler, eyes slightly creased. She chewed her lip.

‘What was that? Why did it take such strong form, if it is yet to take shape?’ She held him in her dark eyes, wholly, asking all the questions he was asking himself. It unnerved him. Why had it resisted his command, and not disappeared completely when first told? It was as if it was feeding from another power source that was not his own…

He cast his eyes up at Nada once more, and that’s when he caught it. Of course.

The diadem rested on her crown, glinting maliciously. He narrowed his eyes… did it pulsate, slightly?

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

Morpheus?’ Nada’s voice echoed, bringing him back. Too many thoughts were swirling, too many questions, not enough answers. Though he was certain the diadem was the cause of the Nightmare taking such..defined shape, it was not her will. It was her power. Through the diadem.

He blinked vacantly at her. A conversation would need to be had, about it. The last time he had attempted to approach the subject things..turned volatile. Best to have this conversation later. For now, he wanted to show her why he had brought her here in the first place.

‘Sometimes Nightmares and Dreams.. Can draw essences from places that are unexpected. It will not trouble you again’, he looked at her, tilting his head slightly, eyes softening, ‘Will you walk with me?’ She chewed her lip, as if she felt unsatisfied with his response, but gave a hesitant nod. He cast an arm out in front of them, eyes still lingering on hers, and she smiled faintly, encouraged, stepping forward along the path. Together, they walked along, side by side. Gravel crunched beneath their feet, and long shiny leaves of green were gently pushed aside.

‘You asked me, how do I distinguish a Dream from a Nightmare?’ He murmured, hands tucked behind his back, eyes focus ahead.

‘Well, from what you showed me, they all start off the same. Ideas’ she spoke, her shoulders loosening slightly, her brows less furrowed. She tucked her hands behind her back.

‘And you would be correct in your observation,’ a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, as she cast an inquisitive look, ‘What I showed you were essentially blank canvases. It it the will of the creator that determines the shape of the idea. Sometimes, in the Waking World, in times of great sadness, there are needs for more Dreams, and less Nightmares’ he hummed. The foliage began to thin around them, but they walked on.

‘Has that ever happened? Where the Waking World has necessitated more Nightmares or Dreams?’ She asked, interested.

He shrugged slightly. ‘Dreams, yes. Mortals often go to war, fight ensures between them. Blood is spilt. My sister becomes extremely in-demand. In times such as those, many yearn for peace, for hope, for love,’ he paused, then as if thinking out loud continued, ‘…but there has never been a demand for more Nightmares’.

She only hummed a quiet response, eyes cast slightly downward, as if she brooded on his answer. He continued.

‘I know it may seem..cruel, at times. To keep creating Nightmares, fuelling the deepest depths of mortal fear, shaping it, casting it into every dark shadow. But they are just as necessary as Dreams. In many ways, they help to define Dreams, in showing mortals what they are not. Nightmares are not always scary, or intended to harm. Many use them to process grief..to feel things that are otherwise denied in the Waking World,’ he glanced over at her, and saw a firefly resting on her shoulder.

‘You just have -‘, he reached over slightly, brushing it away gently, ‘A firefly’. She laughed lightly, and he could feel his own face curling into a brief smile. She smoothed out the fabric of her dress, ‘Thank you. I am quite fond of them, actually,’ she looked up at him momentarily, then cast her eyes forward. ‘You were saying?’ He felt his cheeks warm, a small flutter in his stomach; he suddenly became intensely aware of the gravel crunching beneath his feet, the sound crisp and clear. What was he saying?

He cleared his throat. ‘Essentially, Nightmares and Dreams, create an equilibrium. One cannot exist without the other,’ he paused, halted in his walking, and turned to her.

‘Would you like to create a Dream?’ He asked, his voice light and soft. Her eyebrows rose slightly, her smile wide, eyes unsure.

‘Can I do that? Here? How?’

‘Well, would you like to?’ He teased, voice light. She raised her chin slightly, eyes playful, and folded her arms. ‘Would you like me to? Or do you simply wish to show me?’ Let me show you.

‘Come’, he smiled faintly, ‘Let us walk further ahead’, he strode forward down the gravelly path, which began to grow softer under his feet. She quickened her pace to keep up.

‘Go where? Why is the path changing? It feels like..’

‘Sand’ he finished. The foliage had pulled back, thinned, and eventually disappeared. The gravel no longer crunched, but instead, the soft patter of feet along warm sand. Around them, blue skies stuck out the dreamscape brightly, with seagulls flying overhead. In the distance, the crashing sound of ocean waves, rolling in, and pulling out again, water lapping and splashing. A small wooden hut, lay in the near distance, its white paint peeling at the edges, and the roof tiles appearing like missing teeth. He cast a look towards her, absorbing her expression. She looked around, almost eagerly, eyes slightly scrunched in the sunlight.

‘What is this place? How did you do that?’ She shouted, the sound of birds squawking and waves crashing drowning out her voice. The wind carried sweetly here, strong but warm air gushing across them, her hair flowing with the current.

‘The dreamscape will change depending on the will of the creator. And depending on the dreamscape, it will engineer the right environment for whatever Dream or Nightmare we - or you - create,’ he took her hand, ‘Let us sit’, and led them over to the small white hut facing the sea. Here, the wind was denied entry, and the sound of the sea grew fainter. Nada stepped inside first, her long dress still blowing wildly in the wind, until she sat on the small bench inside. He sat down with her.

‘So..you just, think of all this? And it appears before you?’ She gazed out into the sea ahead of them, with its deep blues and lapping waves. It was sheltered in here, and so they could talk at a normal volume again, though their voices still carried around the space.

‘Well, yes. The dreamscape is malleable. Bends at will, forms on strings of thought. Here… anything is possible’ he spoke quietly, casting his gaze out too, his hands on his lap, folded. Nada brushed some hair from her mouth, catching in the breeze. For a moment, neither spoke, but simply observed.

‘If you prefer, we could always head back to the central part of The Dreaming -,’ his eyes flickered towards her and he leaned in slightly, playful, ‘-or sometimes I like to call it ‘Upstairs’.

Nada pulled her eyes away from the horizon, laughing lightly, her nose scrunching, ‘How very modest of you, Dream Lord’ she smiled. ‘But no, I would like… to try and create’, she stood up, and stepped out of the hut, the wind immediately blowing towards her. Morpheus followed. She was not continuing in the path she came, but walking behind the hut, over the grassy field. He remained behind, watching, allowing her to take this moment. Carefully, he lingered always a few steps behind.

With deliberation, Nada slowly stretched out both arms, palms facing forward, as if in an embrace. She continued to walk, though her pace slowed, each step grew more intentional.

She slipped off her shoes, and went forward a few more paces. Then, from the soles of her feet, flowers of all different colours began to spring, trailing colourful and vivid footprints along the grass. In the first steps, a few small daisies, some buttercups, but then, crimson Dalias, pastel peonies, fuchsia, marigolds- all blooming under her feet, too much to keep track of.

‘Am I doing it?’ She shouted from in front, a smile hidden in her voice. Impressive. 

‘Yes!’ He shouted back, ‘But where are you taking us?’ He quickened his pace now, wanting to see more. He was intrigued, but also… proud? It was already so detailed. He jogged slightly to catch up with her.

‘Well? What do you think of my flowers?’ She smiled, a little breathless. They were well-over the sea-top now, and slowly it began to fall away into the background. No longer were crashing waves lapping, or the wind chiming.

‘I like your flowers, yes. Very impressive, for a first attempt’ he replied, warmth in his voice. It was quite... Detailed. Sharp.

They strolled a little further, and came to a rusty farm gate that lay slanted, giving passage to a large open field. The breeze grew gentle, and the sun had turned golden, hues of deep orange and reds cast over. At the other side of the field in the near distance, a small ruin of a temple lay, white alabaster pillars coated in ivy. A small treeline that held a thick of forest lay to the right of them. She had completely changed the dreamscape.

Nada stepped gingerly past the gate, just squeezing through, Morpheus followed. The grass stretched tall, coming up to Nada’s chest and just above his waist. She gasped.

‘Look!’, turning around, and pointing across the field, ‘butterflies. Lots of them’. His eyes swept over the field, squinting slightly.

It was true. Hundreds of butterflies, white and blue, fluttered lazily above the grass. He looked closer, his eye catching a single red one just a few feet ahead. He strolled over, where it perched on a long grass stem, and held out a hand. It flew over gently and landed on the tip of his finger. He pulled it closer, examining it. The deep rouge of its wings shone slightly in the glimpses of sunlight, and he could see intricate black patterns around the outside. Lifting his hand, ready to brush it away, his eye caught the left-wing. He paused. Something has eaten at the edges…as if it had..rotted? The wing was noticeably weaker than the right, as he lifted it and watched it flutter away. His eyes flickered towards Nada, who was further ahead, making her way for the temple. Probably nothing. It is her first time, creating. Not every intricate detail is going to be perfect. He brushed the thought away, and strolled over towards her.

When he reached her, she was already inside. Though ivy had climbed and coated the outer ruin, inside was preserved in serene white marble, with a tall ceiling that allowed columns of light to spill through. It was slightly dimmer here, but the air appeared heavier, more humid. He felt himself sweating slightly at the heat.

‘And this is your creation?’ He spoke. She turned and faced him, her shoulder relaxed, her face… different. Less serious, her features softened. Had she always looked serious before? Had he only noticed it in the absence of it?

She stepped a little closer, hands clasped together at her chest. ‘Do you like it?’ She asked, her voice quiet.

Whether it was intentional or not, he did not know, but he stepped forward then, closing the distance between them. He held her gaze.

‘The question is…’, he lowered his head by a fraction, murmuring, ‘Do you like it, Nada?’

A small tug of a smile played on her lips, neither looked away. ‘It feels..open. Vast. Possible…it feels free,’ and she glanced around, hands moving as she spoke, ‘I don’t know how you ever manage-

A crunch. Stone moving. Shifting, cracking. She paused momentarily, and he looked up, a large chunk of marble had broken away, and was falling, closer-

He moved swiftly, lunging forward and pushing her out the way. They both landed on the floor, roughly, panting. The stone behind them smashed with an almost deafening boom, small bits breaking off and sliding across the floor. His arms lay curled around her, his hand protecting the back of her head.

‘Are you alright?’ He panted slightly, a rush of adrenaline pumping through him.

Her eyes were wide, her browse furrowed in surprise and shock. ‘Yes, I’m alright’, she lifted herself gently, but he didn’t move.

‘Did you -  did you mean to do that?’

She looked up at him then, chest rising, attempting to calm herself.

‘No’. Though her voice was steady, it lacked the same warmth as before. He loosened his grip, and they both untangled from another, rising steadily.

‘Perhaps we should take our leave. Creating can be..an exhaustive process,’ he gave her a small smile, and brushed his jacket. She gave a hesitant nod, ‘Yes, I feel that would be a good idea. How do we leave?’

He stretched out a hand, and she took it. ‘Across the other side of the field, where the gate lies, there is a portal that takes us back to the palace. Shall we go?’

They stepped into the field once more. The sun was setting now, the air colder. Something was not right. The feeling was almost immediate. He continued to lead them through the field, the gate still a distance away. A slow unease crept in. Around them, the grass had yellowed and curled at the tips. That’s when he noticed them. Where colourful butterflies had lazily drifted, brown moths now sagged through the air, the edges of the wings torn and eaten away, colours faded. The dreamscape was changing. He looked back at Nada, and rubbed his thumb across her hand reassuringly.

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ He asked softly. She glanced around, not meeting his eyes, ‘I am fine. I just.. wish to leave, now’ she muttered quietly. A drop of wet splashed on his forehead, and he halted, with Nada halting behind him. Wet. Cold. The sun had set, the skies grew darker. In the distance, a faint rumble of thunder. He felt Nada grip his hand tighter then, and he cast his eyes towards the tree-line. His head inclined just an inch, and Nada followed his gaze.

A shadow moved between the trees.

One, then two, then three. More and more, they moved and took shape. They looked almost…human. He saw one poke its face from around the back of a tree, its arm curled around the front, watching them. It had no hands or fingers, only sharp edges of what resembled an arm. It’s legs, too, bore no hands or feet, simply sharp spikes. Across its face, no features were etched, except a large mouth. He felt his unease prickle in his stomach. One of them noticed him looking. Slowly, but with undeniable deliberation, its mouth contorted and twisted, opening into an abnormally large smile, one that took up almost half its face.  Her Dream was quickly becoming a Nightmare. It was too detailed. Too intricate. Too alive.

‘Morpheus-‘

‘I know. I’ve seen them’, he turned them forward, his pace quicker now, Nada at his heels. He could fight them. But not here. Not now. ‘Come. Quickly’. The gate was not far now, only a little further - Nada tugged at his arm, her hand still wrapped around his -

‘Morpheus, behind us - they’re getting closer-‘ there was a panic in her voice -

He turned briefly, still hurrying forward, catching a glimpse of them. Long, limbic figures lingered in the distance, gaining ground fast, almost gliding rather than running, mouths opening, giving view to hundreds of tiny teeth, like rigid shards of glass. Cold rain pelted down, and though his hair lay soaked, he felt strands stand up at the back of his neck.

They stopped as soon as Morpheus glanced over. They both halted. The air around them seemed to still in slow motion, it grew colder, darker. He heard Nada’s breath hitch, his own chest rising. The shadows stilled unnaturally. A beat passed, only a fraction of a second, then they came even faster than before, arms jaggered, backs hunched, mouths gaping - a terrible shriek bellowed forward, a thick gurgling come from the back of their throats, putrid thick blood spitting out -

‘Nada’ it was almost a whisper, slightly frantic - keep her calm - he pulled them more roughy now, and they broke into a run, the gate only a few steps ahead now - the portal shining - was it getting narrower? No...

He pushed her forward, hand on her lower back, ‘Go!’ Nada jumped through the portal, he saw her land on the study floor, she turned and reached out for him, the shadows almost at his feet snapping, choking, chittering - he lunged -

He landed roughly on the stone floor, panting, adrenaline spiked, Nada pulling him back from the portal.

‘Morpheus! What - what were they? I didn’t will it! I didn’t!’ Her voice hitched, her eyes glistened, her chest rising up and down rapidly. The portal snapped shut almost immediately after he jumped through. Their hair was still wet from the rain, his cloak torn. He knew what he had seen. The portal had narrowed. Yet… how was that possible? He stared into the space where it had been, blue and shimmering, before turning back to Nada.

‘I know. I know,’ he shuffled forward and drew her close, arms wrapped around her, ‘Shhh. You’re safe now. We’re fine’ he soothed. She buried her head instinctively into his chest, and he lay a hand on the back of her hair, stroking her hair assuringly.

‘It’s alright,’ he continued, ‘It was just.. Just a Dream’.

Chapter Text

Nada 

‘Shhhh’, Morpheus soothed, stroking the back of her hair assuringly. ‘It was just.. Just a dream’.

She had buried herself into the base of his chest, calming her breathing, trying to regain some control of herself. What had even happened back there? It felt like a blur. It began with the flowers under her feet, then the tall grass, and gentle butterflies, and the temple, and then… those things. She didn’t even know what to call them. Shadows that moved between the trees, took form, shaped a will, became..hungry. Her mind flashed to the last glimpse of one, hundreds of teeth coated in a thick, black substance - a throat that seemed endless, gurgling, chittering, almost animalistic, primal. And the smell. Putrid, like rotting flesh, musky and reeking of decay. Even the way it moved. The way it had unnaturally stilled when Morpheus had glanced back at it prickled her skin. They couldn’t have come from her. Could they?

She pulled herself gently out of his embrace, sniffing.

‘Did they come.. From me? It felt out of my control. Lawless’, she glanced at him, he only listened, ‘Morpheus - I don’t know what happened. One minute we are there in a dream, and the next these… things, are materialising from nothing’. He only listened, and she turned her head away, thinking. Her hands swept over the stone floor, fidgeting.

‘And -,’ she turned towards him again, her voice sudden against the quiet, finger pointing, ‘- that wasn’t the only thing. What about the panther, and whatever it contorted into? Something was unbalanced from the beginning. From the moment we entered that part of The Dreaming’ she chewed her lip.

Morpheus remained sat on the study floor with her, and pulled her hands closer, folding them in his lap with his own. ‘I think,’ he spoke, quietly, while brushing his thumb across the back of her hand, ‘that what we saw in the foliage - the panther as you put it - was an over-developed Nightmare-,’

‘But you said-,’

‘- I know, I know what I said,’ he pulled her hands in once again, his grip tightened, ‘That everything there are supposedly essences of Nightmares and Dreams, until I give them shape, mould them, power them. But what if that particular essence drew its will, its shape, from… another source of power?’ His voice dropped. ‘An ancient one. Older than me’.

Oh.

The words cemented in her mind. An ancient one. Older than me. Her fingers twitched towards her head before she could stop them. The diadem rested, cool, silent, glinting. He was watching her, though her eyes avoided him.

She lifted the diadem from her brow, gingerly, hands slightly trembling. Her grandmothers words echoed in the foreshadows of her mind. When power to flattery bows…all is lost. She felt a turn of unease line her stomach, as she held it in her hands, staring into it for a moment. Foolish, reckless girl. How easily you have bowed to this flattery. How easily you have allowed your pride to outweigh your judgement. You are old, but are you wise?

‘Nada’, his voice came quietly, pulling her away from her thoughts and the diadem, ‘We need to talk’.

He shuffled a little, the stone beneath them growing warmer. She made no response. She knew this was coming. Her hands twisted around the diadem, her stomach nervous. 

‘Ten thousand years ago, I asked you to be my wife and Queen, to take your place in The Dreaming’, his gaze remained downcast. ‘You accepted’. He paused, and she felt her chest tighten, her arms prickle.

‘You honoured me,’ he continued, his voice low and hoarse, ‘and you did this, knowing the danger it might bring you. The same danger that destroyed your people, your home, your life. And I,’ his voice strained, ‘I condemned you for making an..impossible choice. A choice that I myself, would have made, for the duty of my realm, and my integrity as King. You are a monarch. And when you chose to leave me, you chose as a monarch. Not as…my Nada’, his voice was barely a whisper, his own eyes glistening in the light that caught. She blinked against the heat rising in her eyes, her mouth dry, her palms damp. What hope could I offer? What words could comfort? Her mind fixated on his words, trying to reason with itself, trying to formulate… something. Another thought came to her then. What did he deserve?

‘My love for you became…part of me,’ he spoke quietly, finally meeting her gaze. ‘It lived within me, within every realm, every dream, every nightmare, every fleeting feeling. My love..became my obsession. My elder brother says we are masters of our destiny, my younger counters that we are slaves to our desires,’ he gave her a wry smile, ‘perhaps it is both. But when you made that choice, to leave, I..I simply could not imagine my life without you in it,’ her avoided her gaze once more, his eyes downcast.

Her throat cracked as she swallowed drily.

‘So,’ she whispered, tears silently cascading, ‘You sent me out of this life, and into the next’. His eyes flickered up at her, he didn’t look away. And she didn’t either. The diadem remained on her lap, heavy, between them. She sniffed and wiped away the tears from her cheeks, not looking at him, though she felt his eyes on her. For centuries she had loathed him. Resented their love. Her choice. His condemnation. And for centuries thereafter, she wanted to hear the very words her spoke to her now. And now he had said it, she couldn’t bare to look at him. It was an old would, reopened, just as tender from the moment she gained it.

‘And why,’ her voice trembled with anger, ‘why have you decided to finally bring this to my attention now, after a lifetime of waiting and more? Are these not words that could have been said to me, when you first saw me step from those fiery gates?’ Her voice thick with emotion, she glared at him now, anger rising, ‘You invite me here. You barely talk to me at all. Then, when I decide to confront you, I find you here,’ she waved her hand around the room, ‘-here, in this place, mourning your son, who you yourself also condemned!’

The accusation struck the air before she could stop herself. She clasped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide, anger immediately diminished in her shame. Bringing up his son. A dirty trick. It might not be fair, but was it true? She braced for an argument, more brooding than this. 

But he remained as still as he was, gaze unflinching, cheeks gaunt, eyes dark. Nothing will come of nothing.

‘And I will live with an eternity of regret..,’ he said coldly, ‘for what I did to you, and for what I did not do for him’. He stood up, and brushed his robes. She stared at him for a moment, expecting more, but nothing came. She felt her cheeks warm, and rose also, diadem in hand. 

Her breath came slower now, but heavier somehow. A weight on her chest. Her words were spent, dried, hung. No apology could change what was lost. No amount of cheap accusations. She knew that now. She only wish she had known it before.

She turned and placed the diadem on the table, a few paces away, her fingers lingering over it, before leaving it there.

‘Then there is nothing more to say,’ she murmured, eyes only flickering up at his, fleetingly. She had spent too long being bitter. She did not have to forgive him. She only had to be certain that, she could not change what had happened, but she can change what will.

He did not follow her as she crossed the study, her footsteps echoing across the stone floor, her gaze forward. She did not turn as she left, and closed the door with a gentle finality.

Chapter Text

Lucienne 

‘What else do we need?’ Matthew croaked, his wings flapping, silver string clasped in his beak. He hooked it on the side of the marque, and perched himself on Lucienne’s shoulder. She flexed it irritably.

‘Matthew,’ a hand brushed him away, he squawked, ‘I have asked you time and time again, please, do not perch yourself on my shoulder. You are not a crow. You are a raven. And you block my peripherals,’ she sighed, looking down at her clipboard. She etched an inky cross in the long list.

‘Why is today so special anyway? And where’s the boss?’

Lucienne had asked herself the same question, at least for the latter. Lord Morpheus had not been seen since she had last spoken to Nada, where she had told her he was brooding in his study. She had heard later on, on what had occurred in the deeper parts of The Dreaming - where she knew - the essences of Nightmares and Dreams resided. There were whispers of other things, too… whispers of Nada’s diadem, and its threat to The Dreaming. But they were probably just whispers. As long as she doesn’t wear it, what power could it really wield?

‘Well,’ she sighed, not looking up from her clipboard, ‘Today is special because it is an event that occurs only once in a thousand years. It is the event of The Dreamers Jubilee.’ Matthew cocked his head to one side.

‘What’s a jubilee? Is it a party? A banquet?’ He croaked.

‘It’s a celebration. Every thousand years, we invite a mortal from the Waking World into The Dreaming, to mark a special occasion. The Dreamer is usually an individual who..has contributed, to the Dreaming world, through their actions in their Waking life. Their real-life contributions - arts, plays, stories - influence mass-dreaming across the world. The previous Dreamer invited was a gentlemen called William Shakespeare. He-‘

‘-Yes, I know Shakespeare. I was mortal before I came here too, you know,’ he flapped his wings, ‘Who is the guest this time round?’ Lucienne lifted her eyes from the long list of to-dos, and clipped her pen. ‘This year, we have invited an artist. Lord Morpheus felt that The Dreaming could do with some more..visual, qualities. His name is Van Gogh.’

Matthew cawed.

‘The Van Gogh… is coming here? To The Dreaming?’

Lucienne sighed, again. ‘Yes. And I am very busy, Matthew. The palace must be prepared and ready for his arrival, and by extension, the other guests. I want everything to be perfect today,’ she raised an eyebrow at him, ‘To every last detail’. It was true. Everything must be perfect. This was the first big event that is being held at The Dreaming since..that day. The day the Furies came. Yes, we had the banquet. But that was for Hell. Not The Dreaming.

She pulled a small, round pocket watch from her vest pocket, and opened it with a click. ‘I need to inspect the palace gardens. Guests will arrive soon. Will you find Lord Morpheus - and Queen Nada - and tell them they will be in attendance soon.’ Matthew flapped his wings once more, the black feathers casting a large span in the air.

‘Which one should I summon first? In that order?’ She shooed at him, waving her hand dismissively. ‘Lord Morpheus, then Queen Nada. Not that it really matters…I don’t expect either to be late’. He cocked his head once more, blinking, and flew away.

Things had been difficult there. Rather Matthew than her having to be in between it. For today, her job was ensuring the Jubilee went as smoothly as possible. She strolled from the palace entrance and crossed over into the gardens, long and drawn-back, with plenty of room. Everything was almost set. Two rows of white marques cast down into the gardens, sprinkled with dozens of candles that seemed to hover in mid-air. Underneath them, long wooden tables lay, coated with gold-laced linen, glinting at the edges. Colourful foods covered the tables, plump fruits that were swollen and sticky, fresh bread that crusted at the edges, thick Greek yoghurts drizzled with honey - and much more - ready for the guests. It was vibrant and inviting, but Lucienne felt the night sky was her proudest achievement.

Above, thick paintbrush strokes of dark sapphire and deep-sea blues coated the background of the sky; swirls of lilacs and dark teal strokes on top, and bright oval-shaped stars gleamed with several shades, marigold, pale saffron, pastel yellows. The stars animated slowly, moving as if alive, and the swirls copied in their motion, slowly twisting across the dreamscape. It wasn’t night, but it wasn’t day either - the colours cast soft lilac and honeyed hues into the palace gardens, warming and whimsical. Fireflies drifted daintily in between the green foliage and flowers. She cast her head from the sky towards the end of the palace gardens, where an orchard had been created, along with a small, round rotunda. The rotunda had been painted a vibrant turquoise, and around the small stone columns, thin branches of tree had twisted around, almost exaggerated in their sharp corners. Green vines curled from above, which were dotted with small lilac flowers. In the surrounding garden, tall sunflowers slumped sleepily, only lifting their heads with the occasional curiosity. The leaves were her favourite detail in the orchard. When looking at the sunflowers, their leaves changed, in waves of colour - all pale yellows, deep golds, almost pulsating. She glanced at one, her eyes briefly lingering on it, as it turned its face towards her curiously. The warm glow of candles were cast here too; everything was set, perfect.

My best yet. I am sure. I just hope he likes it.

She strolled to the end of the orchard, admiring the sunflowers for a moment, when she looked down and something red, glistening, caught her eye.

A single pomegranate seed lay resting in the grass, almost impossible to look for, but nonetheless she had stumbled upon it.

She looked closer, eyes wandering, and saw one, two, three more - then four, and five. In total, there were six. She frowned, and bent lower, picking one up, holding it between her thumb and finger, examining it. A deep rouge, the seed still glistened, as if it had left the body of the fruit only moments ago. She had planned everything in this garden, including the orchard. This was..peculiar. Six seeds. A pomegranate. Blood-red. Why does this feel familiar?  Her hand reached for her clipboard, to record this anomaly, but hesitated for just a second—

‘Luce!’ Matthew cawed. Her head snapped up, her hand no longer reaching for her clipboard. She dropped the seed on the ground. She did not need to trouble others with this. It’s not nothing. But not now. Later.

‘I’ve summoned them. They’re waiting at the palace gates. The guests are beginning to arrive. Boss is asking after you,’ he cocked his head to one side, waiting for an answer. She adjusted her glasses.

‘Thank you, Matthew. Let us go and greet the guests, then’, she spoke, a hint of anticipation. Everything has to be perfect.

Lord Morpheus stood, tall and still, at the palace gates. He did not stand alone, with Nada positioned next to him, though there was some distance between them. She noticed their gazes briefly met, before each turned away again. She approached him, gingerly.

‘Sir,’ she began, informative, ‘The Dreaming is ready. Everything is complete’. He turned his gaze towards her, face passive.

‘Everything has run smoothly? Anything..out of the ordinary, that I ought to know about?’ He spoke in a low voice, though there was something..strained, about it. She glanced quickly at Nada, who followed her gaze, attention directed at her, as though she too was waiting on her response.

‘No Sir. Everything is as it should be,’ she gave a thin smile, ‘Shall we greet the guests?’ She noticed his shoulders relax by a fraction, almost imperceptibly, and Nada lifted her chin slightly, casting her gaze ahead. There is more to this. But she would inquire later. It could wait.

The first carriage had pulled itself, outside the front gates of the palace. An oval-shape, almost egg-like, clasped in golden branches, supporting two windows on each side, both accompanied with two small doors of baby-blue. Lucienne watched quietly as a young woman stepped out elegantly, followed by a man of similar age. Ah. The Fae.

‘Lady Nuala. Welcome,’ Lord Morpheus bowed his head solemnly. She had certainly come dressed for the part.

Lady Nuala wore a long, silk dress, with thin layers of inkwell-blue and deep violets. The under layer was an even thinner material, flowing elegantly, a soft white that shimmered in the starlight of The Dreaming. It grew translucent at its edges. There were no harsh cuts, only silky softness. Tousled curls fell across her shoulders, with part of her hair up, pinned by moonstones that glinted in her movement. In her braid, she had weaved in irises, dainty yet beautiful. Lucienne glanced at her, not unkindly, though not quite sure either. It was..ethereal. She had to admit. The dress is beautiful. The hair. Everything. Could it be too perfect, though? Or perhaps I am being overly critical. She had heard stories of the way in which the Fae had grown to conduct themselves. Glamour magic. There is nothing wrong with it. But there was nothing sincere about it either.

‘Lord Morpheus’, she took a deep yet elegant courtesy, and as she rose, her eyes cast towards him, shining. She gave a warm smile, her cheeks slightly flushed. ‘Thank you kindly for inviting us to this Jubilee. It is an honour..and a privilege,’ she smiled at him again, though he did not return it. ‘You are most welcome. I hope you enjoy the celebrations for the evening,’ he spoke curtly, and bowed his head again. It was as though he gave only the appropriate time of interaction between a host and his guest, and no more. Lady Nuala stepped past, and was taken to be escorted by palace staff to the gardens. The gentlemen who accompanied her followed, glancing at Nada as he did. Morpheus had not so much as offered him a welcome, and had not taken any notice to him in his arrival, though she noticed his eyes follow him carefully as he strolled past Nada, glancing at her. Perhaps I should speak with Nada, later. The tension is brimming. Others will notice. Including those outside The Dreaming.

A click-clack of horse hooves drew her attention back to the palace gates, pulling a new carriage. It was wooden, square, old. Oddly human, which, in a place such as The Dreaming, looked…out of place. She felt a small smile tug at her lips. He was here. She watched him from afar, as he stepped down from his carriage, his ginger hair slightly thinning, uncombed, his clothes ordinary (like what she had seen Mervyn wear) and paint-stained, hands also cracked with streaks of blue and yellow acrylics. As if he felt himself being watched, he cast a nervous look towards her, luminous but perhaps..overwhelmed. He broke his gaze as soon as their eyes met, and he cast it upwards at the sky. She saw his eyes widen, his mouth agape. This was always her favourite part. The Dreamers were always so full of awe, wonder. It is what made the stress of creating it so rewarding.

‘Lucienne,’ Lord Morpheus turned to her, ‘You will escort our guest to the palace gardens. I will be in attendance shortly’. She gave him a confused look, eyes wide in surprise. ‘But Sir, it is the duty of the sovereign to escort Dreamers, it has been this way for centuries-‘

‘I am aware, Lucienne,’ his tone slightly dropped, ‘I must attend to..other matters. Please excuse me’. He turned his heel and strode towards the palace. Nada narrowed her eyes, a quick and quiet look that Lucienne wasn’t sure of. She caught her gaze before palace staff began to usher her towards the gardens. She felt a strike of annoyance, mixed with curiosity. What matters could be more pressing than this? It had been the same every Jubilee, unchanging. I suppose this is different. Circumstances are different.  

She turned back towards the man who had stumbled slightly from his carriage, and was being escorted to the palace entrance. Well, she thought, it’s a good thing I’m a fan.

He reached her then, his steps soft and deliberate. Lucienne gave him a wide smile.

‘Welcome. You must be Mr Gogh?,’ she spoke, a faint simmer of excitement in her stomach. She had read as much as she could find about him, of course, before his arrival. Her eyes had glazed over every painting, to the intricate details, to ensure The Dreaming was decorated accordingly. Since then, she had revisited her books, often admiring his artwork simply…because she had enjoyed it. He looked at her, uncertain.

‘Yes,’ his eyes flickered around, ‘May I ask, where am I? And to whom do I speak with?’

‘You, Sir, are in The Dreaming. It is the realm that is governed under Dream of the Endless. Once every thousand years, we invite a Dreamer, who has inspired others to dream on such a mass-level, that it has contributed to the integral structure of The Dreaming itself. This is cause for great celebration. So, we celebrate through an event called The Dreamers Jubilee. This year, you are our guest,’ she smiled, and added, ‘And, my name is Lucienne. I will be your host, along with Lord Morpheus’. She noticed he seemed overwhelmed in response. As if habitually, his hand reached a lock of hair, and attempted to tuck it behind his ear, only to remember that it was no longer there. She tilted her head, smile still warm.

‘Shall we venture into the palace gardens? There we may chat better,’ she turned forward, and looked at him assuringly. He nodded slowly, still taking in his surroundings, and followed her towards the palace. It could be overwhelming. The Dreaming is so usual, typical, normal for me. But for a mortal..perhaps conversation of his paintings will ease.

She opened her mouth to speak, when cloying scent filled her nose. Soft jasmine. Rose water. Lavender. Sickly sweet…seductive. She paused, and turned instinctively towards it. To her left, on a small patch of grass and flowers in front of the palace, Lord Morpheus and Desire stood, talking. This is never a good sign. She watched as Desire stepped forward, squinting her eyes, and straining to hear, but their voices were muffled through distance. Van Gogh stepped behind her, his eyes still in awe, and she gave him a small smile, containing towards the palace. As they drew closer to the gardens, they drew closer to Lord Morpheus and Desire.

‘…Like it or not, you are mine, as I am yours. Don’t you think I dream too?’

Desires voice seeped towards her ears as they stepped through the palace doors, and across towards the gardens. Something.. Irked her, about hearing them. Their voice lacked the usual bite, cold seduction that she had come so accustomed to know. Instead it sounded almost..serious? Charged? Had something shifted between them? I must pursue this, and soon. She brushed the thought away as they approached the garden, purple and honeyed hues beginning to spill into the palace doorframe. This was important.

She turned to Van Gogh.

‘Welcome to your celebration. Welcome to your Starry Night,’ she beamed, clasping her hands together.

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

He had remained in his study long after Nada had left him.

‘…mourning your son, who you yourself also condemned!’

Her words struck like thunder. A jolt in his stomach. The small prick of a needle into his heart; sharp, stinging, painful. He hoped she didn’t mean it, although he felt it was true. He had failed his son, and he had failed Nada. I would have paid the debt. I would have allowed myself to be taken. Had it not been for the Morningstar.

He glanced around his study, mind neither here nor there. After Nada had left, he had stared at the door from which she disappeared out from for some time. What was it, that he was expecting to see there? Answers? But he had no questions. He knew what he did, and he knew why it needed to be done. Most importantly, I know that it cannot be undone.

It was his blessing and a curse that he remain alive in existence, to serve humanity, to live with himself.

His eyes flickered to the bookshelves, now stacked in neat rows, dust-free. Parchment no longer lay sprawled across the floor, long curtains had been pushed aside. It felt..not warm. But better. Better than what it had been, when she had first stumbled across him here. For a brief second, his eyes flickered to the broken lyre. It hung, suspended in mid-air, softly illumined with warm light, inside a large case. His mind flashed. Warm liquid, sticky, seeping across his fingers. The emptiness of the room. He turned to leave, his foot slipping before steadying himself on the blood that pooled around him.

He cast his glance around again, tensing his jaw, not wanting to look at it. It was intended as an act of mercy. And it had destroyed him. Everything he stood for, everything he was, or will be. I have abandoned my child. I have killed my child. It was a cruel fate indeed, to make one take a life, than to give ones own. You don’t just take one life, you take two. Yours and theirs. But I have to continue living.

He stared vacantly, before flickering his eyes towards the long, ornate window, overlooking the palace gardens.

Purple and honeyed hues spilled in, casting a warm glow of light into his study. Outside, he could see Lucienne’s creation of A Starry Night. Despite himself, he felt a small smile tug at his lips, as his eyes gazed upon the bight yellows, rich golds, deep inkwell blues. Long marques had been sprinkled with warm glow of candles, the orchard was now home to dozens of sleepy sunflowers, and the food, fresh and inviting. He felt a rush of admiration for her then. Where would I be, without my librarian? She has done..a formidable job.

He often forgot, that she was there that day. When the Furies had descended upon The Dreaming. When they had come for him. There she had stood, eyes filled with tears, sorrow in her soul, helpless against fate. In that moment, he did not just exist in his own agony. He existed in a thousand agonies. Everywhere. All at once.

A croak and a flap of ebony wings interrupted his thoughts.

‘Boss! Luce said its ready. Said the guests will be here soon, and they need greeting,’ Matthew flapped perching himself on his shoulder. He turned his head an inch.

‘I see,’ he replied, giving Matthew a little scratch, which he nuzzled into, ‘I will be there shortly. Please inform Lucienne.’ The raven cocked his head in acknowledgment and flew off once more.

The Dreamers Jubilee. His mind briefly flickered back to Nada, as it often did. An ocean tide pulling in, out, and then back again, a will of its own. The Nightmare…The panther. She had left him the diadem in his possession, which he was silently grateful for. He did not wish to create another argument, but it needed to be addressed nonetheless. Strange things were starting to happen. Influenced and seeping from a power that was not his own, but much older, more archaic. The diadem had been left, yes. But even so..something felt..uneven. It was as if the elastic band of The Dreaming had not snapped, but had been stretched; the fabric was worn, it was still there but not the same as it once was. Different from before. Before what? He could not tell. Before the Furies? The diadem? Before her? He made a mental note to ask Lucienne about the conditions of The Dreaming. He wanted to know if anything, even the smallest change, was made.

Adjusting his usual attire of a dark robe, he reached for his pocket, and pulled out a small rectangular leather box. It opened with a slight creak. Inside, lay an oval necklace, slinked on a silver chain. It was a miniature of Starry Night, motioned and animated. The stars perpetually shone, the sky eternally swirled. Like a memory, an essence of a dream, a vision, captured and seized, forever frozen to admire. His eyes lingered on it for a moment, his thoughts once again pulling back to Nada.

He snapped it shut. Later.

Turning with conviction, he left his study, and was soon in front of the palace gates.

The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he stepped out of the palace, and reached the gates. Matthew resided on the ground, next to a tall figure. He drew closer and realised it was Nada. His steps faltered ever so slightly, slowing almost imperceptibly, as he approached her from behind. He felt his chest tighten.

Wrapped around her figure, a deep-gold dress hung, silk flowing, catching gently in the breeze. He narrowed his eyes. It grew longer at the front, but was slightly cut higher at the back, exposing her lower calves. Around the end-hem of the dress, small sunflowers were stitched, though their leaves were turned upwards, as if drawn to her, as if..alive. At her waist, she wore a bronze, ornate girdle, with deep engravings, twisting like the vines of a sunflower. Braided and sleek, her hair hung, with gold beads appearing occasionally. He gazed at her, in quiet reverence, for just a moment, before he stood beside her. She turned her head a fraction, eyes flickering briefly into his, before facing forward. Lucienne joined them.

‘Sir,’ she began, ‘The Dreaming is ready. Everything is complete.’ Best to check now. Though, subtly.

‘Everything has run smoothly? Anything..out of the ordinary, that I ought to know about?’. Do I sound strained? He kept his face passive, his gaze unflinching.

‘No, Sir,’ Lucienne smiled thinly, brushing her hand over her clipboard. He narrowed his eyes. Was there a hint of hesitation in her voice? He saw a carriage draw close to the gates. The guests were beginning to arrive. He could check in with her later. Perhaps this was a more..private, conversation to be had.

The Fae had arrived first. Ah. Lady Nuala and her.. Brother. He was not un-fond of Lady Nuala, but her brother was a different story. She stepped out of the carriage elegantly, and approached them with grace.

‘Lord Morpheus,’ she took a deep courtesy, ‘Thank you kindly for inviting us to this Jubilee. It is an honour..and privilege,’ she blushed, giving him a warm smile. He resisted the urge to look over at Nada, and bowed his head solemnly. Each dress is more beautiful than the last. The Green. The gold. And now sunflowers. He supposed he could thank Lucienne for that.

‘You are most welcome. I hope you enjoy the celebrations for the evening,’ he spoke, low and curt. She stepped past him, still smiling faintly, and her brother followed. He watched her brother with intent. He is known for certain..provocation. Morpheus remembered the last time he had visited The Dreaming. Half of the palace had been bedded. It was distasteful, lustful. It was..desire. As he passed Nada, Morpheus saw him glancing at her with interest. He felt his lip curl. Why was he always so lustful? Did everyone present themselves as some sort of opportunity to him?

Irritation flared inside him, his eyes now glancing around the Dreamscape.

A flash of red caught his eye.

Long-bodied, slender, fishnets, rouge. Desire.

Another carriage had drawn to the gates. I must address this. Now. They should not be here. ‘Lucienne,’ he murmured, turning to her, ‘You will escort our guest to the palace gardens. I will be in attendance shortly.’

‘But Sir, it is the duty of the sovereign to escort Dreamers, it has been this way for centuries-‘

He glanced at her again, eyes drawing from the red that lingered in the distance, ‘I am aware, Lucienne. I must attend to..other matters. Please excuse me.’ He strode away, approaching the flicker of red that lingered on the other side of the palace gates. Desire turned their head playfully, cocking it to one side.

‘Ahh, my dear Dream,’ they purred, eyes set on him, ‘I thought you would be too busy skulking over your party than to notice me’. They wore black fishnets, a long red, latex coat that shone in the light. The outer hem was trimmed with black fur. Across their chest, a black corset laced with gold; below a tight pair of bright-red shorts. Morpheus glanced at them, with no small amount of disdain.

‘And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?’ He asked, voice low, jaw tight. Desire gave a cat-like grin.

‘Well, pleasure, is my domain. Though I’m sure you’d know a bit about that,’ they glanced at Nada, the reference wasn’t missed. Morpheus only glared, ignoring the remark.

‘It is The Dreamers Jubilee. An important celebration. What is it that you want?’

Desires smile faltered, by a fraction. They sat themselves on one of the many large rocks that surrounded the palace gates.

‘Can a brother not simply..visit, his brother?’, he asked, gazing down, tracing a rouge fingernail across the stone, ‘You still blame me, don’t you?’

His brows furrowed, eyes narrowing. ‘Blame you? For what?’

Desire looked up suddenly, eyes direct and intent. ‘For everything that’s ever gone wrong in your miserable existence. For Nada. For Lyta,’ their voice was abruptly sharp, it purred no more. Morphues’ eyes flickered up to Desires, holding their glare. You come here, to my realm, and wish to begin a conflict? His mind flashed back to Orpheus, the blood, then Nada, and Hell; What exactly is the purpose of this? If I do or don’t blame him? What difference does it make? He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling.

‘Because that is what you do, Desire. You corrupt. Your entire existence is built on the foundations of a fleeting feeling, a feeling that is so addictive, you chase it, for eternity, no matter the cost, no matter the pain caused. Do you ever stop to think that what you do is actually..painful? Destructive?’, he snapped, glaring. Desire held his gaze for a moment, and stood up, stiffly.

‘When I persuaded Lyta to take her son away, I did that for you. You are here because no one is available to replace you. Do not blame me for your own desires. Have mortals ever blamed you for a bad dream? No,’ they paced back and fourth, voice growing sharper, ‘No, but someone has to be accountable for Desire. Because it can never be your fault, can it? This may come as great surprise to you, but there is such a thing as…free will,’ their voice dropped to a whisper, and they dropped behind Morpheus, leaning into his ear.

‘And do not tell me..that you do not desire. I see you. I see everyone. You desire..violently’, they faced him once again, and Morpheus felt his patience waning, and anger growing.

‘I am not you. I am not..,’ he sneered slightly, nose crinkled, ‘..lustful, or deceitful’. Desire smiled mockingly.

‘Like it or not, you are mine, as I am yours. Don’t you think I dream, too?’, they murmured softly. In the distance, he saw Lucienne pass by briefly, accompanied by their guest. Enough of this.

‘Stay if you wish. Be welcome. But speak no more to me of..desire. I have no interest in it. And as such you have no control over me. That’s what you hate most. Perhaps that is what you dream about,’ he murmured, turning his back on Desire, ‘Of controlling me. I am flattered, brother, that even in your dreams I am an occupant’. With a tone of finality, he proceeded towards the palace gates, towards the gardens, leaving Desire there.

‘Be flattered then,’ Desire called out from behind him, ‘As no one else dreams of you,’ as he walked on, he heard Desire laugh loudly. I do not desire violently. The only thing I desire violently is for you to leave me alone. You will not control me. Not here, not now, not today. 

He strolled through the palace, swift and long steps, until he came out into the palace gardens. Guests had arrived quickly, and the gardens were brimming with hum and chatter. Shadows danced playfully on the palace walls, fireflies drifted lazily in and out of the tents, and music flowed throughout the gardens. His eyes fell on Van Gogh, who was seated next to Lucienne, seemingly in deep conversation, shoulders more relaxed. He cast his eyes towards the orchard, and saw Nada, alone, admiring the flowers.

His feet moved before he thought, and as he approached, she spoke to him, but did not raise her head.

‘Morpheus,’ she hummed, eyes still focused on the sunflower, her fingers stroking its leaves gently. It seemed to warm to her touch, leaning in. Morpheus glanced at it for a moment, then his eyes back to her. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated one side of her face, the other, engulfed in blue and violet hues from the sky above.

‘Are you enjoying the celebrations?’ He murmured. She turned towards him then, eyes shining. She hiccuped. He felt his lips tug at a smile, in disbelief.

‘Have you been..drinking?’

She covered her mouth, and hid her smile behind her hand. ‘No’. Another hiccup. ‘Well, yes. One. Or two’, she gave him a faint smile. He felt a slight flutter in his stomach. She continued, ‘And you have never drunk before? Do not tell lies to me, Morpheus,’ her tone light, teasing slightly. All previous tension had seemed to smooth out from her face, she had the same look he had seen when she was creating her dream. Free. Happy.

He smiled warmly. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she giggled in response, and they grew closer, perhaps without intention, their bodies almost touching. They held each others gaze for a moment, and then she broke away, leaning against the curled railings that surrounded the orchard, looking out across the Dreamscape.

‘Do you ever..go there?’ She asked softly.

He joined her at the railings, arms folded, gaze cast out. ‘Go where?’

‘The Waking World. You walk their dreams, and feel their wonder, I know that. But do you walk among them, beside them? Do you breathe their air and their life.. hear their music?’

He paused for a moment, considering his response. ‘It is..unnecessary,’ he said slowly, gaze still focused on the distance. She gave a faint laugh, and sighed. 

‘Unnecessary, yes. I suppose to you… I used to long for it, you know. When I ruled. My people sitting in a noisy tavern, sharing stories, singing songs, dancing… My grandmother said it was un-Queenly to be found drinking in a tavern. One night I gave into my desire,’ her eyes flickered up at him, ‘and I snuck off to one. It was rich, brimming with life, people, music..love’. Is this what she..desired? To see the Waking World? A moment passed, both brooding in their own thoughts, as they often did, elbows touching.

‘Come,’ he murmured.

She looked at him, surprised, eyes lightly wide. ‘What?’

‘Come,’ he repeated, extending a long pale hand. ‘If you wish to see the Waking World, then we shall go. Now’.

She laughed nervously. ‘Right now?’ Now and eternity.

His expression did not change, but his voice grew softer. ‘Would you prefer that I set an appointment?’

For the first time in a long time, she gave him a wide smile, eyes creased, dimples visible. He felt something stir in him. She slid her hand into his, and they disappeared from The Dreaming.

Chapter Text

Nada 

‘Come’, he said.

She turned, startled. ‘What?’

‘Come,’ he repeated, extending a long pale hand. ‘If you wish to see the mortal world, then we shall go. Now’.

‘Now?’

His expression did not change, but his voice grew softer. ‘Would you prefer that I set an appointment?’

His hand still waiting, she took it in anticipation, smiling wildly. Maybe she had drunk a little too much. Everything had suddenly felt easier, shiner. After her second glass she had felt her shoulder relax, jaw loosen. They had not spoken much after she had left him in his study. He walked fast, swift long steps across the gardens, weaving between guests. She followed, stumbling slightly, glancing around. Her eyes caught Lucienne, who was in deep conversation. Nada suddenly felt a stab of guilt.

‘Should we really be leaving, right now? What about the celebrations? What about Lucienne? Should we not tell her?’ She spoke behind him, as they reached the palace entrance. He slowed and turned to her.

‘Lucienne will be fine,’ he continued as she began to protest, ‘She’s actually a very good librarian, you know,’ he teased. Despite herself, she felt a small smile tug at her lips, though she made an effort not to show it. He pulled her hand closer, and they drew together; she felt the warmth radiating from him. Her stomach fluttered, am I nauseated?

‘Now,’ he murmured in a low voice, eyes intent, ‘Do not let go’. She held his gaze for a moment, and gave a small nod. 

Suddenly, colours swirled and twisted, The Dreaming fell away, she felt as if she was being pulled in all angles, an invisible hand felt like it was twisting her organs, she gagged, I’m going to be sick-

Then, it stopped. It was over as quickly as it had started. She let go of Morpheus’ hand instantly, doubling over, catching her breath. It felt as though the air had been knocked from her chest. Morpheus laughed quietly behind her, patting her gently on the back.

‘It takes a little getting used to,’ his hand rubbed warm circles, her breathing slowing. ‘You have to do that any time you want to leave The Dreaming? Have the Endless not evolved for… better transport?’ She glanced at him, her tone somewhat light, still bent over. He shrugged, lifting up his arms, laughing. His laughter. Such a rarity. Reserved only for those who truly earn it. She rolled her eyes slightly, and against her will, her face broke into a smile.

‘You are ridiculous,’ she giggled, he extended his hand to help her up, she took it. He pulled her up, she drew close, closer than she meant. He held her gaze for a moment.

‘Only for you,’ he murmured, quietly. ‘Shall we go?’ He broke her gaze, and dusted off his robe.

They stepped out of a rain-soaked alleyway in what appeared to be a busy city at night. Bright lights, electric, unnatural, buzzed around them. Nada felt her skin prickle in anticipation. This is the mortal world? The air smelt of wet concrete that had sat in the sun too long, only for the rain to come and cool it. The faint smell of cigarettes and food lingered ahead. Loud horns sang into the night, the hum of people lay on the footpath ahead. Morpheus stepped out onto the pavement, smooth slabs of stone, bright lights of reds and yellow reflected in the puddles. It is so..alive. Life moved faster than The Dreaming. Morpheus turned and held out his arm. The pavement swarmed with people, each in a world of their own, heading to one direction or another. Only his face turned back to her in the crowd.

‘Where are we going?,’ she shouted over the hum of the city, taking his arm. He shrugged again, playfully. ‘Wherever you want,’ he shouted back, and stepped forward. He weaved in and out of the crowd like a needle through cloth; with ease, naturally, as if he had spent a lifetime doing it. She felt herself grow dizzy, but took pleasure in allowing herself to follow, to lose herself, even if for a moment in the bright lights and indifferent crowds…

He slowed his pace, and turned his head. Music drifted from a nearby doorway that lay beneath the pavement slightly, steps leading underground. He looked at her, as if to ask for permission, and she nodded. He pulled them inside.

As they descended the steps, the hum of the city disappeared, and was replaced with soft-flowing sounds, quiet chatter, and the crackling of the fire. Her foot landed on the ground, old and wooden, the walls cobbled stone. Smoke trailed in the air, and the floor boards creaked as they drew closer to the bar. It was small and cramped, dim, with only candlelight and the fire emitting warm glows. The candles do not float here. It reminded her of the tavern she had told Morpheus about. Few patrons lingered at the bar, each seemingly lost in thought, as if in trance. They all watched the same man; a tall musician centred a small wooden stage, sat on a wooden chair, and..a tall podium near his mouth. Nada nudged Morpheus.

‘What is that..thing, he has near his mouth?’ She pointed slightly, and Morpheus replied, ‘It is a device the mortals call a ‘microphone’. It emits sound, making it echo, enhancing it. In the modern age, many musicians use it,’ he paused, and turned to her, ‘Would you like a drink? I believe he will begin to sing, soon,’ he smiled, waiting for her answer. She hesitated. Maybe I’ve already had too much…but I am here, in the mortal world, for the first time in…an eternity. When will I get another chance?

She smile faintly. ‘Yes, please. I’ll have whatever you have,’ he bowed his head, his hand leaving her back, and strode over to the bar.

She looked around curiously, taking it all in. It was so refreshing. So alive. So addictive. So fleeting.

Her eyes centred back to the man on stage, his dark curls tousled as he bent low over his guitar. Rouge velvet curtains had been pulled back and tied for his performance. It was as if he fit the stage perfectly. She cast her gaze towards Morpheus, who was ordering their drinks, smiling and chatting to the barman. He seemed so..relaxed. Normal. Like one of them.

The soft strings of a guitar pulled her attention back towards the stage.

‘When I, first saw you… the end, was soon…’

Nada froze, her skin prickling for the second time, hair standing up on the back of her neck. It was like nothing she had ever heard, yet it felt familiar. Faintly familiar. The same feeling you get when you find something you have been looking for, and forgotten about, digging it up from the earth, brushing away the soil, sweet relief to having found it, pleasantly surprised at having remembered it existed to begin with. Her ears strained to listen, not wanting to miss a single note. It was alive, breathing, tantalising. Morpheus quietly joined her, handing her a glass of red wine.

She glanced at him from the side, measuring a reaction.

‘This is..interesting,’ he whispered. She laughed quietly. ‘Yes’.

They stood, near to the stage, bodies close without meaning to be. The song swelled, and the voice of its composer sang softly, his face pained, as if in some kind of deep reverence. Such emotion. Such beauty. Such pain.

‘Give your heart and soul…. To charity’

He looked at her. She looked back.

‘Dance with me’, his hand extended once more towards her, his dark eyes inviting. She placed her glass on a nearby table beside his, eyebrows furrowed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

‘Cause the rest of you… the best of you…’

She blinked, startled, ‘You-‘ she almost laughed, ‘you do not dance’

‘I do tonight’, he said. It was not a command. It was not a question. It was… something else. A pleading look. His gaze did not relent. For a moment she hesitated, then took his hand in hers. She felt her hand tingle at his touch.

‘Honey belongs to me…’

He drew her to him, close, one hand at her waist, and the other holding hers loosely. They moved together, slowly with grace. She had braced for stiffness, formality, coldness. Instead, he swayed her, with rhythm and pulse, letting the music pull them like a tide.

‘If I was born as a blackthorn tree….I’d wanna be felled by you… held by you….fuel the pyre of your enemies…’

The words seemed to pluck at her chest, like the string of a harp, beautiful, sharp, feeling…breathless. She did not look at the stage anymore. She looked at him, his face, half-shadowed, half illuminated by the warm glow of candlelight. His eyes lowered to hers… he was not as he was. Not as a King, or God. But as a man, who had loved her once… and maybe still. Her heart fluttered, despite herself.

‘You’re… full of surprises, tonight’, she murmured. The wine warmed her cheeks, she felt her eyes grow heavier. She blamed the second glass of wine, but the truth was much simpler; whenever he smiled, she felt her walls collapse, her anger diminish, her body..warm. It is the wine. Nothing more.

His voice was low and hushed, lost under the melody, ‘I thought’, he whispered hoarsely, as if the words came without permission, unbidden, and leaned in closer, so his lips brushed her ear, ‘If I gave you the world… it might be enough to keep you’. Her skin grew warm and tingled where his whispers had been, her breath hitched, caught between protest and surrender. For just a moment, she felt herself ache for him, but it passed as quickly as it came, and slightly dizzy, she continued to dance.

She closed her eyes, letting herself forget herself for just a moment.

I am afraid if I move too quickly, this moment will shatter.

She leaned into him, her head resting on his chest, allowing herself to be held, to be swayed. She felt his breath stutter, and heard the brief, yet furious thumping of his heart. A small smile came to her, unbidden. Morpheus did not move, but his arm at her waist tightened, almost imperceptibly, drawing her closer as they continued to sway.

She closed her eyes.

The music will end, as all songs do.

It was perfect, this moment. But it would not last.

She knew better.

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

The song wound to an end, and the musician softly played to a halt.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, Hozier’.

He took a bow and smiled a rueful smile, as if embarrassed by the attention. The bar began to clear and he started to pack away his things.

Neither Nada nor Morpheus had moved. He still held her, as if the song had not ceased. His face was bent low, and as the regular pub-dwellers began to slowly clear, the room grew quieter. Though she wasn’t looking at him, her head still lay on his chest, her breathing slow, lulled, precious. It was Nada who finally drew back, but not without gentleness. They held each others gaze for a delicate, prolonged moment, before he extended his arm, and they left the bar together. The journey back to The Dreaming was wordless. What could be said, that action had already not spoken?

The echo of the song still lingered within his mind. It haunted him, hours after they had returned to The Dreaming. Mortals continued to surprise him, despite his dealings with them in the past. Nada had bid him goodnight and he remained alone, pacing the palace.

‘Goodnight, Morpheus,’ she had blushed, warmly, lingering in the entrance to her chambers.

Morpheus took her hand, relishing its softness, its delicacy..something stirred in him as he thought back to her head resting on his chest, and he brought her hand close to his mouth, his lips brushing her knuckles with a kiss, his head bent low, in reverence. His eyes flickered up at her, only to meet her own. The air felt heavier then, the gaze between them unbroken, unrelenting. He did not let go of her hand..and she did not withdraw. For what seemed like a lifetime and more, they gazed at each other, her mouth slightly open, she bit her lip ever so slightly-

Say it. Just once. That is all I need.

He leaned in, only by a fraction, and he could have sworn she did the same, then-

‘Sir?’

Lucienne had appeared round the corner, quiet and unassuming. She looked startled, eyebrows raised. She carried fresh towels folded in her arms. Morpheus stepped back almost instantly, straightening his back. Nada mimicked the action, folding her hands and raising her chin, blush spreading across her cheeks.

‘Oh Lucienne - my towels - you did not have to-‘

She rushed forward, a little breathless, and avoided his gaze. She took the towels in haste, thanked her again, and shut the door, disappearing into her chambers. Lucienne looked at him, with an eyebrow raised, but made no comment and bid him goodnight.

No words had escaped her, she left no crumbs for him to follow, but her expression..her lingering touch. She almost leaned in. By a fraction. I am sure of it. Would she have kissed him, then, in that moment, had they not been…interrupted? He felt a sigh of irritation as he wished no interruption had broken into that moment. It was tortuous, to imagine, to wonder. A tease of what could-have been. What still could be?

He should have gone back to his study, busied himself with menial tasks, perhaps even have spoken to Lucienne, explained why he had not been there for the rest of the Jubilee..

Instead, he paced the long, winding, marble floors of The Dreaming, restless, nervous, wanting.

Why had he done it? Why did he take her hand like that? Or even, why had he pulled her close in that bar, drew her near to him, so close he could smell the sweet scents of warm vanilla, cinnamon..an all too familiar warmth flowed through him, stirring.. No. I will not give shape to such thoughts tonight. It is the wine. Too much wine.

He stopped abruptly, pausing at one of the long, ornate windows in the corridor, staring out into the sky, now reversed to its regular constellations, shimmering and glinting from afar. Is she looking at the same stars I now plead with? Night after night, I have confessed my love for her. Have they heard her confessions, too? His eyes flickered to straight ahead, lowering his gaze, and his reflection stared back at him, dark-eyed, hollow-cheeked..hungry. This is dangerous.

And yet..

He found his feet moving with a will of their own, not really thinking, but already knowing where they were taking him. It took mere moments. Her silvery door stood slightly ajar, moonlight spilling across the flame. She had left it..open? Another wave of warmth flooded him as he imagined her leaving it open for him, but then he hesitated. Perhaps she was asleep already. Perhaps she dreamed

But then, another thought, countering his internal arguments. I only need to see her. Just for a moment. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the door, still hesitant..until he pushed it gently, slipping quietly inside the room.

Her chambers were empty. His eyes took a few seconds to adjust. How much wine did I drink? He blinked, and saw this time, a thin, faint thread of gold, glowing, leading him deeper into the palace. So, she was dreaming. He followed it instinctively, and as he came closer to the source, her dream lay. It was muted, blurred from the outside, only a faint swirl of colours and figures. He licked his lips. Should I enter? Is this not..too intimate? But then..she did not have to know I was here.

He stepped into the dream.

His feet creaked quietly on familiar wooden floor boards. He glanced around, curious, intrigued. Candles floated mid-air, a centre-stage, a bar, crackling of fire…it was a replica of the bar they had been to that very night. He turned his head slowly, immersing in every detail, and then, in the middle of the room, two dream-figures materialised. He felt his breath catch as he watched them take shape.

A few feet in front of him, a dream-version of Nada…and himself. They were together, alone in the dream. The smell of wood and whiskey hung in the air, the faint glow of orange embers casting warmth upon their faces. There was a particular..coziness, here, that perhaps was not as apparent as it had been in their real-life visit. He narrowed his eyes, examining their figures. Nada looked as she always had, beautiful, warm, full of life. He shifted his gaze to his dream-self, or Nada’s version. He was taller, sharper here. His cheekbones cut long shadows across his face, his eyes intent, brooding, dark. He looked further down. They stood closer together, his hand pressing against the small of her back, slowly edging further down, whispering sweet nothings into her ears, his lips brushing her cheeks. She gazed at him longingly, eyes focused on his, then her gaze dropped lower, to his mouth. Then, they began to dance.

This is…This, is what she dreams of? He felt the heat within him rise at watching the scene, unable to look away, though knowing what he was witnessing was…intimate. They danced just like before, though somehow, less restrained, slow, charged. He felt his pulse quicken, and his heart pound in his chest. His feet lay rooted in the same spot as he had entered, seemingly unable to move.

Then the dream shifted.

It grew more closed in around the edges, the firelight brighter now, the audible crackle of wood, the flames licking higher. Dream-Nada had pulled him closer, taking control, one hand slipping under his shirt, the other at the back of his neck, pulling at his hair, almost desperate-

He turned from the scene, chest tight, breathing rapid. He felt as if he had run a mile in the space of a minute..a hunger coiled within him, deeper than he wanted, and he turned back around, his dark eyes fixed on the scene. Around him, echoes of sweet sighs and quiet murmurs rebounded.

Reluctantly, he stepped back, his feet mechanical, and left the dream, and soon after, her chambers.

She dreams…of me. His mind flickered to when he last saw her, when he had silently pleaded for her to say it. Actions always spoke louder than words. And what was it, that he had seen, just now? He returned to his study, and threw himself into his armchair, hands clenched, gripping the arms, staring fixedly into nothing.

For the first time in a long time, he did not know what to do.  

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

He picked the hems of his armchair, absent-mindedly, undoing each stitch.

Could it be possible? He picked yet more thread, that she could love me again? It came undone, and he spent no time in thought before moving onto the next.

But what about The Fates? What about their prophecy? His mind flashed to the three of them that were in this very study, cackling as they always did, only a few paces from where he was now. Their words echoed in the forefront of his mind.

‘A crown awaits the hand that dares take it..one throne has been abandoned, and another trembles unseen…do not mistake where she must reign, Morpheus’.

He let out a frustrated sigh, heaving himself out of his armchair, abandoning the thread. Menacing beings, never allowing any peace. How was it, that his siblings were never bothered by their impending doom, and that it was perpetually cast on him, his realm, and those he cared about?

With no direction in mind, he paced his study, hands restlessly hanging by his side. He passed the window and glanced out of it. Most guests had either left or had taken to their chambers, but few remained on the grassy banks of The Dreaming, slumbering under the stars. He felt a small stab of guilt as he thought of Lucienne. I will talk to her tomorrow. She will understand.

He paced the study yet again, before throwing himself down on his armchair once more. Over and over, his mind pulled back to what he had seen in Nada’s dream, the two of them, as they were..it was intimate, to watch, and he knew, perhaps, invasive. But then, she had dreamed of him, and him alone. He felt the curve of a smile pull at his mouth, unbidden. It is not proof that she loves me. Only that she dreams of me.

He threw his head back and let it rest on the soft fabric of his chair. What am I to do about this? What can I do? Should anything even be done? He closed his eyes, arms lay rest by his side. I just need to think. Thought blurred into silence. Silence into weight. And then..

..for first time in centuries, Morpheus himself dreamed.

He hadn’t meant to. He has only invented to close his eyes and rest for a few moments, but he soon found himself in deep slumber, one from which he could not have easily woken from. He wondered to the deepest core of The Dreaming.

It was there that he found her.

The space lay vast and blank at first, but as soon as he saw her, and the closer he became, a room around them rapidly took shape. Nada lay on a large bed, one not unlike the real one she had in her chambers of he palace, surrounded by candlelight that cast a warm glow over her skin. Beneath his feet, cold, cobbled stone smoothed over by time, and above, a vast dark sky with thousands of stars, glinting and shimmering. As he drew closer, his eyes narrowed, squinting in the darkness. Is she..?

Nada lay, curled on the bed, above the sheets. A large silk robe hugged her body, her lower calves visible, as well as both of her shoulders. It was clear nothing lay underneath the robe.

‘Nada?’ He breathed, his voice low. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide, and pulled for the silk to wrap itself around her a little more. She looked surprised to see him. This is not my dream. 

‘Morpheus?’, she sat up a little straighter, and he approached the edge of the four-poster bed, gazing at her intently.

‘Is this..is this a dream?’ She whispered, her eyes shone, orange flickers of candlelight reflective in them. Something within him stirred once more. He noticed the steady rising of her chest. He stepped forward, soundlessly and swift.

‘It does not have to be,’ his whispered, his voice hoarse, a hunger rising within him. What was it, that he saw in her eyes then? A subtle change in emotion, missed in the blink of an eye if you were not watching close enough. Her chin lowered, and her eyes flickered up at him from an angle. He held her gaze. He felt as if he could hear his own heartbeat, thumping in his ears, a drumming noise inside his head. The air grew heavy and warm around them, the tall candles overflowing with hot wax, the flames licking higher.

Say it. I only need to hear it once.

But she said nothing.

With deliberation, she leaned back, relaxing her shoulders, and lay across the bed. She stretched her arms, almost lazily, above her, and titled her head gently to one side. Her eyes met his once more. She smiled faintly.

‘Are you going to just watch me, or are you going to.. join me?’. A seductive whisper. She knows. Heavy with knowing. The words had slipped from her lips as easy as the silk slipped from her shoulders.

His lower lip quivered slightly as his breathing became more ragged. His eyes never left her. Was this real? Cross-dreams are a rare event, have they ever happened in my realm, even?

A low, honeyed voice interrupted his thoughts.

‘Morpheus,’ she hitched herself up slightly, her collarbones defined in candlelight, eyes still hollowing into him. He drew a shaky breath as he felt his chest tighten.

‘I won’t ask you twice,’ her lips parted delicately, her gaze unrelenting, slaves to our desires, masters of our destiny, or both -

Within seconds, he drew around to her side of the bed, sinking his knees to the ground, as if compelled, his gaze never ceasing. She has me on my knees.

 She leaned forward, her nose brushing against his, their lips barely touching, hovering hesitantly. Beside him, wax from the candles spilled faster, creating hot pools beneath him, the flames licked greedily towards them; it was as if the room itself strained against his restraint, demanding more.

‘Are you sure,’ he murmured, hoarsely, ‘That this is what you want?’. Her lips brushed against his, his restraint hanging on by a thread.

Torture me no longer.

Her reply came slowly, barely a whisper, dripped in honey and want.

‘It is all I have ever wanted,’ a soft hand cupped one side of his face, and her lips took him. He closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to her, mimicking her movement. He rose slowly, breaking off the kiss and pulling back, breathless, his hands now held her face.

‘Have I been a blind man, until now?,’ he whispered, hands trembling slightly, heart beating furiously out of his chest, warmth spread through him.

Her hands cupped over his, holding them, a playful smile teased her mouth. ‘But you are not a man, are you?’, she paused, and then, still smiling, whispered, ‘You are ridiculous’.

A dark savagery took him, and in one quick movement, he closed the distance between them, his lips once more surrendering to her. A small moan escaped her lips, and he pushed harder; his hands slid from her face, tracing the line of her throat, to her collarbone. Head bent, he tore away from her mouth, his lips caressing her neck, slowly lowering himself to her chest. Her breath caught in the moment, sharp and trembling. His fingers felt for the silk of her robe, and upon finding it, it gave way beneath them, undone.

‘Morpheus-,’ she moaned, head arched back, hands pulling him closer, fingernails digging into his skin. He felt himself relish in the way his name had so easily escaped her lips, tinged with want and longing, almost needy.

With both hands, he pinned her arms above her head, and drew back, staring down at her. Both breathed heavily, chests rising, eyes meeting, gaze unrelenting.

‘Tell me,’ he murmured, lowering his face, inches from hers, ‘What you want’

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her mouth curved into a knowing smirk. ‘You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?’, he made no response, his gaze dropped to her lips-

Then, an arm wriggled free from his grasp and wrapped itself around him, fingers running through his hair, pulling aggressively, he hissed, she pulled him closer to her now, her mouth brushing against his ear,

‘I have never begged in my life. I only ask once, and I either get what I want..or somebody suffers’. He demanded no more, no resistance came, only knowing sighs, unsaid promises.

Above them, the stars glinted knowingly, the wax pooled into a hot lake, the bed seemed to stretch endlessly, waves of silk flowing in the heat. Sweet scents of jasmine flowed and hung around them, overwhelming and tantalising.

Across The Dreaming, unseen to either lover, the realm shifted, rippling outwardly. The dreams of those residing became heavy, laden with heat and longing. Lovers in the waking world found their dreams vivid, lustful and free, dark fantasy dancing between the edge of reality and dreaming. Even the solitary dreamers felt something of a presence beside them in their darkness, eyes watching, wantingly, and Desire began to whisper at the edges of places it had no right to be, breathing, hot, lustful..

The shift did not go unnoticed. A sharp ripple ran through the library, pages of books flying open, as if alive and violated. Lucienne paused, her quill hovering above her parchment. She stood slowly, and turned to the window, casting a look across the dreamscape. Her brows furrowed as she took in the sight. Rivers grew dangerously strong in their currents, overflowed; flowers bloomed, spread, before they were due; fruits hung at the ends of tree branches, weighing them down, plump and moist.

Cain and Abel woke with a start, flushed and warm, unsure as to why they felt so..longed. Neither would speak of it. At the centre of the Dreaming, Fiddlers Green only smiled, returning to his newspaper. Even Desire, far from his realm, smiled like a Cheshire cat that had found a new mouse to play with.

Morpheus woke with a start.

His face was drenched in sweat as his hair clung with wetness to the back of his neck. He was breathing heavily, disorientated for a second, the taste of the dream still on him, sweet and unbearable. He knew then, what had happened. He had allowed his dreaming to spill into the realm… his feelings, unshielded, infecting his own creation.

Yet, even as shame burned through him (and burn it did), he could not banish the memory of her touch, his ache, the way she had breathed his name-

He stood, and smoothed out his robes, hiding the tremor in his hands. No one could know. Not even her.

Dread returned to him once more, with those words seeping into his mind;

“Do not mistake where she must reign, Morpheus. All paths lead to this”.

Chapter Text

Lucienne 

Lucienne slid a book into its place on the shelf, straining on her ladder, pushing its spine inwardly. Stubbornly, it went in. Without hesitation, she reached for the next, and continued on. To her left, an abnormally tall table stood within reach, matching her height on the ladders, housing a large stack of books.

Only twenty-two more to go.

It was mid-day in the Dreaming, the sun shone brightly, the flowers omitted sweet scents, the fruit began to drop from the tree branches. She strained once more, stretching her arm out fully, attempting to reach a far corner.

‘Oh for goodness sake!,’ she sighed, exasperated. It wasn’t going to fit. There was no way she could reach it. She paused for a moment, rubbing her hand on her lower back, which ached. Decidedly, she slowly climbed down from the ladder, and placed a small cauldron above the fire. Time for tea.

Her mind pulled back to the events of last night as she poked the fire. Rivers flowing, books tearing themselves open, flowers blooming. Whispers in the darker crooks of her library, and no doubt, across the Dreaming as a whole. She had not spoken or seen Lord Morpheus yet, but it was certainly the intention to catch him at some point today.

Curious. The cauldron bubbled, whistling outwardly. Very curious.

The tea came hot, and welcoming. After Morpheus and Nada had disappeared at the evening of the Jubilee (she felt a flicker of annoyance at remembering), Van Gogh remained until later on, even as the other guests had began to depart. She had found him, sat on the grassy banks of the Dreaming, gazing up at the sky, which of course, was his own creation.

‘Isn’t it terrible?’, he had shouted across at her, a smile on his face, his eyes beaming as he cast his gaze upwards. She approached him, long grass tickling her feet, and sat beside him for a moment.

‘It’s not terrible. It’s beautiful’, she looked up. He turned to face her for a moment.

‘Perhaps it can be both. Terrible, yet beautiful’. She gave him a bemused look. ‘Why? What makes you say that?’. He turned his head back to the sky, and pointed at one of the oval-shaped stars. ‘Do you see that one, right there?,’ she nodded, ‘That one star alone, I painted and repainted, fifty-seven times. It was the same colour, but I just couldn’t get the shape right. Or at least, I thought I couldn’t. For weeks, I deliberated, agonisingly, over every star on there, every stroke, every shade of blue, or purple, or yellow.’ She paused, and gazed at the star. ‘I see,’ she said quietly, her eyes still tracing the outline of it.

‘Love is the most selfish of all passions, my dear Lucienne. But obsession is worse.’

She sipped her tea, welcoming its warmth, its anchoring. She had rather liked his paintings, his creation. She wasn’t sure if she liked him as much. The fire crackled lightly, and a soft knock came from her door. She sat up in surprise. I’m not expecting any visitors. Or at least, I am not used to expecting visitors.

‘Come in,’ she called.

Morpheus stepped through the doorframe. ‘Lucienne,’ he spoke quietly, his eyes avoiding her gaze. She set her tea on her desk, and folded her hands on her lap. She didn’t stand.

‘Sir,’ her reply came stern, curt. He offered her a surprised look at her tone, and sat opposite her. He should look guilty, not surprised. He folded his arms on his lap, and smiled at her.

‘How are you?’

She furrowed her eyebrows, knitting them together. How am I? This was not what she expected. He never normally bothered to ask her how she was. It unnerved her.

‘I am..fine,’ she looked at him suspiciously, before adjusting her half-moon spectacles. ‘Is there.. something you would like to talk about?,’ she gave him a knowing look, raising her eyebrows once more. His eyes darted away from her glare, before settling on her face once more. Ah. So you do feel guilty. She made no effort to counter the silence. He shifted slightly in his seat, before addressing her.

‘I wanted to..apologise, for my absence during the Dreamers Jubilee. It was not courteous,’ his eyes flickered away, he cleared his throat, ‘It will not happen again’, and he stood up, almost restlessly, strolling over to the window. Lucienne followed, rising from her chair.

‘Sir, there is more,’ she began, though he did not turn, his gaze focused on the palace gardens outside, ‘You asked me if anything..strange, or unusual had been found in the Dreaming. Well, there has,’ she dug inside her pocket, and pulled out six pomegranate seeds. He turned to face her, eyes on the seeds, then flickered to her.

‘Why was this not known to me, when I first asked you?’

She rose her chin slightly. ‘You seemed somewhat preoccupied,’ he looked at her then, slightly taken a back, she continued, ‘Something..strange, occurred last night also. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the rivers of the Dreaming have only just seeped back into place. Last night they were overflowing the banks, swallowing the earth. Flowers have blossomed too early, fruits have ripened before they’re due,’ she gave him a pointed look, ‘Is there something I should know about?’ Her mind flashed back to when she had given Nada some fresh towels for the morning, and she had seen the two of them..rather close. I am quiet. Not blind.

He held her gaze for a moment, then broke away, turning to the window once more. ‘What are, but a few seeds? Most likely they are a misplacement, a formulation of creation, something slipped through the cracks when we prepared for the Jubilee,’ he strained his neck slightly, as if to get a closer look at something outside.

Lucienne felt herself warm slightly. That’s it? He’s just going to dismiss me, as if this is nothing? As if my word is nothing? And what is he looking at? She stepped forward slightly, and saw within the palace gardens, Nada, admiring the flowers. She watched as Nada placed a finger to a closed flower, and saw it bloom upon feeling her touch. Her eyes flickered to Morpheus, who smiled slightly as the sight. I see.

‘Sir,’ she said, heat rising in her chest, ‘I would also like to inform you, that there are other concerns, other matters requiring your attention.’ He turned away again, though somewhat reluctantly. ‘Such as?’

‘Such as,’ she pushed her spectacles up, ‘There have been a shortage of Nightmares in the Waking World. Why is this? There have been shortage of Dreams yes, but Nightmares?’ Her voice ended with an infliction, awaiting a response. He tilted his head slightly, and walked over to the fire, gazing into the embers that lay there.

‘There is no shortage,’ he said, softly, ‘They are simply…less inclined to perform’.

She studied him for a moment, the glow cast from the embers outlining the trace of his jaw, his gaze fixed on what brewed beneath.

‘Less inclined?’ Nightmares are not less inclined. They don’t just get to decide. They obey. They have always obeyed. Are we simply supposed to let them lurk in the shadows, rebelling, disobeying orders? He made no response, only remaking focused on the hot coal in front of him. Heat rose to her chest once more.

‘Sir,’ she said, louder and firmer than before, her tone controlled, but clear. ‘You ignore these signs. You ignore the seeds, the strangeness around the Dreaming, the visits from Desire - unbidden, might I add - and you ignore me. In doing this, you risk peril on the Dreaming,’ he turned to her then, and she saw a flicker of a shadow in his eyes, but continued, ‘Do not tell me you know nothing of this strangeness. And do not insult me through the act of nonchalance. I am you librarian, yes, but I am also your equal,’ her chest rose defiantly, anger seeping out. He glared at her, nostrils flaring slightly.

‘You..my equal?,’ he spoke softly, though there was no warmth in his tone. ‘You are my librarian. And I depend on you for a great many things, Lucienne. But do not overstep your place. And for that matter, I have noticed..this strangeness, that you speak of. But the realm is only just settling after much unrest. It could simply be..finding a balance. It is not the first time a strangeness has occurred in the Dreaming, nor the last. It will come to pass, as all else does,’ he strode towards the door, reaching for the handle. ‘I will linger no longer,’ he said coldly, bowing his head by an inch.

‘I read somewhere, once,’ she turned, tone calm, but anger bubbling underneath, ‘A proverb. The sheep will spend its entire life fearing the wolf. Only to be eaten by the Shepard,’ she took a step forward, his hand still rested on the door-handle.

‘I am your librarian. And in the time in which you were captive, as your librarian, I kept the Dreaming alive. I willed it, by my faith alone that you would return, and sheltered those who needed guidance,’ she held his gaze, ‘So, yes. I am your equal. And I am telling you, something is coming. I can feel it’. Her words lingered in an uncomfortable silence as they both held each others gaze. A moment passed, and only then did he address her once more. 

‘I will look into this matter myself. Thank you, Lucienne,’ he murmured finally, his gaze flickering, and with a gentle finality, he turned and closed the door behind him. She felt her chest tighten a little, her stomach fluttered. She neither welcomed nor liked the conversation. But it needed to be had. It is my duty, to be honest with him about the Dreaming. Not to simply tell him what he wishes to hear.

Lucienne looked down at the pomegranate seeds, still sat in the palm of her hand. She strode over to her desk and sighed, sitting in her chair once more. A small glass jar lay to her right, and she placed the seeds inside. Her cup still resided in front of her, and she picked it up, absentmindedly, sipping her tea. Wonderful. Even my tea is cold. Her hand reached for the small jar that held the seeds once more, and rattled it slightly, peering inside. They chinked against the glass.

‘You may ignore me,’ she murmured, peering closer, ‘but the Dreaming will not,’ she placed it down in front of her, and stood up from her desk, restless. She looked over to her window once more, taking in view of the palace gardens. Nada still sat there, admiring flowers, wandering amongst the tall grass. Lucienne stood almost exactly where Morpheus had stood, watching. Van Gogh’s words suddenly pushed to the forefront of her mind, as she considered this.

‘Love is the most selfish of all passions. But obsession is worse.’

Chapter Text

Nada

Nada squinted her eyes slightly, scrunching them. The sun is always so bright here.

She had found herself in the palace gardens, admiring the flowers. The day was warm, the breeze practically non-existent as hot rays of sun streamed across the Dreaming. Bees buzzed by, and butterflies lazily fluttered in and out of the shrubbery. The Dreaming had not been as bright or as warm in some time. She poked a flower that had its petals folded inward, not yet having bloomed, and upon her touch it opened up, awakening, harbouring rich golds, and deep crimsons. She laughed lightly, and admired it for a moment, before sitting down, legs-crossed, near the flowerbed. Her mind flashed to the days recently passed.

The mortal world, the dancing..the way he had looked at her. And then, last night. Her cheeks flushed, her stomach fluttered; she felt a familiar warmth spreading through her. She chewed her lip. I know what I dreamt. Her and Morpheus, intimate as they had been centuries ago, together once more. It had felt so..real. The cool touch of his fingers, tracing the outline of her jaw, a dark nocturnal want lingering in the shadows of his eyes, only reserved for her, and her alone…

She picked some grass in front of her, ripping it from the ground, almost absent-mindedly. But it was a dream. As it should remain. She bent her head lower, peering into the soil, looking for any movement, any life that lay beneath the surface. The sun cast heat upon her skin, trailing the back of her neck.

‘What’cha doing?’ A flap of black wings caught in the corner of her eyes. Long, elegant, shiny in the sunlight. Matthew cocked his head to once side, as he often did, blinking at her.

‘Oh..hello, Matthew,’ she looked up, one hand over her brow, sheltering her eyes from the light, ‘the day was so lovely it would be a shame to miss it,’ she cast a glance around. ‘I enjoy the gardens. It’s natural beauty. Something tangible, constant, cyclical. In a place like this, it’s an anchor I find comfort in, when I want to think. Clear my mind,’ she smiled at him, eyes still scrunched slightly. The bird cocked his head again, blinking, and ruffled his feathers.

‘Does your mind need clearing?’

A small pause hung in the air, in the distance, dream-catchers chimed softly in the breeze. ‘Is any mind ever free? Is there anyone, who can truthfully say, their mind is clear, uncluttered, the books neatly stacked away on the library of life?’ She cast her head down, and plucked some more grass, ‘most likely not,’ she said quietly. He hopped closer to her, inches from the grass she was pulling.

‘No, maybe not. But sometimes it helps to talk,’ he hopped a little closer, ‘you can always talk to me. When I first came to the Dreaming, I was scared. I had gone from being human, to now at taking to the skies. But you should know, the views not bad from above. It’s just..different,’ he cawed, fluttering his wings. She gave him a little scratch. 

‘See? Not so bad, right?’ He chuckled, leaning into the scratch. Nada smiled, soft but fleetingly. Her eyes trailed back to the flower that had bloomed under her touch, awakened. Am I awakening, too? So much has changed, but stayed the same. Still torn. Still unsure. Still dreaming.

A small sigh escaped her lips.

‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. You’ve given me some..birds eye perspective,’ she gave a small laugh, and he ruffled his feathers.

‘Matthew’

A tall shadow cut through the beams of sunlight that spilled across them, gazing down, hands tucked behind his back. She glanced up, and Matthew swooped up to his shoulder, perching himself there. A pale hand extended down to her, reaching.

‘Morpheus,’ she took his hand, and he pulled her up steadily. She studied him for a moment. He certainly looked refreshed. His long coat, glimmered in the light, almost glinting as if dotted with starlight. His shoulders no longer slumped as they once did, and he no longer walked with a even the slightest touch of a limp. He looks tired, though. A darkness cast around his eyes, weary, as if a restlessness still clung to him. Yes, he looks refreshed. But he also looks troubled. He caught her gaze, and offered her a small smile, eyes creasing around the edges.

‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yeah,’ she breathed, a little too quickly, ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ Her heart raced, why do I feel like he knows about..that dream? He held her gaze for a moment, the smile slipping slightly as he considered her. He nodded slowly.

‘Good. I am glad to hear it,’ his eyes flickered away from hers, and cast around the dreamscape before he spoke again.

‘My sister has summoned me.’

Sister? Any sibling of the Endless reaching out for contact was never a good thing. It certainly wasn’t for a friendly catchup.

‘Summoned? By whom? When?’ She asked, Matthew shuffled his feathers uncomfortably, cawing. He looked at her directly then, the faintest trace of hesitance on his lips.

‘Right after I left Lucienne in her library. I was coming to speak with you,’ his eyes flickered away again, avoidant, ‘When her sigil burned in my gallery.’ Nada stared at him, coaxing his eyes back to her.

‘Who, Morpheus?’

‘Death. She calls me,’ his eyes didn’t falter this time, but there was something flinching in his tone, a crack in his demeanour. She raised her chin.

‘Well, we go then,’ she crossed her arms.

‘No,’ his eyes focused on her then more directly, a sharpness lingered at the edge of his voice. ‘You will remain here. I alone have been summoned, as I am. I doubt I will be away for long.’ Matthew cawed once more, and chimed in, ‘The Boss is right. It’s better you stay here, in the Dreaming.’

I will not be told where I shall and shall not stay. I have endured ten thousand years of that already. Her eyes bore into him, her chin raising even higher.

‘Summoned, as you are?’ She challenged him.

‘Yes. As I am,’ he looked back, equally as focused.

‘Am I not a part of as you are, now?’ She did not know what had prompted her to say it, but something pulled her to this gathering, this summoning. She needed to be there. She wanted to be there. There, or simply with him?  His eyes flickered, for just a second, his gaze softening, his lips parted by a fraction. For a moment, neither said anything, but only looked at another, each one refusing to break away first.

‘So..is she going?’ Matthew broke the silence, and without turning away his gaze, he murmured, ‘Very well. Let us take our leave..together,’ the last word was spoken softly, a mere whisper, and it hung in the air between them before they turned towards the palace.

Once reaching the gates, Morpheus turned. ‘Matthew, would you inform Lucienne of my whereabouts - and Lady Nadas - please?’ The raven only cawed in response, and with a flap of his ebony wings, he was with the sky once more. He turned to her then. Together alone.

‘Are you sure,’ he murmured, looking at her, ‘that this is what you want?’ Her skin prickled as he spoke those words. So familiar. A strange feeling passed over her, but it was fleeting, and went as quick as it had come. ‘I won’t ask you twice,’ she spoke sternly, but his brows furrowed, and he stared at her in surprise. Why does he look so startled? I’ve already told him I’m coming.

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ he replied, quickly, ‘Just making sure.’ He took her hand then, and slowly, the dreamscape began to fall away as if it were grains of sand, slipping through the cracks. Around them, a dim, sparse room formed, taking shape, and in each corner, strange objects held in glass casing.

‘These are my family’s sigils,’ he gestured, and strode up to three cases that lined up together, positioned somehow as if they took precedence over the others. Her eyes swept over them; in the middle, a silver ankh, to the right, a small book, tattered and thickly bound, and to the left, a long silver sword.

‘And they each belong..to a different sibling?’, she reached out to the left, where the long sword lay, and traced the glass with her fingers lightly. It had a strange pull to it. She traced her finger towards the handle, not actually touching the sword, but near, and jerked back with sudden movement.

‘Owch!’ A jolt of electric had run through the tip of her finger. It didn’t hurt as much as it had surprised her. Morpheus turned his head quickly, and took her hand, examining it.

‘What did you touch?’, he murmured, peering at her fingers.

‘Nothing. Just the case,’ her eyes glanced at her fingertips, which he still held in his hand, and at him again. ‘Who’s sigil is this?’ His eyes met hers.

‘It is Destructions,’ he opened his mouth to say something more, when the silver ankh began to glow faintly. Illuminating the glass case.

‘My sister calls. We must leave now,’ he let go of her fingers and wrapped his hand around hers instead, pulling back slightly, his gaze flickering back to her. ‘Do not touch anything else. It’s not your fault, but we need to know what my sister wants..perhaps she will shine a light in the dark.’  Slowly, but with deliberation, he reached out and touched the ankh itself, the glass turning into dust, vanishing as he did so.

Her stomach churned uncomfortably, her gut twisted, the familiar feeling from when they last had left the Dreaming, the same stretching and pulling in all directions—

And then, they arrived. I will never get used to that. She doubled slightly, gripping her stomach, the faint ache of nausea seeping in. His hand found the lower of her back and gently rubbed circular motions.

‘I promise, you will get used to it, one day,’ he smiled faintly. ‘Mhm,’ she hummed in response, desperately focussing on not being sick. She caught her breath and steadied herself, standing straight. His hand lingered on her lower back.

‘This is it,’ she cast her gaze around, and took in the landscape. They were stood at the end of a long footpath that led up to a large house, engulfed by green shrubbery and few pine trees. In the distance, the crashing of waves against the shore, a restless sea. She felt her skin prickle with unease. The sea is restless, but there is no breeze. A bright glow lay overhead, with whitish tinge; the moon resided in the starry sky above, shining clearly.

‘This is..your sisters realm?’, she asked, eyes still lingering on the moon. She doubted whether she had ever seen it so close before, so big, it seemed to only hover above them, ominously.

‘Yes. It is perpetual twilight here,’ his hand pulled her closer, guiding her towards the path. The faint glimmer of moonlight illuminated his face, porcelain cheekbones cutting through with inky-dark shadow, his coat glinting endlessly against the glow cast upon them. She felt her chest tighten suddenly, looking at him in that moment. How have I got here? How have we got here? Times and times ago, much less darker times, when the Dreaming was soft and her dreams light, her heart full, her life shared. And now, a lifetime and more later, here they stood. On Deaths door. Through Hell and back.

They walked in comfortable silence up to the house, only the gravel crunching beneath their shoes and the waves crashing in the distance filling the gaps. As they approached the house, Nada realised it looked much bigger from afar than it did up-close. It was wooden in structure, with tiled-roof, grey slate. A navy blue had been painted across the front, with a bright red door, both colours almost a strange neon in the moonlight. Morpheus reached for the door-knock, a shiny-blue metallic hourglass. He rang it three times, placing his hand by his side. She reached for it without deliberation, and soundlessly, his eyes remained fixed forward, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand reassuringly. A strange nervousness had caught her. I have technically invited myself along. The door opened with an enthusiastic swing.

‘Brother!,’ Death stood but a few feet in front of them, a mug of tea in one hand, barefoot against a fluffy carpet. Around her neck, a delicate silver chain weighed down by a small ankh, exactly the one Nada had seen in the glass case. She smiled widely at him, and her eyes swept to Nada.

‘And Nada. I was wondering when we would see you again,’ she beamed at them, stepping back, beckoning them inside.

‘Come! Come. I have just put the kettle on,’ Nada made to take her shoes, but Death glanced at her, ‘Oh don’t take them off for my benefit. I just like the feel of my carpet,’ she smiled warmly, and strode on through to the kitchen area. Nada turned to Morpheus, and leaned in.

‘What’s a kettle?’, she whispered, a low chuckle escaped him. He leaned back and whispered, ‘It is a modern device mortals use to heat or boil water. Quicker than a cauldron.’ The corridor that led them to the kitchen area seemed endless. Nada felt slightly claustrophobic as they wound through, the walls became thinner, the path narrower, squeezing the air out of the place. They walked past several rooms on their way, and Nada only had chance to glance at a few. One she noticed, was full of clocks. Some big, some small, some melting. Loud and out of sync ticks rebounded from the room to the doorway as they passed. Some clocks ticked backwards, some forwards, and some not at all. She gave a shudder. It was all very..odd. And that was after having spent a fair amount of time in the Dreaming. Oddity should not be an unfamiliar feeling. I suppose anything is possible.

Suddenly, a large doorway presented itself, and she felt as if she could breathe again. Death paced forward, and began to take down two mugs from her cupboards. The kitchen was nothing like Nada had seen. It looked..new. Modern. Sparse. An old oak island stood in the middle of the kitchen, with pale blue cupboards, warm glow of lights built underneath. Small round white pots shaped like lilies lay across the counter-tops, labelled, tea, coffee, sugar. Across from the kitchen in the next open space, a dining room with grey stone floor, and a long oak table. An oak branch hung from the ceiling, dotted with fairy-lights. At the high end of the table, Death set her mug, a roaring fire behind her chair. It was cosy. It felt right, but wrong at the same time.

‘So? Tea, coffee?’, Death held up two mugs, the kettle brewing behind her.

‘Sister, why are we here?’ Morpheus spoke softly, though there was strain beneath his voice. He’s worried. Nada only watched. Death placed the mugs on the side, and sighed. ‘I would rather wait until everyone is here, and then we can discuss it together,’ she continued, talking over Morpheus as he opened his mouth in protest, ‘This does concern all of us, Dream.’  More guests tumbled into the kitchen in that moment, confused, dusting themselves off. She recognised Desire at once, but beside him, a smaller, slimmer woman. Nada considered her for a moment; her hair sprung from all directions, uncontrolled, it bore colours of ginger, green, yellow, pinks. She wore a long purple trench coat, with white roses sewed across the chest. A green and gold waistcoat trimmed around her middle, and wide-legged sienna trousers reached her feet. The sleeves of her coat were frayed? Laced? Nada couldn’t tell. She looked closer then. Her eyes appeared different colours..one green, one blue.

‘Oh, Sister..I um..I don’t think I quite like your corridor,’ she dusted herself off across the shoulders, fingertips curled, eyebrows raised in wonder. Desire rolled their eyes, and dusted the back of her coat, from which green glitter fell in abundance. Nada dusted her own arm, with the bits that floated near her, attaching.

‘Hello Delirium,’ she strode over, and threw her arms around her sister, rubbing her back in circular motions. ‘Are you alright? Would you like a tea, or coffee?’ Delirium blinked in a way that reminded Nada of Matthew, and titled her head. ‘Well, I used to quite enjoy the coffee, but that was, um, once before, I think, though now I really do think, I’m not quite sure when before was..’ Desire looked at Death. ‘She’ll just take a tea. I’d love one too, if you’re offering,’ they took Delirium and sat her down at the wooden oak table in the dining room. The clink of tea spoons rose, and the kettle brewed once more. Morpheus stayed silent, only observing. His eyes occasionally flickered to her, she only looked back. Is he always like this, in family gatherings? So…quiet? She felt an uncomfortable gaze linger on her from a distance.

‘Good to see you, Dream, Nada,’ Desire called, looking over at them from the dining room, their hands resting on the back of Deliriums chair. They smiled at Nada, wide, teeth out, lipstick red.

‘Brother,’ Morpheus bowed his head by a fraction; Death watched and smiled, taking out the teabags. ‘It’s nice to see you both so pleasant to each other for once,’ she took the tea to Delirium, and offered her sugar.

‘Oh, thank you, Sister..’ she took a spoonful, and shovelled it straight into her mouth, before chugging the tea down her throat in one go. Death only smiled, and placed an affectionate hand on her shoulder.

More guests began to arrive then. Gradually, Nada was introduced to them, one by one. After Desire and Delirium, Destiny came, book-bound and in hand, followed by Despair, and finally, Destruction. Once the chatter settled, and tea was poured, they each took a seat around Deaths long table, with her at the helm. The fire crackled behind them, and she stood up.

‘I am sure you are all wondering why I have called you here tonight,’ she clasped her hands together, eyes sweeping over them. They looked up at her, waiting. She paused.

‘Hell has been..fractured.’

Morpheus spoke immediately; an exchange of looks curved the room, each presenting flickers of emotions, a small hum filled the silence.

‘Fractured? What do you mean, fractured?’ Death looked at Morpheus. A knowing look. Nada felt the familiar churn of nausea lurk in her stomach, her mouth dry.

‘We have been informed, that a few hours ago, there has been a division in Hell. Demons have banded together. They are rebelling the angelic rule. They call for a new ruler,’ her eyes flickered, for split second, to Nada, who felt Morpheus freeze beside her, before she continued, ‘this attack has been premeditated. Right now, we are unsure who will win out,’ she sat back down, and chatter rose almost instantly.  

‘So what are you suggesting, Sister? That there is currently an on-going civil war, in Hell?’, Desire called from the table, one arm already around Delirium, attempting to calm her.

‘Well-,’ Death began, but was interrupted, by Desire once more, who turned to Destruction and Destiny.

‘And did either of you know about this?’, Nada was unsure if it was a question or accusation. Morpheus tensed beside her, and she felt his hand on hers, underneath the table, rubbing the back of her palm. Destiny said nothing, only staring back at Desire; Destruction moved his hand to the handle of his sword. Death caught the action, and stood up once more.

‘Enough!,’ her voice rumbled throughout the room, instantly it abided by her command, the room had grown darker for a moment, before the crackling of the fire was the only thing to be heard. ‘This is not a time for accusations, or fighting. This is a time where we need to work together. Right now, we do not know what fate lies ahead of us, not even Destiny. I called you all here as forewarning,’ her eyes found Nadas, holding her gaze, ‘Protect your realms. Choose wisely.’

Morpheus turned to her, a low whisper as he leaned in, ‘I must speak with my Brother, Destiny. There is something I must..discuss with him. I would prefer to discuss it alone, if you don’t mind,’ she nodded, and he rose from his chair, as the others had done, each returning to their realms, or in discussion with another. A moment passed, and the room emptied. Only her and Death remained. She hoped Morpheus wouldn’t be long. An uncomfortable feeling had crept upon her once more. Please, let us go home.

Death stretched a hand across the table, ‘Shall we go for a walk?’, she stared at Nada, smiling. Well, I can’t exactly say no.

She gave her a thin smile. ‘Yes, I would like that,’ Death beamed warmly, and they rose, back through the corridor that wound, and began to stroll along the shoreline. Nada had only heard the crashing of waves when she first arrived, but now she was offered a view. Strange. She peered longer, squinting her eyes in the dim moonlight, at the sea. It seems to be pulling backwards.

‘Ah. The waves pull in, here. It’s strange, isn’t it? I suppose lots of things in my realm are. It’s an in-between. Nothing is quite right, or left. It’s..circular. A loop’, Death sat down on a long patch of grass, which appeared windswept. Nada joined her, and for a moment, they sat just like that.

‘You’ve been carrying something that isn’t yours,’ Death broke the silence, her voice still warm, but tone firm. Nada’s heart quickened, and she felt a stab of guilt in her chest. How could she know?

‘You mean..the diadem?’.

Death smiled faintly. ‘Not the diadem. Something the diadem gave you, when it was presented on your brow,’ she turned to Nada, sighing. ‘I think you know. You’ve been having visions, yes? Glitches in the Dreaming? A pull, a feeling that something just isn’t quite right?’. Her skin prickled, her palms dampened. Her mind flashed to the vision had received in Luciennes library, to the panther that had snapped its bones in front of her and Morpheus, to the jolt Destructions sigil had given her. I think I have known for some time. Her eyes welled slightly, she blinked fast.

She nodded, unable to formulate the words.

‘There is a..there is some kind of pull, that I feel. I don’t know what it is but I know its there. And I know it has come from that diadem,’ she let out a small cough, as she tried to clear the lump in her throat, ‘I wish I’d never touched it.’ Death rubbed her back assuringly, in familiar motions, like Morpheus had. A beat passed between them.

‘It’s tethered itself to you. Even if you don’t wear it. And I suspect, if Hell begins to seep out, it will come for the Dreaming first,’ Nada’s head turned up quickly, eyes wide, Death spoke a little louder, but gentler than before, ‘You can still walk away, you know. Forget the diadem, the tether. You can go and live in the mortal world, as you once desired when you first returned to the Dreaming’

Nada lifted her head slightly, and turned towards Death.

‘And what of Morpheus? What of the Dreaming?’

She sighed. ‘The Dreaming will go on, and survive whatever is coming. Even if Morpheus does not. We are Endless. It is..just our nature, to carry on,’ she stared at Death, her ears not believing the words, her heart wanting them away.

‘So what are you saying? That I should just leave him to suffer, to die?’, her voice rising now, panic seeping into body, breathing hitched. Death turned her shoulders, facing her fully.

‘What I am saying, is you have a choice. And no one has given you that yet. Not Morpheus, not The Fates. What happened to you wasn’t fair then, and its not fair now. But what happens to you next, is your choice. I love my brother, but you don’t owe your life to balance out his mistakes,’ she sighed, facing the sea once more. Leave Morpheus? And the Dreaming..to Hell? Her mind ran with questions, and a twisting guilt stayed in her gut.

‘And,’ she sniffed, ‘What happens, if I stay? Now that I am..tethered?’, she asked tentatively. Death deliberated for a moment.

‘I’m not entirely sure. You are an open tether to Hell, which would explain all the strange things that have been happening. But you are not exactly a living body either, which means, if you chose to embrace it, you could embody an essence of Hells power,’ she paused, thinking. ‘If,’ she began, slowly, ‘If you chose to embrace it, its possible you could control it. An active barrier to stop Hell from seeping into the Dreaming,’ her words hung in the air, and she said nothing more for a moment. Nada rubbed her palms across her trousers, attempting to dry them. So. I have two choices. Save myself, free myself of the Dreaming, and leave all those in it to potentially perish under Hells invasion. Or, stay in the Dreaming, never gain my freedom, sacrificing it..for him. She chewed the inside of her cheek until it hurt. An impossible choice, that fate, once again, has punished me with. Does he even know?

She cast her eyes out to the dark sea in front of them. For a moment, the waves went still. Then, a sharp ripple ran through, pulling from the surface under. Nada peered closer, and her heart beat faster than it had for a long time.

The shadow of a long, dragon-shaped tentacle pulled beneath the wave. She shook her head, scrunching her eyes.

‘Are you alright?’, Death turned towards her, and placed an arm on her shoulder. She looked back again at where she had seen it.

Nothing. The sea was calm once more, pulling inwardly as it had just before.

Something is coming.

She felt it in her gut. 

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

Hell has been…fractured…calls for a new ruler…rebelling angelic rule…’

Deaths words echoed in the forefront of his mind, shattering coherent thought, amplifying an already rising panic. A civil war rages in Hell. He thought back to the strange things that had been occurring.. The dream-turned-nightmare that Nada and he had narrowly escaped, the portal that had almost closed on them…the pomegranate seeds. A stab of guilt pitted in his stomach, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Lucienne. She tried to tell me. I ignored her, my thoughts..preoccupied. Her hand felt for his underneath the table, and silently, he rubbed his thumb across the back of her palm. He made up his mind in that moment, without hesitation, full of assertion. She will not go back to Hell. A thousand Demons of that deep tract could tear at fingers, and I would not let her go. His eyes fell upon his brother, Destiny, who continued to gaze at Death, silently absorbing her words. It is him I must go to.

He leaned in to Nada, his lips brushing past her ear, and whispered softly, ‘I must speak with my brother, Destiny. There is something I must..discuss with him. I would prefer to discuss it alone, if you don’t mind,’ she nodded slowly, giving him a pained smile. He knew this news would not come easy to her. He rose from the table, as the others did, and caught up with Destiny.

‘Brother, will you speak with me?’

Destiny turned, silent and foreboding as ever, hooded, book in hand. He gave Morpheus a vacant stare, before gesturing into a small room that lay beside the kitchen, just before exiting to the corridor. Morpheus followed Destiny inside.

As he stepped through the doorframe, the heat of the room rose dramatically, the darkness dropped, and was illuminated once more. He glance around. The room was sparse, no bigger than a closet, only just fitting in a small square wooden table, with two plain wooden chairs sitting either side. Around them, hundreds of candles were alight, flames flickering, crackling, and some sizzling out. Not all of them were the same. Some were tall and thin, others shorter and thicker, some were mere nubs of wax waiting to be put out. The scrape of a chair dragged across the floor, and Destiny took a seat, with Morpheus mimicking the movement.

‘I’ve never seen this room before,’ he said, gazing around at the candles, trying to wonder how many there were. It is beyond count.

‘That is because you have never been invited in before,’ Destiny replied, pausing for a moment, then continuing, eyes flickering around the room also. ‘These candles represent mortal lives. That is why they all take such different form to the next. No two are the same,’ he spoke quietly. His hand gestured to a small candle that lay on a shelf, head-level to the table. It flickered weakly; wax had overflowed the sides, the wick burnt low. Too low.

‘A mortal life burns fast,’ he whispered, holding his hand above the flame for a moment, eyes gazing intently upon its light. A beat passed, with both of them looking at the candle, before he cast his eyes back round to Morpheus, who only listened. ‘You have questions for me. Of Nada. Of Hell.’ It was poised as a question, but he asserted it as if it were a statement. He knew. He always knew.

Morpheus leaned forward slightly, his palms resting on his knees, damp with sweat.

‘The Fates have visited me,’ he looked at Destiny, and paused, waiting for an answer, but he made no reply. Morpheus pressed on.

‘Their prophecy..it implied that Nada was to rule Hell. To go back, to take up an empty throne,’ he licked his lips, his mouth dry, and spoke faster. ‘And now, Hell has been fractured. A civil war rages in the pit. What am I to do? I will not see her sent back. Not this time,’ his voice shook slightly, he felt his heart beat a little faster, his palms grew a little damper. Destiny looked at him, passively. Candlelight danced along the walls, casting long shadows of light.

‘One’s Destiny is determined by ones actions. It is impossible to try and mould fate, to bend it to your will. What will be, will be,’ he gave Morpheus a sudden and knowing look, his voice stern. ‘Ask me not for advice, Brother, for I have nothing to give you. The only thing you ought to remember, is, the choice will not be yours, in the end. Nada’s destiny depends on her, and her alone.’ Morpheus felt his jaw clench, and he flexed his fingers lightly under the table. He stared at his brother, irritated. You could help me. But you won’t.

A faint hiss came from beside him. The candle that Destiny had touched no less than minutes prior, had burnt out. No flame lingered there, the wick smoked, twirling up towards the ceiling. Destiny looked at the candle for a moment, watching the smoke, before turning back to Morpheus.

‘I think this concludes our conversation. All things must come to an end, Dream. This does not mean it is the end, or that the journey stops. It simply changes. Transforms. In the end of my beginning, is the beginning of my end.’

Morpheus snorted, irritated. ‘You sound like them. The Fates. Cryptic,’ his eyes focused on Destiny’s then, his voice dropped, as he added, ‘and unhelpful.’

‘It is not my job to interfere within the lives of my siblings, and the same sentiment applies to you,’ he countered, colder now. A smile twisted at his lips as he addressed Destiny again.

‘No,’ he spoke softly, anger simmering beneath the surface,‘I think our little sister can attest for that.’ The room grew unnaturally quiet, as they locked eyes with another, flames flickering around them. He glared at Morpheus.

‘That was not my fault. Or my doing.’

‘But you didn’t ever find out, did you? The knowledge evades you still, Brother,’ his glare unflinching as Destiny looked away, he pressed on, leaning forward further, ‘As to why she stopped being Delight. Why she became Delirium. You think this is no concern of yours? You think family means nothing to you?’ He gave a hollow, short laugh. ‘Even when I was on my knees, my realm shattering like thunder in the distance, the Furies striking, each blow more gutting than the last, where were you?’ A pause hung between them, Destiny’s head had lowered, but he looked at Morpheus, only just holding his gaze. He realised he had been shouting. He closed his eyes, and breathed outwardly, counting backwards from ten. I do not need more conflict. I need his help. For her.

Then, Destiny spoke.

‘I am sorry, Dream,’ a soft whisper in the silence, Morpheus snapped open his eyes. Destiny was looking at him, intently, his passive face suddenly full of emotion.

‘I did not want to leave you there. I wanted to come. But Death had told me it was under control. She said I would see you again soon,’ a small choke rose from his throat, he swallowed it down. ‘You are my younger brother, and I love you,’ he raised his eyebrows when he saw Morpheus give him a doubtful look, his eyes focused, meaning. ‘I do love you, Dream. That was never a question. We can love, you know. We are the embodiment of the human condition, in various forms. What happened with our sister..,’ he sighed, throwing his hands in the air, exasperated, upset. ‘I tried to find the pages! But they had been ripped from my book. I couldn’t find them after that,’ his voice dropped to a low whisper, and his gaze reasserted upon Morpheus.

‘Someone had taken them.’

Taken them? Stolen them? Destiny’s pages recorded everything, every event, every word, action, that took place. It was as if he kept a book on time itself. A realisation dawned on him. So that is why you don’t know. Not for a lack of trying. Or effort. But because someone has evaded you, intentionally, on the events of Delirium.

‘You have never spoken of this to me before now?’, a sudden unease crept into his stomach. Destiny held his look but made no reply, Morpheus pressed on.

‘Why would someone try to cover up Deliriums transformation? Who would want to hide that, from us? Does any of our other siblings know of this?’ It is not easy to steal from the Endless. And yet, someone had.

Destiny sighed, avoiding his gaze. ‘I confess, I do not know. For whatever reason, someone went to a great deal of effort to deceive us on the events of Delirium. And as she herself does not remember fully, it is impossible to truly know what happened to her,’ he paused, his eyes lingering on the flickering of flames once more, before turning back to Morpheus.

‘I am not as cold or desolate as you think, Dream. If I could help you, I would. But it is not my destiny to lead, nor yours. Nada must choose her own path.’ Destiny rose, his chair scraping, and said nothing more as he left Morpheus there, burning amongst the candlelight.

Nada must choose her own path. Those were Destiny’s words. So she has a choice. It does not have to be as the Fates intend. He brushed down his palms over his coat, standing. But what is the choice? Choose between what? Feeling that he had more questions than answers after his conversation with Destiny, he left the room without looking back. The door shut behind him decisively, and melted into the wall, as if it were never there to begin with. He stared at it for a moment, before deciding it was time to leave, and return to the Dreaming. A thought pulled back to him then. What happened to poor Delirium, that had warranted such an elaborate story of deceit? Why? His thoughts rebounded in his mind, questions ablaze, trapped and tapping like bees under a glass, desperate for escape. He strode through the long and narrow corridor, passing by the ticking of clocks, the various frames that held pictures that moved, the rooms that held yet more curiosities. Finally, it stretched to an end, and he soon stepped out onto the front porch of Deaths door.

Moonlight illuminated his face once more, his coat glimmering faintly in starlight. He cast his eyes towards the sea, a tide pulling ever backwards, governed by no breeze, time held little power in Deaths realm. Sweeping the shoreline, he saw Death and Nada sat, cross-legged, talking faintly. A strange desire to know what they were talking about gripped him, but he resisted it. He could not know everything, all of the time. Nada is and always has been, her own person. He strolled over, taking long strides over the wind-swept grass, his feet sinking into it softly. He reached them quickly.

‘Nada.’

She looked up at him then, her head inclined, half illuminated by moonlight, the other dipped in shadow. Her lips were parted slightly, her eyes full of soft surprise to see him standing above her. Death also turned, and spoke first.

‘Will you return to the Dreaming now, then?’

Morpheus extended his hand to Nada, gesturing to help her up. She took it soundlessly. ‘Yes. In light of recent events concerning Hell, I must return and prepare the Dreaming for anything that is to come,’ he paused, and saw Nada glance at his sister, fleeting but undeniable. He rubbed the back of her palm.

‘Is there something wrong?’, he asked her softly, Death only watching, a sombre look on her face. Nada squeezed his hand.

‘I think, when we get back, we will talk more then,’ she turned to Death, with a small, pained smile, ‘Thank you. For you..company. It has given me much to think about.’ Death returned her with a small smile, and remained sat on the grass.

‘You are both, always welcome in my realm,’ her eyes swept over to Morpheus, ‘Brother.’ A faint uneasy had started to squirm in his stomach for the second time in the night; there is more. Always, there is more.

He bowed his head by a fraction, Nada still in hand.

‘Sister.’

His heel turned, and together, they left this place of in-between.

Chapter Text

Nada 

The returned to the Dreaming in the same manner in which they had arrived. The faint feeling of nausea lingered in her stomach. She glanced around. Morpheus’ study. Only tidier. Books lay neatly stacked along the shelves, ink bottles carefully placed on his desk, and a fire had been lit, warming the room. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she drew up a chair, and sat by the fire, rubbing her hands, peering into the flames. Morpheus lingered behind her.

‘Nada,’ he approached, footsteps light, and drew up a chair opposite her, both now warming themselves by the flames that cracked.

‘What did you and my sister..discuss?,’ he asked quietly, eyes on her, before looking away again, ‘if you don’t mind me asking.’ She shifted her gaze from him, and looked into the flames once more. How am I supposed to tell him, now? She had accepted a diadem, become tethered to Hell, and due to civil unrest, has put the Dreaming and all those who inhabit it in danger. A horrible stab of guilt pitted in her stomach. What have I done?

She covered her face with her hands, closing her eyes, unable to face the shame of it. A small voice echoed in the back of her mind. Her grandmother.

Where power to flattery bows, all is lost.

She felt a warm hand on her back, rubbing in soothing motions. He leaned in slightly.

‘Nada?’

A small lump formed in her throat, her cheeks grew warm, and her nose ran. She sniffed. The truth. I owe him that much, at least. She sat up straighter now, cheeks tear-stained. She chewed her lip, looking at him.

‘There is something I need to tell you,’ he only nodded gently, waiting. She held her breath, willing herself not to cry, not to weep, not yet, but her heart felt as if it would shatter, her voice went unnaturally high as she spoke, and a sob choked in her throat.

‘And I think..,’ she choked, sniffing, ‘I think you already know.’

He looked up at her, soundlessly and swift. She saw a small clench in his jaw, a flicker in his gaze. He said nothing. But he knew. She closed her eyes briefly, and exhaled. He knew. 

‘The Diadem?’

It came as a soft question, gentle, but heavy at the same time. Like plucking a daisy from the earth, hearing the faint snap in the stem, a gentle sound..but ultimately, a finality. Who knew heartbreak could feel so gentle, and yet so painful? She nodded silently, holding his gaze, quietly wondering what he would say or do next. She would be furious, if the tables were turned. To risk his kingdom. His subjects. For a moment, an unnatural stillness hung between them, with only the reassuring crackling of the fire spitting. She resisted the urge to break the silence. Let it sit. Let him process. He had cast his gaze into the flames, and only then did he speak.

‘What did she say about it?’

Nada cleared her throat. ‘She said that I have become..,’ she tensed slightly, ‘..tethered. A part of Hell clings to me. In the time I’ve been in the Dreaming, it has weakened the walls. It would explain the strange things that occurred when went to the core part of the Dreaming-‘,

‘Yes,’ he cut across her, eyes not leaving the fire, ‘Amongst other things. Lucienne had tried to tell me..but I didn’t listen. I thought they were just small, manageable abnormalities. Not like this,’ he murmured. She chewed her lip, and urged herself not to cry again. Have to get it together. 

He stood up, abruptly, and held out a hand to her. She looked up at him, surprised, momentarily snapped out of her brooding; her hand slipped into his, without hesitation.

‘Nada,’ he whispered, his voice hoarse, as he pulled her in closer, their noses almost touching, his arm around her waist tightly. ‘I want you to know, this - all of this - is through no fault of your own. You did not know the power the Diadem held, and I confess, nor did I,’ she pulled away slightly, the guilt still alive within her, his words offering no comfort to the dangers she had imposed on the Dreaming. He pulled her in closer still, tighter this time, refusing to let go.

‘We can figure this out. We can solve it. Together,’ his voice dropped, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing her ear. Her eyebrows knitted together, more tears threatened to come. Don’t say it.

‘I love you.’

Her stomach fluttered, her chest tight; her palms dampened. An uncomfortable beat vibrated her ribcage. She closed her eyes again, tears flowing from them. The fire spat, embers glowing. She felt the cool touch of his hand against her cheek.

‘I love you. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? I have loved you, in every life time, every dream, every nightmare. You, who haunt me still, have never ceased to be. I’d know your hands in a thousand fleeting touches, your face in any crowd, your voice in any hymn,’ he spoke faster now, more urgent, as if willing her to understand what she already knew to be true. He spoke like a man tortured, his voice raw and strained. He spoke like a man. She opened her eyes, and his eyes gazed into hers, unwavering, unflinching. If I look too long I’ll never look away.

She could not stop the flow of silent tears streaming down her cheeks. It is too much. This love that I carry. The guilt that accompanies it. The pressure that looms.

‘But that’s not all of it, Morpheus,’ she sobbed, wrenching her hands free of his hold, wiping her tears away furiously. ‘Before me, stands an impossible choice,’ she croaked, her voice weak. He stood by the fire, separate from her, hands hanging limply by his side, the warm glow cast upon half of his face. He looked at her, silent and hollow.

‘And, what choice is that?’, he whispered, his body rigid, a stillness cast him in stone.

She bit her cheek on the inside and tasted the iron that flowed. He needs to know. You can’t back out now. Tell him.

‘Now I am tethered, I am a physical barrier to the Dreaming. I can embrace the power of the Diadem, and seal the Dreaming. But then, I may never leave. The mortal world, will never see my face again. I will never be free..,’ she slowed, her hands moving, ‘..of it,’ she finished, avoiding his gaze.

For a moment, everything seemed to slow down. The air seemed tighter, more compressed. The fire grew slower in the flames that flickered, and she could hear her own heart beat in the stillness. She did not wish to cower. Forcing herself, she met his gaze, and turned.

His shoulders were slumped. His face was passive. But his eyes. His eyes. They simply looked..hollow.

‘The choice can only be yours. I will not ask you to stay,’ he turned away from her, murmuring quietly into the flames. She advanced forward but a few steps, an arm outstretched -

The fire before them roared abruptly, hissing and snapping, Morpheus jumped back, an arm instantly across her. Candles flickered in the distance, and a tremor was sent throughout the Dreaming. Her breathing quickened, she looked at Morpheus, who met her gaze. The tremor still echoed, and ink bottles smashed loudly across the stone floor; books slipped from the shelves.

The door burst open sharply without warning.

‘Sir!,’ Lucienne shouted, her eyes searching frantically for Morpheus, who turned almost instantaneously towards her.

‘Hell has been compromised. The Dreaming walls have been breached,’ her breathing was ragged, her appearance dishevelled, Morpheus strode towards her immediately, her eyes flickered to Nada, in the distance, deep rumbles of thunder loomed as the skies began to swell.

‘They are here’

Chapter Text

Lucienne 

Lord Morpheus had been back for hours, now. She knew he remained in his study, likely with Nada. After their talk from earlier in the day, her mind had grown restless, unrelenting in the anxiety that gnawed away at her. Word had spread about the civil war that raged in Hell.

I told you so. I told you, this meant something. The seeds, the nightmares..and now, Hell rests on our doorstep.

She clenched her jaw. Had she not gone to him, that same morning, expressing concern? Had she not attempted to bring these matters to his attention? And, and - was she not simply, dismissed?

There’s no point now. Being angry wont change anything. Saying..saying I told you so, won’t change anything.

She had resigned to her library, her safe space, her ultimate comfort. Embers of a fire lay calmly in coal, warming the room. It had grown dark outside, and stars glimmered faintly above the enchanted skies. A luke-warm mug of tea rested in her hands, her fingers nervously tapping the edge, chinking. Matthew had taken residence in her library, and sat, curled in front of the fire.

She sighed, glancing at the seeds that lay confined in her little glass trinket upon her desk. Matthew opened an eye.

‘Everything alright Luce?’

She flicked her gaze over to him, and gave a small smile. ‘Everything is fine. Except its not. I tried to tell Lord Morpheus, something is wrong, deeply wrong. But he didn’t listen. His mind..preoccupied. And now Hell has set its ugly sights on our realm..if they win out,’ she leaned her head against a weary hand, looking at the seeds once more, chewing her lip.

Matthew stretched his wings. ‘Ah. It’s always a woman with him, isn’t it?’. Lucienne looked up, eyebrows furrowed.

‘What do you mean?’

He cocked his head in his usual way. ‘Well, it always is. He never knows when to come in from the rain. He locks Nada up for God knows how long, brings her back here unintentionally, falls in love with her all over again, and feels sorry for himself when she doesn’t immediately take him up, while neglecting everything else.’ Lucienne considered the statement for a moment.

‘But, we don’t know if she doesn’t love him. She might still,’ she continued, talking over his interruption, ‘And, what’s more, he never fell in love with her again. He’s always loved her,’ she said, quietly. Matthew flew over from the rug of the fire and perched himself on Lucienne’s desk.

‘Well, why did he sentence her to Hell, then?’

A sad feeling washed over her then, as she remembered, those many hundreds of years ago. She stared into the embers of the dying fire as she recalled.

‘Because he could not imagine a life without her in it,’ she murmured, quiet and slow. Her gaze flickered back to Matthew.

‘He never really was that insane. No madness ever gripped him. The epitome of structure and order, the deep barrel of restraint,’ she paused, reflecting. ‘Except on the occasion where his heart was touched. Except, for her,’ her eyes flicked back to the embers, which jolted slightly. Lucienne halted in her train of thought, pulled out suddenly, and her eyes narrowed, peering at the hot coals. She set her mug down on the desk, adjusting her spectacles.

‘Did you see that?’

Matthew cocked his head round to the flames, where she pointed.

‘See what?’

She looked again, the embers normal, still. Maybe I’m too tired for this. Her eyes lingered there for a moment more, when it happened again. She stood up abruptly, her stare intent upon the coals, pointing again, an accusatory finger-

‘There! The fire - look’

Matthew followed her direction. Sure enough, the coals had began to twist and move; the embers themselves seemed to breath from within; a face started to take shape-

An imitation of Death’s face was etched within the coal, wheezing slightly. It was not exactly Death herself, but a message.

‘Hell has been compromised,’

The words rasped through the smoke, faltering, broken.

 Matthew arched his feathers, vexed.

‘What is that? Who is that? And what is it talking about, Hell has been compromised?’

Lucienne felt her eyes draw slowly to Matthew, a dawning horror feasting on the horizon of her mind, her gaze drifting back towards the fire. I have..have I seen this before? A message in the flame.

Her face…The Furies. She is warning us. As she warned us then. In that moment, a slowness took her, a suffocating slowness, her mind trying to grasp the impossibility that Hell has been compromised.

It coughed and spluttered, the words repeated over and over, growing thicker each time, as if the smoke clogged her throat..seconds passed, and the embers collapsed into ash, leaving a the hearth cold in its wake.

Matthew nudged her now, she had still not reacted, how could this be? In the distance, where the darkness of the Dreaming loomed, a roll of rumbling thunder came, the clouds began to swell and swirl darkly, the rain softly started to fall. 

‘Luce?’

Matthew’s voice echoed in the background, but she was already rushing soundlessly to the long ornate windows of the library, her eyes cast over the dreamscape. Darkness had fallen, but on the horizon, a red glow faintly seeped through the sky.

The walls have been breached…the seams stretch..Morpheus..but how long…Morpheus-

‘I need to inform Lord Morpheus immediately. Death has only sent that message now, but who knows if he got it? We need to prepare, the walls - they have been breached - a glow in the distance..where is..?’ She rushed around the library, her fingers trembling as she searched among papers, Matthew flapped around her, awake now -

‘I can go to them, I can fly up-‘

‘No!’, she shouted, jerking back suddenly, knocking her tea to the floor with a sharp smash. For a moment, silence, and all she could hear was the beating of her own heart, the rising of her own chest.

‘I..I’m sorry..Matthew,’ she adjusted her spectacles once more, Matthew only watching carefully.

‘Insufferable pride..it just makes me so angry,’ she breathed, ‘Why couldn’t he have just listened to me? I don’t know how we will fight this,’ she ran her hand over her head, eyes wide, trying to remain calm, her teeth tingling, her palms damp. 

‘Lucienne,’ Matthew said, quietly. She looked up at him, momentarily snapped out of her panic and frustration. He never calls me that.

‘If Morpheus needs to know, someone needs to go, now,’ his tone was clear, almost cold, but then he continued, softer, ‘We just don’t have time to be angry. Even if its justified.’  In the distance, more rumbles, faint flashes of light appeared behind the clouds. Her eyes darted from the window to him, then to her hands. Her body buzzed with panic, every nerves trembled as she tried to smooth it down, to force herself into some type of order. He is right. Get a grip. Get to Morpheus.

‘I will go. I’ll go now. Tell Mervyn, rally everyone up, tell them Hell is pressing in on the Dreaming. Everyone must report to the palace,’ he nodded, and instantly took flight, his long wings stretching out. She grabbed her cloak, and threw it over her shoulders, before hurrying out to Morpheus’ study.

Within moments, his door was within sight, and no hesitation resided within her before flinging it open, pushing hard on the oak door. Panic had gripped her once more, at the thought of telling him, if he didn’t know already, that Hell was upon them.

‘Sir!’, she shouted, arms flinging wide, slightly breathless, looking frantically around the room. He stood by the fire, startled, as Nada was only inches behind him, retracting an arm.

‘Hell has been compromised. The Dreaming walls have been breached,’ her breath was ragged, and she noticed tea stains crumpled on her shirt. She looked up at him again as he walked forward, more rumbles came now, they sounded closer than before.

‘They are here’

She couldn’t describe the emotion that lay etched upon his face then. Was it knowing? Did he deep down, know that Hell would come for them first? She looked at him again.

‘What precautions are in place?’ His tone was clear, calm, cut. She took a second to think, her eyes darting.

‘I have sent Matthew to round everyone up and bring them to the palace. Outside, Hell presses on the horizon - I saw it from my library. They won’t get through immediately, they must first pass the veil,’ her eyes flickered to Nada, who gave her a hollow glance.

‘They will soon seep through the seams,’ Morpheus said, his eyes staring ahead, vacant but full of thought. She nodded.

‘I wouldn’t estimate..we have, maybe an hour or less, before the fabric gives way..before they reach us directly.’ He hummed in response, brooding. Then, he turned sharply to Nada.

‘You will stay here. In this room. You will not leave unless I come for you. You will not open this door to anyone but me, and even then you must be cautious. You-‘

‘I can’t just stay here, while everyone else risks their lives for the Dreaming!’ She protested, but he dismissed her with little interest.

‘I’m sorry. But this is the way it has to be. I will not see you get dragged back to Hell,’ he turned back to Lucienne, without hesitation, ‘I want the Stone Guards at the gates, positioned. I want all of the Nightmares rounded up and to be waiting on my call. All subjects will remain in the castle walls until further notice,’ he stepped forward, until both he and Lucienne were out of the doorframe. Nada came in tow, but he turned again to her. Lucienne saw his shoulder straighten, and his jaw clench. We’re wasting time. Time we don’t have.

‘Sir, if I may, why doesn’t Nada accompany me?,’ he made to speak, she pressed on, ‘It would be safer to have her with someone, and not left alone. You will need lead our defences. I’ll be responsible for those inside the castle walls, so would it not make sense for us to stay together?’

He looked at her, a pained expression, as if equally aware of the little time they had to prepare, and yet not wanting to give in either. His eyes swapped between them, before conceding.

‘Very well - but -,’ he turned to Lucienne, sternly, ‘You are to stick together. Nada, fetch whatever you have here and bring it with you.’

Nada hurried back into the study, collecting her cloak. Morpheus’ voice dropped lower as he turned closer to Lucienne.

‘I..should have listened to you sooner. I ask your forgiveness’,  his eyes looking pleadingly into hers. Oh Morpheus. She felt her anger soften, but not vanish. What use is anger now, when the Dreaming itself might fall?

‘There is nothing to forgive’

He held her gaze for a moment.

‘When all is done, and preparations are made, you are to lock yourselves away. Both of you. It could be..it is..too dangerous,’ she gave him a weary look, and he pressed further, more urgently.

‘Please’

Nada joined them as they hovered near the doorframe, cloak in hand, a small bag in the other. She glanced between them.

‘Will we go, then?’

Morpheus looked at her still, meaningfully. She gave a tight nod.

I hope it does not come to that.

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

So. It is here.

Lucienne rushed ahead in front of him, Nada at his side, both taking quick, brisk steps. They had long left the study now, and were winding down into the long corridors. Dust sifted down from the tall ceilings; he glanced at Nada briefly, her eyes focused ahead, and saw bits of it collecting in her hair. More rolls of thunder broke through the Dreaming, and the castle trembled under its touch, walls shaking, stones that paved the way developing small cracks. He felt his heart pound heavily though his ribcage; he felt its vibration through his teeth, down to his fingertips. With each passing window, light flashed across their faces, dark clouds outside now sweeping with thick rain and echoes of lightening. He swiftly gazed out of the next passing window, peered into the distance. On the horizon, he saw the seams of the dreaming. A faint glow of red brimmed behind the skies, pulsating, pushing, breathing.

They are almost here.

His skin prickled at the thought, a shiver running through his back. More dust fell from the ceiling; as they approached the outward of the Great Hall, movement lay all around them. Dozens of denizens gathered, panic had gripped them, doubt and uncertainty flowed like a river in this place. Still paced forward, he took a glance around; gentle dreams he had created huddled together, weeping, afraid. Cain and Abel stood, silent and doubtful, together in a corner. Another glance. Fiddlers Green knelt, his velvet coat spreading across the floor around him, speaking low and calmly to the child-dreams. A shadowling clung to his leg; a starborn tugged at his sleeve. They knew not of Hells descent. They only knew of fear. Something which they have never felt before. Morpheus tore his eyes away, focussing forward, shaking off the emotion.

This is not a time for emotion. It’s a time for order.

The crowds of dreamlings and denizens grew thicker as he approached the large wooden doors to the Great Hall; he saw Lucienne disappear, and as they entered the thick of it, he reached for Nadas hand, pulling her through. The panic in the Hall was not amiss. Mingled weeping and tense voices swarmed the room; fear had set in. More rumbles came from overhead, dust falling thicker now, candlelight flickered, chandeliers chimed softly as they swayed.

Just get to the centre. The rest will follow.

Forcing his way through, he dragged Nada up to their thrones. Lucienne was already stood, regal and waiting for his address. As he approached the throne, his shadow grew longer, stretched around the Hall. The hum quietened; people were noticing. He stood and turned them, gazing into the crowd for a moment, until silence was gained.

‘Denizens of the Dreaming,’ he shouted with cold clarity; more bangs of light flashed across the windows. He pressed on.

‘Tonight, Hell has taken to the decision..to invade the Dreaming,’ yelps of panic scattered around the hall, gasps and weeping grew stronger, whispers rebounded. He held up a hand.

‘Silence!’

His voice cut through the disorder, regaining control momentarily, hundreds of eyes now fixed upon his, startled, frightened.

‘Hell thinks that it can enter our realm, our kingdom, at its own leisure. Hell believes, that with enough force, it will tear our walls down. Hell hopes, that the Dreaming will give them what Heaven would not: a second chance,’ the room fell eerily silent, all those in attendance fixated on him, hanging on to every word -

‘We will not stand for such delusions. We will not entertain such fantasy,’ he paused, his chest rising, his palms damp.

‘We will endure. We will fight. And we will dominate victory,’

silence followed, his eyes swept the room. For a second, anxiety gnawed at him. Do they believe me? Will they fight?

Then, somewhere in the crowd, a stamp of a foot echoed the hall. It stomped loud and in rhythm, unrelenting. He focused in on the movement. Cain stood, one foot rising and lowering, hard into the ground, his face full of wrath. A moment passed, and others joined, more stamping of feet, like the clapping of hands, reverted around the Hall. A small relief washed over him as it grew louder and louder, with even the shadowlings stomping their small feet. More flashes of light drew from outside, the candles flickered with the trembling of the castle, and the deep sounds of boots on concrete wavered like drums of war.

His eyes swept the room once more, Nada still standing beside him, chin up, regal and poised as ever. Lucienne the other, surveying the room. Silence hung among the three of them for a moment. In the corners and around the outskirts of the Hall, where the candlelight didn’t reach, he saw Nightmares lingering. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at them, anticipation brewing in his bones. He could feel their joy. A dark eagerness to be released upon those that would dare to trespass upon the Dreaming and their master. They contorted in the shadows, waiting for his command like hunting dogs on a chain.

He held up another hand, to silence the stomping; it fell almost instantly.

‘The Stone Men will be deployed at the gates. Any Denizens that wish to fight will join me, out on the Dreamscape. Those who are unable will remain here. In my absence, Lucienne is in charge. Organise yourselves - quickly’.

A scurry of feet crossed the Hall, like mice in a barrel, each wanting to be directed to a certain path. Cain and Abel stood near the entrance, signalling others to join the fight, more and more their group grew. A few of the smaller and gentler denizens huddled together in the middle of the room, decidedly staying put. Next to him, he heard the scratching of Lucienne’s quill as she frantically took names.

A grim thought occurred to him. We will need a list like that. After the battle is done. He turned to Nada as the room began to organise itself. Dust had weaved its way into her hair; he gently brushed it away, before she caught his hand and held it. His eyes found her amidst the chaos around them.

‘Will you please stay here? With Lucienne?’. She held his gaze, her hands rubbing over the back of his palms affectionately. Rain pelted heavily on the windows, the faint glow of the seams becoming brighter; flashes of light hidden behind the clouds almost became translucent.

‘Nada?’ A sense of urgency gripped him now, no time could afford to be spent, he needed to know she would stay.

‘Yes. I will stay here. But Morpheus-‘, she paused, chewing her lip, her hand damp in his, almost clinging to his fingers. He looked at her intently, not wanting to rush, but needing to command his armies, assemble his Nightmares.

‘-I am afraid. What if..could Hell beat us? Do we have enough power to defeat them?’

He pointed towards the darker corners of the Hall, where eyes and shadows slinked. ‘Do you see, over there?’, she nodded, he continued, ‘Those are my Nightmares. They are an entire army on their own. Not to mention myself, the Stone Men, and Denizens. We stand a good chance,’ she blinked fast, nodding at his words, wanting to believe them. He stepped forward, a prickle in his heart, and pulled his arms around her, wrapping her tightly. A hand lay on the back of her head, stroking her reassuringly. He leaned in, close to her neck.

‘We have to believe, Nada. We have to hope,’ he whispered, willing the words, willing the fate of what hope alone would bring. He heard her sniff quietly in his shoulder, and pulled back, giving her a small smile.

‘We will see each other again,’ she nodded, but as he went to turn, he heard her call out one last time.

‘Morpheus. It’s me that they want,’ he looked at her, a disbelief overriding his urgency, old wounds reopening, a faint nostalgia swirled around him. No. No. Not this time. He heard Lucienne call him from a far - Nada pressed on,

‘I chose my people once. I would do it again’

‘Nada -‘ Lucienne continued to shout, the commotion around him growing louder, precious seconds, that’s all they were left with; Nada looked at him, her dark eyes unwavering, determined, bold.

‘I love you, too’, she mouthed, before turning away towards frightened Denizens, offering solace and direction. He stood, stupidly, staring into the space where she had lingered. She loved him. Hell was on his doorstep, no aid from his siblings came, his denizens frightened and weeping, but she loved him.

Heard melodies are sweet. But those unheard are sweeter. An ecstatic feeling flowed through him, his creeping doubts and edging despair now vanished, he would win, they would win, and then..

‘Sir,’ Lucienne, breathless, appeared beside him. He straightened his shoulders, snapped back into reality, blinking rapidly.

 ‘The seams will give way soon. We have..minutes. The Nightmares await your call. The Stone Men stand at the gates,’ she peered up at him, her eyes apprehensive. He noticed a tremor in her hand.

‘Thank you Lucienne. I will take over from here. Stay here, guard the castle walls, protect those that remain. This will be over soon,’ he placed a quiet hand on her shoulder, and turned to face the Hall.

‘Denizens. The time has come,’ they surveyed him, wide-eyed, their fear palpable, the Dreaming shook more violently than ever, and dust coated the floor. He shouted louder, clearer. A fire had been lit within him, he thought of her, her love. She awaits me. My realm awaits me. My Nightmares..await me.

‘Nightmares, I call directly to you now. Come fourth as I call upon you,’ his voice rang out, clear, crisp. Others across the Hall stepped aside, backed closer to the edges.

‘Keepers of Keys’

Murmur of whispers, and silence. The Hall doors opened with a creak, and slammed shut, no visible creature in sight, but a coldness gripped the air, a dark shadow slinked forwards only feet away from Morpheus as it began to materialise. Emerging from the wisp of darkness, a gaunt creature stood, slumped. It had taken shape of a human man, tall, hairless, thin, old. His eyes seemed to pop out of his face uncomfortably, a wild look resided in them, something sinister etched in his face. Where his mouth should have been, a clink of dozens of rusty keys lay, sewed into his lips.

‘The Hollowed’

Hundreds of tiny bats suddenly sprang from the shadows, twisting in mid-air, screeching notes high enough to crack the glass panels. The bats congealed together, forming a lanky, disproportionate figure. It had two arms, and two legs, with a faceless head. Where hands and feet should have been, rough spikes dripped in a black oily substance protruded. A black tongue fell out of its mouth, the only orifice in its face, as if it was too heavy and thick to keep in.

‘Watchers’

Several denizens jumped and yelped; from the walls which they stood huddled against, shadow-men morphed out of the brick itself, transitioning from shadow to flesh. They stepped out, skin a dark inky-blue, long black hair hung wetly around their necks.

‘And those that remain, come.’

More Nightmares that had lingered in the dark corners now slithered up to Morpheus, hungry, eager. He watched with twisted satisfaction at his sinister creations, the air now heavy with dread; in the distance, a thunderous roar, one he had never heard before. The sound of war drums beat relentlessly in the near distance. They are here. The seam is broken. He turned to his Nightmares, more chaos erupted within the hall, movement staggered all around him. He shouted louder, straining over the drums, the yelps and weeping -

‘Hell presses in. You will not falter. You will not forgive. You will tear down every demon in your path until the last scream dries out in their throat!’ 

He flicked his hand, the Hall doors spilt wide open, the Nightmares hissed and spluttered, eager and starved, running out into the night. The Stone Guards picked up their spears, banging rhymthically, and marched out, each step echoing throughout. Morpheus wrinkled his nose. An acrid smoke had carried into the Hall, it smells of sulphur and burnt hair lingered all around. Pillars groaned as more rumbles came from above; to his right, a flaming rock flew through a window, shards of glass showering. Rain poured in furiously from the outside, it came thick and fast, weeping dreams huddled together, the shadowlings clung to Fiddlers Green as he comforted them quietly, sheltering them.

Now. The time is now.

He strung out an arm, his hand curved. A large metallic helm materialised. His other hand clung to a necklace that lay on his chest, wrapping his palms around the red stone. Unease prickled in his stomach, sweat collected under his eyes, he felt a ringing in his ears. Fitting his helm, he turned towards the entrance of the Hall, molten fires and thick smoke visible in the distance.

‘Oh, my sweet Dream’

Is that..no. No, it can’t be..is it?

He looked back again, confused, adrenaline pumping in his veins.

Desire stood but a few feet away. Morpheus almost did a double take, to be sure. No lingerie wrapped around them. No fishnets, no heels, no corsets. On their feet, they wore black leather boots, followed by plain black trousers, supported by a thick red belt. A black vest top lay on top, their arms exposed, muscular, their hands wearing black gloves.

‘What are you doing here?’. He carried no malice in his tone, only a hollow surprise washed over him. What did Desire want? To taunt me?

Desire smiled a cat-like grin.

‘Can a brother not simply…aid another, in his fight against Hell?’

For the first time in living memory, Morpheus felt a smile tug at his lips.

My brother..has come to my aid.

He reached out and placed a hand on Desires shoulder; a soundless understanding hung between them. Desire placed their hand over Morpheus’.

‘Together, Dream’

Chapter Text

Lucienne 

Lucienne watched as Morphues embraced Desire, and felt a pang of mingled surprise and relief at further watching them brace themselves, walking out to the front of the castle together. The doors closed with a finality after they left the Hall. She watched as two Stone Men, who had stayed to aid them, cast their spears in between the handles of the doors, barricading themselves inside. The windows collected many fractures, and few holes where rocks of flame had been catapulted inside. But nothing came through. Yet.

The deafening blows from outside, the dust that coated the obsidian floor, became ceaseless, unrelenting in its pursuit. She felt her armpits drenched with sweat, her back the same, an intoxicating dizziness almost made her feel faint. She cast a quick glance around the Hall. Gentle dreams, that had never felt fear like the kind Hell had brought upon them, huddled together at the edges of the Hall, weeping and sniffing. To her near right, Fiddlers Green remained knelt with the shadowlings and starborn, child-like dreams that were meant for children in the waking world. Their entire fabrics are almost completely..innocent. Pure. Her eyes stung as she fixed her gaze on them for a moment; Fiddlers Green was speaking to them, softly and low, a smile on his kind face, his eyes reassuring. They clung to him, some hid in the folds of his long cloak, other looked up and held each other, as if clinging to the words he spoke. In that surreal moment, he was..everything to them. A light in the dark. A beacon of hope, of security and safety, the voice that tells you, everything is going to be alright. As if to say, ‘look, I’m smiling. It’s going to be fine. We’re here together, aren’t we?’. Oh, to be loved like that. Her eyes swept over the room again, and snagged, catching on something moving in the darkness, where the Nightmares had formally lingered. She peered, drawing closer. A pair of yellow-amber orbs stared back at her in the dark, deep rumbling sounds, like the starting of a lawn mower..

She heard a gasp beside her. Nada clasped her hand to her mouth, gazing at the eyes with equal measure. ‘I know this creature. It was with Morpheus and I, when we went deep into the Dreaming..’, she whispered, watching it. Slowly, it drew away from the shadows, stepping closer to them, head bent low. Sleek and regal, a black panther slipped out, muscular and huge, its paws padding along, the size of small dinner plates. For a moment, Lucienne held her breath, her chest tightened and fluttered, unsure if it was going to attack. But to her astonishment, Nada mimicked its approach, and stepped forward, hand out-stretched.

‘Nada! What are you doing?’

She made no response, only focusing on the enormous creature. It paused, and looked up at Nada, seconds passed, and then..it bent its head even lower, as if bowing to her, and allowed her to touch the top of its head, obeying her touch. Nada raised her chin, running her fingers through the soft fur.

‘I think this Nightmare..was created when I wore the Diadem. It was created outside of Morpheus’. Lucienne stared, a realisation dawning on her.

‘So now, it bows to you. And you alone,’ she whispered, watching.

As she looked at them, with the fires roaring outside the stone walls, the rain spitting in through the broken glass, the trembling and dust, the screams metres away, and she felt..quite alone. She felt deep within her pocket, her fingers fidgeting, until they found delicate indents of metal and smooth jewels. Mingled guilt and shame lurked within her. She chewed her lip, as she remembered taking it from Morpheus’ study..the Diadem of the Damned. She had learnt quickly, through whispers of the Dreamers, about Nada’s connection to it, to Hell. Then she had thought of the vision Nada had experienced that day in the library, right after they had returned from her memory of The Furies. The rest followed and soon made sense. If she embraced it..she would sew the seams, pull back Hell. The demons could not wander if Hell had a ruler. Nada already had some connection. But she would have to embrace it..and touch the Wheel. It had to be her choice. It made sense to her now. The panther. The Nigthmare. It had come, as it was called. Nada was its master, but the diadem was its source. She felt another guilt stab in her stomach, Nada blissfully unaware.

‘Lucienne,’ Nada brushed back beside her, a soft hand on her arm. She jumped at the touch, and gave her a short smile. The panther sat at Nada’s feet, looking up at her. ‘What do you think is going to happen now?’. She seemed breathless, her chest rising rapidly, her jaw clenched.

‘I don’t know. But we do have some power. The Nightmares are hungry. They haven’t been..as performative for some time,’ she licked her lips, glancing at the panther again, ‘They’ll perform well tonight,’ she added drily. More shakes came from the ceiling above; it sounded like footsteps. Nada looked up, and back down to Lucienne quickly.

‘How dangerous exactly are they? What do they do? What can they do, against demons? I have spent my fair share of time in Hell. They will not be easily deterred’.

‘Yes, but they are in the Dreaming now,’ her eyes flicked up at Nadas, focused. ‘These Nightmares..have been centuries in the making. Rooted directly in human evolution itself. Most of theses demons, are after all, human souls. In the Dreaming, if you are the victim of a Nightmare, you..you don’t wake up from it. Ever. It becomes your fate, sealing you, marking you, for eternity. People don’t often think of how long an eternity actually is. It’s forever and more. There is no redemption, no penance, no suffering. There is only..the beginning, and the end, at the same time,’ her voice trailed off. Nada stared at her, silent, brooding. Loud bangs suddenly vibrated through the Hall doors, which were sealed. A hushed silence fell within; Lucienne felt her skin prickle. They can’t get in. Surely not. But if they do..

She glanced around, her eyes darting, frantic. All were silent and hushed, except for the shadowlings and starborn. Fiddlers Green caught her gaze.

‘Lucienne!’, he urged in a loud whisper, his arms still embracing the small little dreams. He nudged his head to the right side, his eyes darting over towards the throne behind her.

‘In there. The passage,’ the bangs bellowed louder now, she heard the creaks of the wood in the Hall doors. The passage. Adrenaline pumped through her, Nada at her side, all eyes within pinging between her, Fiddlers Green, and the doors. Morpheus had told her of hidden passages deep beneath the castle. She had never tested and tried them before. I’ve never had to. Her head flicked backwards, glancing at the throne, her eyes narrowing, looking for anything. Then she spotted it. Just beneath Morphues’ throne, in a small dent etched on the right-hand side, near to the floor, was a tiny, waxing-crescent moon. A lever. The wood creaked and she heard it snapping, splinters flinging across the floor. She turned to address the room.

‘Fiddlers Green - come - bring the smaller dreams. Everyone else create a line, single file so we can get in quickly,’ for a second no one but the shadowlings moved. She raised her voice only a fraction more, as much as she would dare for fear of being heard, her eyes wide with urgency.

‘Now!’

A scurry of feet and gliding came to her, she turned to Nada and pointed to the throne. ‘There’s a lever - the moon - go and pull it, there should be a passage underneath,’ Nada hurried soundlessly over, her fingers feeling at the base until she found it. She looked up, nodding her head. Another cracking of wood. Lucienne glanced over, heart in her throat, and saw a demons foot poking through a tiny hole in the doors. It’s now or never. She rushed to the throne, and helped Nada push it across the floor, the stone scraping. To her amazement, it opened up to a deep passage, descending with small wooden stairs. Lamps were already lit underneath, glinting in the darkness. She beckoned the line - there were not many - fortunately most had gone to fight with Morpheus at the front of the castle. Another hole appeared in the doors, the shouts from the other side getting louder; she felt herself grow colder as the air seeped through. The panther stalked near the door, growling deeply, bearing its teeth, heckles raised.

‘Quickly!’

It would give way any second, she was sure - all the shadowlings and starborn were in and safely in the passage - but there were more of them, she needed seconds, that was all..

‘Take care of them, Lucienne’.

Fiddlers Green stepped aside, more flurried past, desperate for the shelter that lay beneath. Luciennes head snapped to him, with a knee-jerk reaction.

‘What are you talking about? Get in. We don’t have much time. They’ll be through any minute’, her voice whispered loudly, eyes locking into him, urgent. Screams came from outside the castle windows, reverting from the inside of the room.

He gave her a tired, knowing sort of smile. Weary. Like the faint type of smile your grandparents wear at a bedside they will never leave, a brutal kindness that says, I will not see you again. But let me leave in love. Let us part gently. The one you see, when each party pretends they have more time, even though the truth lingers uncomfortably in the air, and both of you know: it has come to an end.

‘Someone has to shut the entrance. Push the throne back. Or they’ll find you, won’t they?,’ he spoke calmly, and low, still giving her a small smile. He spoke as if the conversation light, of no consequence, as if they were chatting about the flowers over tea. ‘It was always going to be this way, Lucienne. I am old. I have been here longer than you, even,’ he gave a small chuckle, ‘What good is the heart of the Dreaming, if I can’t use it to save the Dreaming?’

More pounding came from the outside, and the cracking of wood - a demons leg now swung about wildly - they had seconds, she knew it. Nada and the panther had just descended into the stairway; only she and Fiddlers Green remained. A horrid, sinking feeling flooded her. She wanted to stay, to argue, to persuade. But there was no time. It was not just her life that she risked in protesting his decision. It was those that lay underneath. Tears prickled at her eyes, her nose thick; a lump caught in her throat.

‘Thank you,’ she managed, in barely a whisper, and reached out to touch his hand, fingertips spread. He clutched her hand, squeezing it gently. ‘In you go. Take care of them. The little ones,’ she nodded, tears cascading down her cheeks, and descended into the passage, closing the trap door behind her. The air was warm and thick with panic down here, and Nada hushed them quietly. Lucienne lingered at the top few steps, silently. She couldn’t face them yet. His smile. That’s what did it. It undid her. A quiet pain that words just can’t describe. Her mouth quivered as though those same words pulled at her lips, begging to be spoken, shouted, screamed. She placed a trembling hand over her mouth as she listened to the scraping of stone above, muffling both her cry, and the dreadful chorus of screams that followed from upstairs.

She breathed outward for a moment, drawing a shaky breath, closing her eyes. More screaming, more hollow and blood-curdling came from above. The voices were muffled, as though heard underwater. She couldn’t help but strain her ears as she listened in, knowing that what she would hear would make her feel worse. But I deserve it. It felt like a betrayal, to leave him to them. I have blood on my hands. The voices from above grew louder, and cocked her heard to listen.

‘Ahh, look who we have here. The heart of the Dreaming,’ one voice cooed.

‘Heart of the Dreaming?’ Another came in, taunting. They sniggered. ‘Just looks like an old man..passed his sell-by date’

Some bangs, shouts. Lucienne felt her heart beat in her throat.

‘Well, where are they, old man?’

‘Who?’ Fiddlers Green said, his own voice calm, collected, if a little shaken.

‘The Dreamlord’s Librarian. And his bitch from Hell. We want both of them,’ a few sniggers.

‘What for?’

A smack.

‘You dare to question me?,’ a pause, more laughing. ‘He’ll bend the knee in exchange for them. We need them alive, in tact, per se…Not everything has to be in tact, though,’ he sneered, a few cheered in the background.

‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t know where they are. Just me, unfortunately’.

She heard more footsteps, pacing back and fourth, things smashed on the surface above, a yelp jumped.

‘Get him out of here. Search the castle’. Footsteps hurried out, more yelps, and then, silence.

Her eyes were dry now. Instead of sadness..anger. He shouldn’t have to die for this. Her head turned backwards, glancing at those that stood beneath her, but a few steps away, faces illuminated by torchlight. She felt something cling to her trouser leg, and looked down.

A little shadowling clung to her, soundless, scared; two tiny hands wrapped around her calf. Her anger simmered down quietly as her mind flashed to Fiddlers Green. She bent down, crouching low, and picked up the shadowling.

‘It’ll be alright. We’re here now. We’re alright,’ she kept her voice low and calm, and gave a small smile. It nuzzled into her neck, seeking comfort. Finally descending the steps, she joined the rest of them. Nada watched her closely.

‘Is he..?’

She gave a short, curt nod, unable to say it. Nada understood immediately. Just the sound of the Demons has made her skin crawl. How had Nada survived it, for a lifetime and more? Another thought came to her, and she felt instantly ashamed for thinking it. Could she survive it, again? If..if it came to it? She placed the shadowling down, and joined Nada in a small space towards a corridor. The panther lingered only a few fete behind her, ears prickled, alert. It was cramped, at the cross-roads of the passageway, here afforded some privacy at least.

‘If they broke through the doors of the Hall, where is Morphues and Desire? Where are the others? What does it mean..for the outside?’, Nada asked, looking directly into her. She took a deep breath, and almost shrugged, struggling to get the words out. The air felt damp, moisture clung to it.

‘I..its impossible to say. I don’t know what’s happening. You saw them leave, just like I did. Maybe the demons found another way into the castle. Morpheus would be here if he knew they’d come for us,’ she said. No doubt clawed at the notion. He would be here. He would come. She knew it. Nada considered her answer for a moment.

‘And if..if Morpheus falls? Fiddlers Green is gone. The Dreaming burns around us,’ her eyes glanced to the shadowlings, starborn, and other gentle dreams, and flickered back to Lucienne. ‘If all else comes to pass, what then?’

Lucienne chewed her lip, avoiding her eyes. Slowly, she drew deep within her pocket. The panther swung its head over to her. It senses it. Her fingers clung around the diadem, and pulled it out, her eyes finally meeting Nadas.

‘I took this, from Morpheus’ study. The day you left it. He doesn’t know. I..there is no excuse I can offer, but the truth, Nada. I believed if all else came to pass, you would make your choice,’ Nada raised her chin by a fraction, her expression softer than Lucienne expected.

‘You know about the tether?’, she asked quietly. Lucienne gave a gentle nod.

‘You have to make a choice, Nada. If all else comes to pass here, and you don’t embrace the powers tethered to you, you may perish too. We have to get you out. Before its too late,’ she stepped forward, pressing on. ‘It isn’t too late for you to live a good life. You can still go, live in the mortal world, be free of this. I brought this here with me now, because ultimately, a choice lies before you. And if you do not make it soon, you won’t get a choice for much longer,’ she stared at her, eyes wide. If Morpheus knew, would he ever forgive me, after? Another thought came to her. How do you know there will be an after?

Nada stayed silent for a long time, chewing her fingernails, pacing slightly around the narrow corridor. The panther remained regal and upright, staring at Lucienne, soundless.

‘And if I want to embrace the powers tethered to me?’

Lucienne blinked, and stared at her for a few seconds, tilting her head. She would leave here, to return to Hell?

‘If you..,’ she struggled for words, speaking slowly, ‘If you wanted to embrace it, you would need to return to Hell. You would need to touch the Wheel.’

Nada stopped her pacing.

‘The Wheel?’

Lucienne nodded. ‘If you touched it, you would be claiming Hell as your own, or at least, the power you have inherited to you. It would seal the seams. Pull its patrons back..you, would pull them back, into their own domain’.

‘So it would save him?’, she said, a little too quickly, before adding, ‘The Dreaming, I meant. His realm. Everyone?’

She sighed. ‘It’s impossible to guarantee something like that but, yes, in theory. We would need to act quickly’, she said, watching Nada straighten her shoulders. ‘Then what do I need to do? How do I get back?’

‘Nada, are you sure this is what you want? This cannot be undone-‘

‘Yes, Lucienne. We must act quickly. I think I have known for some time,’ her tone wasn’t unkind, but firm. A heaviness set on Luciennes shoulders. A solution before her. But a costly price. I only have to live with myself.

‘We need to get you back without anyone seeing you. If they find you, you’ll never reach the Wheel, and if any of them find out where you’re going they’ll do anything to stop you. Hell does not want to be ruled. They want to roam free, spreading to other realms. It resists,’ she paused, thinking, ‘There is.. A book, in my library. An ancient text on The Wheel. It has been said that, inside there is an inscription..if recited properly, it opens up to a portal. You can get through there. We just have to get to the library to do it,’ she finished. Nada nodded her head, listening carefully. Then she bent down, and retrieved the small bag she had brought with her when Lucienne had first alerted them. She reached deep inside; it seemed endless in its extension, she was elbow-deep, rummaging. Slowly, she pulled out a long, silver sword, it was slightly curved at the top, the blade sharp and crisp.

Lucienne stared. It was a surreal and ridiculous sight. She almost wanted to laugh in sheer delirium.

‘What?’, Nada looked at her. ‘I have to be ready. You think a Queen can only rely on her guards alone?,’ she gave a small smile, and against her better judgement, Lucienne felt a tug at the corners of her lips. ‘Do you want one? I have a few-‘

‘No, thank you. I wouldn’t even know how to wield it,’ she laughed lightly, her heart fluttered. A strange feeling washed over her; mingled fear and exhaustion. Nada packed her bag on her back, longsword in hand, hair pinned.

‘Tell them they need to stay here. You and I will venture to the library. There must be a passage that leads to it somewhere. If they are quiet no one will suspect they are down here. A decision has been made, and..the consequences await me,’ she spoke quietly, the panther stood near her, ready. Palms damp, she handed over the Diadem to Nada; she took it gingerly, and placed it on her head. In that moment, it all made sense. Matthew had said to her once, it was ‘always a woman with him’. But as Lucienne looked at her now, she saw it. She wasn’t simply a woman. She was a Queen. A Queen, who was willing to throw herself off the board, to win the game. To protect the King.

‘Are you ready?’

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

Outside, the battle raged on. The Great Hall lay behind him like an open wound, raw and seeking. His eyes swept the landscape, and for a moment, he felt his pulse quicken, sweat collected under his eyes. Across the Dreamscape, bodies lay strewn all around, movement was ceaseless. Thick black smoke clogged the air, choking smells of sulphur and burnt hair clawed at his throat; it stung his eyes. Molten fires had birthed from the earth below, violently forcing their way through, streaming upwards, bubbling and hot. In the far distance, he saw the seams of the Dreaming, violated and torn. Shrieks engulfed the landscape, relentless screams that drenched the air; the skies had opened up, and rain crashed down upon them, the droplets hissing against the molten smoke.

They had come in the hundreds. Desire stood beside him, watching carefully.

‘They will find another way into the castle,’ they said, not taking their eyes away from the field.

‘Yes,’ he breathed,a beat passed, then, ‘I need to lay protections over it. To ensure they can’t get through - at least for now. Can you hold them off?’, he spoke loudly, straining his voice, his helm still cast over his head. Desire turned their head, looking at him, smiling.

‘It would be my pleasure,’ then, they turned forward, ‘Get behind me. Focus on the castle’.

Morpheus did not hesitate, turning instantly, and they stood, back to back, against another. He wasted no time, and worked quickly. With a few swift movements of his hands, he pulled thin, golden threads out of the air; they drifted down as if pulled to his touch. More and more, he wove them tightly around the castle, tightening the defences; stone walls edged closer together, all doors and windows shut with a slam, and the click of a bolt. Will it hold? A terse question he had asked himself over and over as his fingers worked quicker, a desperation hung at the edge; yes, his realm was alive and screaming, but inside.. Inside were Lucienne and Nada.

Behind him, Desire cast their look across the battle field, revelling in the chaos, their silver eyes burning as they outstretched their arms, their fingers curling.

‘Let them..see themselves’, a faint whisper escaped their lips, and they shuddered slightly. That was when he heard it. The screaming that became blood-curdling. The squelching of soft flesh. Morpheus did not react. He cared not for the suffering of demons that assaulted his realm. Let Desire play. His fingers weaved faster, almost indistinguishable.

‘Oh.. Its glorious,’ Desire breathed. In front of them, demons had suddenly stopped in their attack, momentarily seduced. Then, as if beguiled against their will, they bent to Desire. Some turned on each other, tearing flesh from faces, biting and ripping skin, the shrieks grew louder as the pain spread. Their eyes grew wide with confusion, not understanding why their bodies compelled what their minds would not. It was incomprehensible, that anyone would desire to draw blood from their own necks, to feel aroused at having chunks of flesh stripped from their skeletons, falling like cooked meat off the bone. Others turned on themselves, gouging out their own eyes, clawing at the hollow wounds, slitting their own throats, gurgling on their own blood. Each brother stood, back to back, against another, working the field, protecting the castle. Morpheus paused, breathing heavily, sweat collecting at his neck. He turned around, and stood next to Desire. The demons in the surrounding radius struck pounds of flesh from another because they had a desire to. His eyes flickered to the far distance, where the seams had bled open. Doubt trembled within him. Only for a second.

At the seam, an endless pour of demons and creatures of Hell streamed through. Desire controlled what was in front of them now, and he had lain some protections over the castle, but what would happen if the outpouring continues? He surveyed the field once more, smoke engulfing the chaos. His Nightmares ran rampant across the Dreaming; a grim satisfaction came to him as he watched the Keeper of Keys limping across the castle gates, his collection of keys now growing, clinking at each new addition added.

‘What is it that your Nightmares do, anyway?’, Desire murmured, their eyes still focused in front.

‘They torment. The Keeper of Keys is moulded from human fear. In the Waking World, they call it Sleep Paralysis. You are forever immobilised, locked in, but your mind roams free. Not here, though. The mind is tormented, as their bodies are frozen. And his chain grows.’ For a mere second, he thought he saw a glimmer of fear across Desire’s face, but it had come as quickly as it appeared, and he turned his gaze once more to the chaos.

I could call it..if necessary. Even now, he heard it whispering beneath the Dreaming, pleading for release. An ancient Nightmare, primordial in its nature, cosmic in its creation. The Unraveller. No single body, only a collapsing of shadows. Where it passes, reality thins; colours bleach, sound distorts..it doesn’t kill, exactly. It simply..unmakes. Flesh slowly peels, layer by layer, stripped to the bone, as if it were never conceived. Demons fear it above all else as it feeds on essence - as they don’t possess souls - essence is left over, the residue of what or who they once were. Only once, he had managed to control it, and subdue it beneath the Dreaming. It is forbidden as it is uncontrollable. He knew his siblings would condemn its use - it could spread to other realms. There was no guarantee he could control it again, but only direct its all-consuming hunger. But..if it comes to it..

This wouldn’t hold forever. He glanced at Desire for a fleeting moment; their silver eyes burned, the molten fires reflecting in them. They seemed..enchanted, consumed, by their own movement, smiling softly as blood poured. No. Not yet.

A quick sudden movement came to him. He struck out an arm, and tore at the skies, twisting. Dark clouds swirled in a violent motion, rain crashed faster and thicker than before, thunder struck across the field, striking fires among the bodies that lay strewn. The mud squelched beneath the marches, the land swollen and saturated as the banks of the river burst open. The war drums grew louder now. Morpheus tugged harder at the skies, urging the winds to sweep them across the field. No longer could he tell the difference between friend and foe; the crowds grew thick, no space left for fighting - the Dreaming was choking in its sheer intake of demonic entities - the grinding of teeth, the snapping of bones, the stringey bites of flesh flying through the air. He strained harder, pushing, his jaw clenched, sweat dripping from his helm.

‘Morpheus’

His heart fluttered; the skies momentarily stopped in their swirling, thunder waited in anticipation to be called. A voice had slithered its way from Eden; it lay outside his door, within the castle walls, calling to him again…

‘..Morpheus..’

Amidst the chaos, the clawing smoke, the blood and the rain, a faint smell of cinnamon lingered within his helm…

But it could not be. Could it? That Nada called for him? It came again, growing more desperate, its undertone lingering with urgency and despair. His arms dropped with a will of their own, his powers ceasing for a moment, anxiety pitted within his stomach.

‘What are you doing?’,  Desire gave him a quick glance, their eyes incredulous, narrowed. He took off his helm, breathing heavily.

‘Nada is calling me. They must have found a way in. She’s still in the castle,’ he turned towards the gates that barred entry, before feeling a rough grapple on his shoulder.

‘Do not answer it! Morpheus, do not answer,’ they shook their head, firm and urgent. ‘It is not her, Brother. And if it is..the heart of the realm is here. I am the embodiment of Desire, and there is nothing more than I would indulge in than love, but the heart is here,’ they breathed, no seductive tone lay underneath, a seriousness had grasped them. Morpheus shook off their grip. The war drums beat relentlessly, closer than ever; black smoke smouldered and covered the field. A horrid despair clung to his cloak, grew beneath his finger tips. If all else was lost, he would at least be with her.

Together, we will sing like birds in a cage, and watch our days wither by…A flash of her unwavering dark gaze pushed to the forefront of his mind. He shook his head.

‘I’m sorry,’ he shook his head more, his choice firm, unable to express, ‘I can’t leave her there. I won’t.’

Desire lifted their chin slightly, silent, watching, their eyes boring into him with a passive but somehow knowing look. No smile etched upon their face, and it was unusual to see them with such severity.

‘Return to your realm, Desire. I thank you, for coming in your aid..the only one of my siblings who did, and yet, the one I least expected. But do not linger in the dark shadows of this realm for me or mine. You have done enough. I would not see you suffer, for me,’ he said, and turned away once more, striding briskly towards the castle gates.

‘And would she do it for you, Morpheus? Would she give it all up, for you?’, Desire shouted from behind him, but he ignored it, determined to reach inside the castle. It does not matter, if she would do it for me. That is not love. That is conditional. My love does not come with conditions, anymore. The castle gates lay before him, tall and imposing; one swift movement of his hand split them open abruptly.

‘..Morpheus..please..’

It came again and again, ceaseless in his mind, echoing in the dark chambers of thought. With each call, his step grew greater, more hurried. He reached the Great Hall in no time at all, and breathed heavily upon the sight that resided. Tables and chairs lay broken and bent, windows smashed, glass coated the floor. Long tapestries were torn and ripped. His eyes swept over towards the throne. It had not moved. His stomach churned uncomfortably as he saw splattered of blood, drying against the marble. No one was here. So she has been taken. Quietly, anger simmered beneath. She has been taken.

Her voice came to him again, only this time, it called from above, but still within the castle walls. He followed it out, and trailed the direction; it led towards his study.

‘Nada?’, he shouted, voice strained, footsteps hurried and panicked. Finally he reached the study doors, and pushed them open with brute force, stumbling inside.

Everything was as he had left it. No chairs were unturned, no glass scattered his floor.

‘Nada?’

The room appeared empty, and he stepped forward gingerly.

A gust of wind gently blew past him, and the door slammed shut, the bolt clicking into place. With a quick turn of his heel, he flicked his hand to open it, but it would not yield. He tried again, but still, it remained locked. A slow unease crept in.

‘She’s not here, Dream Lord,’ a voice purred from the corner of the room. The unease turned to a knowing anger almost instantly. I know your voice. He turned, shadow cascading half of his face, the warm glow of fire outside illuminating the other, his eyes dark and glaring.

Mephistopheles stood, head cocked to one side, a smile playing on his lips. He leaned against a tall walking cane, glinting in the light. He dressed for no battle. Of course not. A long tweed coat swung arrogantly around his knees, a black cap to go with it. He was in human form again, sleek and handsome. The clawing scent of incense now lingered in the study, his presence now revealed. A low unease mingled with anger simmered in Morpheus’ stomach, but his face remained passive; the cold mask slipped into place.

‘Mephistopheles. I would say it’s a pleasure, but..’, he turned fully now, his helm still wrapped around his hand, waiting at his side. I still have my tools. His ruby hung around his neck, and he felt the sand bulge against his pocket.

‘Ah, yes,’ Mephistopheles peered out of the nearby window, observing the burning chaos below. He giggled. ‘Apologies, Dream Lord. Hell’s invasion is a costly affair, no?’

‘It’s an assault. Not an invasion.’

He cocked his head once more, a sly, cat-like grin spreading to his face.

‘Not yet, perhaps. You admit, you’re a little surprised to see me? Impressed, even? Indulge your old friend.’

He strode over to the window-ledge, and waved his hand. A whiskey and decanter materialised from black smoke. Morpheus felt his jaw clench, by just a fraction. He pours his own whiskey, a though he were a host rather than a trespasser. He remained silent, only watching. Mephistolples turned to him, and offered a glass of amber liquid.

‘You must’ve known, Morpheus,’ he stared at him, whiskey in hand, ‘You must’ve known it was me, behind Hell’s Civil War,’ he paused, his gaze bemused.

‘I know of the Diadem. I assume this was part of your doing, your grand master-plan?’

‘Ah! Yes. And what else?’. His voice was light, but wanting, taunting. He wants me to say it. Morpheus felt his teeth grind in his mouth. Play him at his own game.

‘You plant the Diadem here, and let it fester. You knew I would give the Keys back to the Angels. You knew I would make no other choice, as that, as you put it, comes full circle. The angels are back in the pit, were your exact words,’ Mephistolples nodded, humming, and began to circle the room slowly.

‘Mhmm. And?’

‘And,’ he gritted, ‘You come for the Dreaming first. As it is the weakest of the realms. Weakened by the Diadem. After you plan to conquer my realm, you plan to spread to the others, gradually, with time,’ Morpheus stepped aside, back to the wall, eyes never leaving his adversary. Mephistolples clapped his hands.

‘Bravo! Bravo. I must say, well done. I riled Hell’s patrons. Saw a gap in the market, you could say. And when it got too much, Heaven withdrew its guards, and it fell to me. A terrible irony there, I think. Angelic does not mean heroic, or they would have stayed and fought, wouldn’t they? Of course, there are some rebel angels out there.. I mean, you could only imagine, the kinds of horrors I managed to stir up in there. Incomprehensible. Abhorrent. Alas, that is my nature. So,’ he licked his lips, ‘You are correct. All but one, tiny little detail.’

‘Perhaps you could indulge me, then?’

Mephistolples flicked his hands towards the empty fire place, and instantly it roared brightly with fresh flames. The warmth spread quickly through the air, and the wood within cracking hotly. He stared into it, his whiskey still gripped within his right hand.

‘Tell me, do you know what Hell is, Dream Lord?’

Silence hung between them, and he turned to face Morpheus, red flame now cast against his skin. For a sheer second, Morpheus saw the glint of red flesh beneath his human mask. He continued.

‘It is not torment. Not fire. Not punishment. No,’ he clicked his tongue. ‘It is hunger. Endless, gnawing hunger. You can try and curve it. Some despair to it, are consumed by it. Ambition only fuels this hunger, resisting its pull only makes it stronger. So I must indulge,’ he took another sip. ‘I heard your Librarian call me an ‘ancient creature’ that she had once read about in Latin textbooks. I am old, it cannot be denied. But I was a man, once. I had a family. Before one of your siblings destroyed it,’ the room around them suddenly grew intensely warm; Morphues felt sweat collecting once more at the back of his neck, the flames licked higher, sizzling. His voice had grown colder, quieter, as if he spoke to himself alone. Morpheus’ mind raced with silent questions. A human man? A human family? Sibling?

‘And yet, here you are,’ he replied coldly, watching him gaze into the fire. Mephistolples cocked his head up.

‘That small little detail you were wrong about? You must be desperate to know, so I’ll oblige,’ he took a step forward, his eye glinting like red snakes, his anger palpable, just below the surface. Outside, carnage tore through the night, screams and wallows rebounding the study walls.

‘I didn’t come here because it was weaker, or easier. I came here, for her,’ he was only inches away from his face, he smelt the whiskey on his breath, a horrible nausea rose to this throat. Nada. Panic reaffirmed itself. Where was she?

‘You see ghosts where others see futures. How many centuries, did she spend in that cell? How many lovers have you burned, because you mistook your own hunger for destiny? See..we are not so different, you and I,’ he murmured, and stepped back. ‘I had a family once, and it was stolen from me. I could have anything in Hell. Money is of no object. Time is relentless. Sleep is no friend. I could have anything but that…until now. With the Diadem resurrected, and the powers of Hell now behind me, I can start again. What is a crown without desire to wear it? Forcible power to command it? Love, to bear it?’, he placed his glass, now empty, upon the desk beside him. He wants Nada..to rule beside him? To be his wife? Bore his child? He felt every muscle in his body tense to the point of ache, every fibre brimmed with an anger that madness could not subdue. An incomprehensible absurdity clawed ant his mind. All of this, so you can live out your own sick fantasy? Another thought, instant, final. I would rather see this world and the next burn and choke than to indulge in your delusions.  

‘You forget the first truth of Hell, demon. Power without restraint devours itself. It is..chaos. Make no mistake. The Gods could cease in their domination, the fates could burn their yarn, and Lucifer could snap The Wheel -  but there would be no world, realm, waking or otherwise where I would not come for you,’ he clenched his hands to hide the tremor that betrayed him, breathing heavily, glaring at Mephistolples. 

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and gave a faint smile.

‘Chaos..is a ladder. And my, it is a long climb,’ he looked at his watch. ‘I’m afraid our time has come to an end, Dream Lord.’

‘Where is Nada?,’ he strained, making an effort to keep the panic from his voice. The room around them darkened, shadows appeared on the wall, growing large, twisting.

‘We haven’t found her yet. But we will,’ his voice no longer purred, only a dreadful finality remained. He flicked his hand, and opened his palms; dust appeared. Morpheus tensed, and for a mere moment, neither moved, neither breathed, both waiting.

Then, within one rapid movement, both broke stances: Morpheus reached for his helm to fit once more, and Mephistolples threw the dust to the ground - black smoke engulfed the study, sulphur and acrid smells blew through. It clawed at the back of his throat, and he coughed, spluttering, feeling aimlessly in the darkness. When it cleared, Mephistolples was no where to be found.

Morpheus stood, alone, breathing rapidly, his throat sore, his heart pounding. Every part of him ached. He stared into nothing, thinking. Am I to be King of the ashes? Perhaps it is the only way. To get her back. To save her. 

Deep underneath the Dreaming, it awoke with a start; slithering, eager, hungry. 

The Unraveller called to him again. This time, he answered. 

Chapter Text

Nada 

‘Are you ready?’

She drew an outward breath, holding it, flexing her shoulders slightly. Noises came from just behind them. The gentle dreams and shadowlings, the starborn and old, they gathered together. It was clammy and cold down here, despite the glow of torchlight. She thought of Morpheus, her mind flashing back to that one precious night where they had fled to the mortal world. Where they had swayed softly, each closing their eyes, wishing for the moment to stretch endlessly. I will not let him become King of the ashes. Not for me.

‘Yes. I’m ready. Which way?’

Lucienne turned behind her, looking at the two narrow passageways leading out of the current crossroad they stood in. Silently, she took a few steps into each, peering down the passage. She returned a moment later, adjusting her half-moon spectacles.

‘I think at some point they will both lead to above ground. It’s impossible to say which would lead to the library directly. My guess is: we take either-or, and find a ladder that reaches to above. Once we’re out we can find our way easily enough around the castle, as long as we’re not seen.’

‘And if we are seen?’

Lucienne fixed a knowing stare at her, uncompromising and stern. She did not waver her gaze.

‘If we are seen, you run. And you run as fast as your legs will carry you. And you do not look back,’ she spoke louder, continuing as Nada opened her mouth to interrupt and pointed a finger, ‘Under no circumstances do you come for me. Absolutely not. If we are seen, it is entirely your choice on where you go next - whether that be to continue to Hell or return here until its over - you do not turn around.’

Nada met her gaze, and for a moment, neither women looked away. The air seemed to shift, charged between them. Lucienne broke it, her head tilted, her tone softer.

‘Nada. Please,’ her eyes bore into her. ‘We don’t have time for this debate. Please just say you will, and we can go. Hopefully it won’t even come to that.’ She crossed her arms, waiting for a response. A pause. Then she sighed.

‘Very well, Lucienne. You ask me to do the utmost dishonourable action that a Queen can. To run like a coward. Know that it is not within my nature, but I will honour this request, as you are honouring mine,’ she bowed her head, and Lucienne nodded gravely. Her panther sat straight, regally positioned, at her side. Her bag slung on her back; her sword light in her hand. She was ready, and come what may, she would return to the place that had called her prisoner for a century and more..now as its ruler. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.

‘Good,’ she replied, and gestured to the nearest passage, ‘shall we?’

They ventured to through the passage way, without spending time on goodbyes to those they left behind. It was better that way. She had never been very good at goodbyes. Always, the pain lingered. It wasn’t as if she knew each and every one of them, or that she had loved them, but her departure of those that remained remained heavy on her heart. It wasn’t in the thing itself, but what it symbolised. She was leaving the Dreaming, forever. There is no coming back. Forever is..well, it is a black hole. Endless. Ever-expanding into the corners of the universe. One star burns, another is born. And the wheel turns.

It was damp among the passageways. Neither of them spoke as they trailed along, each focusing on the path ahead; the floor was rocky and clumped with orange clay, the wetness made it slippery beneath their feet. It was with no small effort to keep a steady footing, and to continue on. Less than an hour had passed before Lucienne turned, breathing heavily and slightly crouched under the narrow tunnel, and pointed a few feet in front of them.

‘I can see some ladders just ahead. I have no idea where we are. I’ll go up first, and if its safe, I’ll call down to you. If not, you stay here and keep quiet,’ she stepped towards the ladder and gripped it, leaning her torch against the tunnel wall. She was up within seconds. Nadas heart beat out of her chest; the silence in those long moments were almost unbearable. A moment more passed, Lucienne did not reappear. What is taking her so long? The panther grew restless beside her, pacing up and down.

‘Nada!,’ a loud whisper from above,; she looked up and scrunched her eyes, the light spilling in to the dark passage momentarily blinding.

‘Nada, we are just outside your chambers!,’ she whispered excitedly, ‘Not far from the library at all - and no one is here yet. Come, quickly. Pass me your sword,’ she held out an arm, beckoning for the blade. She hunched onto the ladders, and grunting, threw the sword slightly up to Lucienne. With effort, she climbed and pulled herself through the small hatch. The panther circled the passage beneath them, looking up, ears prickled.

‘Come on,’ Nada breathed, patting her leg. It jumped high, and scurried to the open ground. Nada picked herself up and dusted her jacket; it had caught and torn, only a small vest-top lay underneath. Glancing at it, Lucienne began to take her own jacket off, but Nada put out a hand.

‘No, no, its fine. I have brought provisions,’ she slung her bag from her shoulder and reached inside, pulling out a long, black cloak. She swung it on, but the sleeves appeared too long and baggy.

‘Is that Morpheus’ coat?’

‘Only one of them. I picked it up when..well, I just saw it and thought I might use it,’ she gave a sheepish smile, blush creeping on her cheeks. Lucienne held a hand, ‘I don’t need to know,’ she glanced around. She was right. They were just outside Nada’s chambers, she saw her door but a few feet away. The long corridor lay empty, an eerie silence drowned out the ongoing war. It was quiet. She narrowed her eyes. Too quiet. For a moment, it reminded Nada of the wild stretches of land from her kingdom, a lifetime ago, where beasts would stalk their prey, reminding hidden in plain sight, giving away nothing to the human senses. Lucienne turned, her face biting with anxiety.

‘We’ve just got to go for it. We’re here now. No point turning back,’ she bent and tied her lace tighter, in a double knot. Nada sealed her bag and reclaimed her sword, suddenly hyper aware of every moving detail in their surroundings. They walked slowly at first, cautious, then as the corridor continued, confidence and trepidation picked up the pace; a brisk walk carried them. Noises infiltrated the silence, still far away and distorted, but undoubtedly, they were getting closer to movement on the outside.

‘We’re not far. A few more turns. The library is just around the corner,’ Lucienne whispered, eyes fixed ahead, Nada just behind, sword raised and ready.

‘..Nada..’

She jilted in her walk, frozen in her steps, her eyes darting all around. Her heart beat more furiously before; sweat gathered on the handle of her sword as her hands trembled. A small flutter of hope sprung into her heart. Had he come for them? Was it over? 

‘..Nada..please..’

Lucienne turned quickly, casting a look behind her, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. Beside her, the panther gave a low guttural growl.

‘Nada, come on! What are you doing? Why are you stopping?’, but Lucienne’s frantic whispers barely touched her ears. Morpheus’ voice rang out, overlapping and rebounding in the corridor, pleading and desperate. Once she heard it the first time, it only repeated, louder and laced with an urgency that Lucienne failed to grasp. The hope that had sprung vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Something about the voice unsettled her. Something is wrong. She looked around slowly, almost in wonder, eyes wide. The growling at her knees did not stop, and the panthers heckles stood up, raised, angry. Morpheus..? Is here? Her eyes fluttered, trying to shake it off, but a dizziness had taken her, the corridor walls blurred together. Sweat collected on her brow; she slumped against the wall, chest suddenly heavy, disorientated. Underneath, fear began to fester. She was losing control outwardly. Lucienne came closer from the distance, a hand outstretched-

‘Get away!’, she screamed harshly, confused, and swung the sword wildly at her.

‘Nada! It’s me, its Lucienne,’ she stepped forward again, her hand on the handle of the sword, cupping over hers. She spoke low and calmly.

‘Shhh..come now. You know my face, Nada. Something has confused you. You know my voice. Come back to me,’ Lucienne soothed, one hand on her shoulder to keep her steady.

Where am I? She opened her eyes groggily; sweat was now seeping from her face as though a fever had taken her. A soft voice spoke, distorted. She blinked slowly, a pain suddenly shooting through her skull. Lucienne? She blinked more, but it was as though she were underwater, everything lay distorted and impossible. Her fingers released the sword in defeat, a distant clang rang out as it hit the ground below. She slid down the wall, hot and dizzy. What is happening to me? Where is Morpheus? A sinking feeling pitted in her stomach as her mind thought of him in her haziness. Even thinking his name in the depths of despair felt like she was mourning his death already. He had not come. But he had called. Hadn’t he? She was sure of it. She closed her eyes, unable to stand the light, which seemed blinding now. Her legs locked, her fingers seemed absent, no part of her moving body responded to her mind. She was locked in. Beside her, her panther coiled itself near, growling. I can’t move. But I can listen.

Footsteps approached. She heard Lucienne gasp as they grew louder, and place a defensive arm across her chest. She was almost numb now, but felt a small jolt of movement as the panther leapt from her side, heckles raised, and growled loudly as it latched onto a nearing figure. Figure? Or figures? An overlapping of voices emerged; there were more. Some shouts and commotion as the panther attacked, then, a small yelp and a thud of its body.

‘We meet again, Lucienne,’ a voice cooed. Something about it seemed so..familiar. She was unable to open her eyes, and lay slumped, sweating against the wall. It was all so distorted. Inwardly, she strained to listen.

‘It was you. This entire.. All of this, you. I should’ve known. Mephistopheles’, Lucienne snarled in disgust, an arm still outstretched in front of Nada, protectively. A small chuckle.

‘Never underestimate your enemy, Lucienne. Or you give them a significant advantage. Even pawns can topple kings, no?’

A sudden movement, Lucienne jumped across her and grabbed the handle of the sword, standing up shakily. The voice and others around it laughed lightly.

‘And what will you do with that?’

More sudden steps, she swung the sword violently at him; it caught the edge of his throat, a small but deep incision appeared. He stumbled back, shocked, but no blood seeped out.

‘My, my. You are brave, aren’t you?’

Hurried footsteps, the sword clanged to the floor once more, Lucienne gasped, strained, the air closing in her throat as though an invisible hand lay around it.

‘The time has come. I will take her. And you will do nothing. Because you can do nothing. You are powerless. Powerless, against fate,’ she heard another thud, Lucienne spoke no more.

Fear gripped her, she wanted to cry out, and though she could not move, she was acutely aware that something was very, very wrong. Rough hands seized her, and began to drag her body limply. One small tear slipped out from her closed eye, in that moment, she felt its wetness roll down her cheek, all else blurred into the background. Only one thought could come to her as her mind drove into a broken frenzy.

Morpheus. I love you. I love you. I lov-

And then, there were none.

Chapter Text

Lucienne 

One eye snapped open, the other stayed shut, swollen and bruised.

A splitting pain ran through her head, she pulled her hands to her face, urging it to ease. Lucienne lay, awkwardly slumped against the corridor wall, her neck aching, her throat tight and sore. A faint smoke lingered around her, she breathed it in and spluttered weakly, the dryness making her wretch. For a mere moment, she had forgotten where she was, or what she was doing, or why she was there. A finger touched her eye tenderly; she winced as it stung, and recoiled, turning on her side.

Nada’s panther lay motionless against the corridor wall. It’s chest moved slowly up and down, but it lay still. Lucienne sat up with a start, memories flooding back to her. Nada.

She blinked rapidly, sitting up, and gingerly rose to her feet, glancing around. She was alone. Nada was gone. A sharp churn in her stomach. They took her. A glint of a sword caught her eye, and as she stared at it, a horrible despair came to her. The battle has raged on for hours now, maybe longer. When will it end? A hoarse whine and slow movement broke her thoughts, and she directed her gaze towards the panther, which stirred. So they have taken Nada to Hell, presumably. Her chest rose up and down as she stood, thinking, mind racing, shoulder arched straight and aching. The panther limped over to her side, and licked her hand.

Around her, the Dreaming screamed. Sounds had moved much closer than before she was knocked out, it was as if Hell had stepped more intimately inside. If they have taken her to Hell, I must get her back. Morpheus will need to remain, or all will be lost. It needs to be me. Her skin prickled at the thought. The panther licked her hand again.

‘What is it?,’ she asked quietly, turning her hand gently to stroke its head. It made no reply, and only looked up at her with its amber eyes. A thought sprung to her. This is..a Nightmare. It can relay flesh memories. She bent down towards the panther, her hand still touching the top of its head, and spoke directly to it, clearly.

‘Sir,’ sudden emotion came to her then, as she stood alone with the creature, her voice cracked and lump rose within her throat. She pushed her lips together, and paused before continuing.

‘Sir. By time you receive this message, I would have already gone. Nada has been taken by Mephistopheles. They found us, and attacked. I repeat, Nada has been taken,’ she paused, blinking away the tears that threatened to come.

‘Please..please listen to me very carefully. There is a portal to Hell that I know of. I intend to seek it, travel through, and find Nada. I will seal this portal as soon as I enter. Do not attempt to follow. I will not return without her, and as such, I may be gone.. for some time,’ she spoke more forcefully now, ‘You must remain in the Dreaming. Or there will be no home for us to return to,’ she covered her mouth with a trembling hand, breathing in sharply as a small sob escaped her, tears streamed down her cheeks.

’It..it has been an honour and privilege, to serve by your side. I only hope I may do so again. I will see you again, soon. Very soon,’ she blinked, allowing the tears to fall, and withdrew her hand from the panthers head. There is no honour in running. It must be done. Wiping away the tears, she picked up Nadas sword, and adjusted her glasses. The panther cocked its head to one side, as if to say, ‘are you mad?’ She turned to face it once more, and stared.

‘You must deliver my message to Lord Morpheus. It is essential that he understands where I am, and what has happened to Nada,’ she sniffed, and cast a look around. The corridor walls now reflected a faint crimson glow; the fires outside had grown brighter and angrier. Was this the end, or the beginning?

‘The path to paradise is paved in Hell,’ she spoke softly, to herself, as she watched the Dreaming burn around her. She looked at the panther again.

‘Go. Go now and find Lord Morpheus,’ she commanded loudly, urging it to obey. It gave her a strange look, and sat motionless, before it turned away, and disappeared down the corridor. She exhaled. To the library.

Her feet seemed to move with a will on their own, her knees weakly trudging forward. She felt a dizziness wash over her; nothing felt real, the world had ended, but her journey had just begun. The contradictions of life and death. She turned the corner, and the library door lay in sight. In the corner of her eye, a flap of ebony wings..

‘Matthew?’, she gasped, turning and following the raven as it flapped around her.

‘Luce! What happened to you? Where’s Nada?’, he perched himself on her outstretched hand. The sight of a familiar face had caused a rush of emotion within her, she was no longer alone and afraid, even those in their misery find comfort in their companions.

‘They took her..’, her voice cracked, and her eyes swerved his gaze, ‘Mephistopheles. He orchestrated..all of it. He’s taken Nada..I don’t know for sure, but I think he’s taking her to Hell. Where’s Morpheus? What’s happening outside?’

‘The Boss and Desire were out the front of the castle gates when I flew over. The Dreaming’s filling up. They’re everywhere. Then..I saw him rush inside the castle. I haven’t seen him yet, since. Desire is still out the front. They’re keeping the demons at bay, for now, but..’, he cocked his head, and looked at the floor. Lucienne stared.

‘But what? What is it?’

‘They have Fiddlers Green. I saw them dragging him outside, into the swarm. I couldn’t see what happened to him then,’ he paused, then spoke quicker, ‘Cain and Abel are still fighting, though. They’re actually immense. The rage of them..’

She paused, reflecting.

‘So Morpheus is..unaccounted for? He’s within the castle?’

‘Presumably,’ he looked at the library door. ‘What are you doing here?’

She chewed her lip, debating whether to indulge him, if he would try to stop her. Well, I’m determined to go. So it wouldn’t matter anyway. She lifted her chin.

‘I’m going to Hell. I’m going back to get Nada, and to bring her home.’

He was silent for a moment, his black eyes boring into her. It was impossible to know what he was thinking.

‘And I suppose you’ll not let me come with you?’

She shook her head gently.

‘The portal will only take one.’

‘What if I located her myself? I could..I could meet you there? I could keep an eye on her, report back to you? I can pass through realms. I’ve done it before,’ he added quickly, ‘Not with Hell, obviously.. But you’ll need help. If you want to actually bring her back.’

Sighing, she thought about it for a second. If he can cross through realms..he could locate her before me. Then he can guide me to her when I’m there.

‘Very well. But you’ll need to cross over to Hell yourself. I can’t take you with me this way-,’ she paused mid-sentence, the walls around them shook violently; cracks appeared in the corridor floor, as though something was rising from beneath the Dreaming. More dust fell, the trembling continued, it grew louder and louder. Matthew squawked, flapping his wings.

‘Go now! We’re running out of time. Find her, then come for me. We’ll bring her back together,’ she shouted, the walls near beginning to crumble and crack; a terrible dread ran through her as she ran for the library door, grabbing the handle with a shaky hand and twisting it. She glanced back quickly and watched Matthew in the distance, stretching his long wings out. 

Nada was still missing, Matthew had fled, and Morpheus was using the last of his power to hold off the demons. Her skin prickled. Not just demons. The pocket in the dreaming, which has been torn open out of brute force, had allowed the seepage of all Hells patrons. They had come in the hundreds. Demons, with twisted faces, horns that pushed through their skulls; damned souls had spilled through the void, wreaking havoc, searching for any form of life they could latch onto, like a bloodied parasite that had not tasted for centuries. Creatures she had no name for, that were part animal, part human, or somewhere in between.

The library was still, and just as she had left it. It felt like a lifetime ago now, since she had sat here, drinking tea and chatting to Matthew. It was darker than she’d anticipated, but she didn’t dare to light a torch, or spark a fire. The windows hung open and brazen, and outside, the molten fires and chaos raged on. Someone could easily peer in, or catch sight of light inside. Perhaps one small candle would be fine. Her hands drew a shaky match, and lit the wick of one that remained on the desk. I know this room as well as I know myself. If I need a fire to see it, I’m truly blinded. Her hands pushed forward, feeling in the dimness; her feet shuffled over to the window. She didn’t know what drew her to it. Time was of the essence. Nada needed her. Matthew had already left and Morpheus was unaccounted for. So..why did she stand there, motionless, blankly staring at the dreamscape before her? Was it the utter death and devastation that she could not tear away from? Or was it the vast contrast in the view she had grown so accustomed to? Where sunshine rested, and long grass softly swayed, and dreamers relaxed and magic grew, brown and bloodied mud now squelched beneath leather boots; the moon looked menacingly on, demons crowded, eating corpses, feasting on fingernails and picking out ligaments in their teeth. And the screaming. A hollow, hollow sound that never ceased. Did she linger, simply because she was watching her home burn to smouldering ash? It’s almost mesmerising. Is that not something anyone would do..if they were at the same mercy I am at? She peered a little longer, watching a large snake-like creature slither among the dead. A giant black serpent, scales of iron, teeth of obsidian, eyes of fire. It opened its mouth by a fraction, strings of flesh and muscle pulling in between, as though it has enjoyed a fresh meal only moments before. The Nidhogg.

It gnawed on the corpses that lay in Hell, souls having been extracted and subject to the Wheel or some other form of torture. She chewed her lip, her stomach full of adrenaline, her blood curdling at the noises that lay outside of the castle walls. Her hand tightened around the handle of the sword.

Do not despair. Do not give yourself to these unnatural creatures, machine men, with machine minds, and machine hearts.

It was growing colder by the minute, and she had wasted enough time watching. Watching will not change it. Only action. Ones destiny is determined by ones actions. She turned quickly, her cloak flying behind her; she slammed the sword roughly on the desk and grabbed the ladders, yanking them closer.

It is here somewhere. It must be. Anywhere, anywhere it must be. 

The bookshelf was so vast, it was impossible to know where to start. Rain pelted heavily on the long ornate windows, fires blazed in the distance, and then more screams. She was unable to help herself, and ran to the window, looking at the vast landscape of the Dreaming, her nails digging into the base of her palms.

An audible gasp. Her fingers recoiled. Her eyes widened. Fear spread.

Fiddlers Green had been set ablaze; trees of life destroyed, its oak perpetually burning, the ground lay thick with sludge and ash. Demons ran wild and freely over the greenery, laughing, tormenting, they came with axes and began to swing them wildly, at anything that crossed their path. A shiver ran up her spine, but she felt sweat dampen the back of her neck at the same time; she peered closer, Fiddlers Green himself had been taken and tied to a tree, he squirmed, trying to resist - they poured a liquid at his feet - and lowered their torches, it could not be—

She tore her eyes away, and focused back onto the books she needed, watching will not make it stop. She started from the beginning of the lowest shelf, anywhere was a good place to start, but start she must. Her fingers ran seamlessly along each spine, eyes sweeping over title after titles, each becoming a blur, Mythological Beings, Potions of Clarity, Clocks and Clouds and How to Charm them - her fingers swept faster now, her eyes more frantic, reading as fast as she could, spending less than a second on each - where is it? - she halted. A broken spine, a black hardback.

The Wheel.

She had found it. She yanked it down from the shelf, and opened it, pages sweeping under her fingers. This was it. This was the book that would change everything. Now, to find Nada. And to reverse this. She kicked her ladders aside, and turned to leave for the alcoves where she could open the portal, before giving the library one last glance. On the shelf, she noticed she had left the candle burning. Quickly, she strode over to blow it out. It lay directly beside the spot the book had been, and a small gap now filled that space.

As she bent to blow out the flame, a gold flicker of italic font caught her eye.

The candlelight had illuminated it. A large book, with a fully intact spine, a navy blue.

Had it always been there? On the spine, a strange symbol. She peered closer, adjusting her spectacles. She knew every book that lay in this library, like the back of her hand. For her entire existence, she had curated and formulated it herself, pulling together stacks of stories, keeping endless catalogues and records of what resided. 

On the spine, in gold italics, a title.

The Wonders of Delight

Next to it, a small daisy, also painted in gold, withering. 

She stared at it for a moment. More screams came from the distance; thunder rumbled, rain pelted. She snapped back, and pulled the book from the shelf, curious. Could it have been sent to aid the Dreaming? As she opened the cover, a cold torrent blew from its pages, prickling her skin, she shut the book with a snap, a horrible feeling of unease slithered into her stomach.

The candle suddenly flickered, and blew out, leaving a trail of smoke twirling towards the ceiling. She felt her muscles tense. Her back remained against the bookshelf. She bit her lip, not waning to turn, some primal instinct had frozen her feet. Something..was wrong. The air suddenly felt squeezed, claustrophobic, tighter. A shudder involuntarily ran through her; it felt as thought something breathed coldly down her neck. Something is in here, with me.

An eerie stillness came upon the library, the door slammed, and she stood, frozen, back against the bookshelf. She looked out of the window, the blazes of the Dreaming reflecting in the wet of her eyes. A cold feeling had taken her, she felt as if she had been dropped in icy water.

She knew then, she would not be leaving the library.

A bitter dread filled her heart. How will they know, if I have the book? She felt tears prickle at her eyes, a lump rose in her throat, her heart pounded through her chest. Her mind flashed. Who does an atheist pray to, in their time of utter desperation? What help could come then? 

God help me. Help the Dreaming.

Then, a sharp grip of a hand came upon the back of her shoulder.

Her breath hitched, her heart almost stopped, she turned, wide-eyed, one hand still clutching The Wheel, the other gripping Nada’s sword. A long, jaggered, shadowy arm had reached out from the bookshelf. It was stealthy and soundless, as black as night, smoke pulling from its shadowy fingertips, the ends of which were sharp and ragged; blood had began to seep from where its fingers had cut into Lucienne’s shoulder.

Lucienne opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. She wanted to run, pull away, fight, but she froze,  still and unnatural. Two hands had crept upon her now, both shoulders had been latched on.

One final image etched in the forefront of her mind.

The Wheel. 

And then, it came full force, snatching her, soundless and swift. She dropped the book, pages softly fluttering. The library lay still and empty, with not a soul in sight.  

She was gone. As if she had never been.

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

It called for him again, and again, and again.

He stood in the study, rigid, stuck to the spot. No. Not yet, he answered. But it grew restless. He felt it in his bones. The helm now firmly placed on his shoulders, he glanced around, and briefly thought about the last time he was in this study with Nada. His eyes darted to the broken lyre that hung amongst the wall casings; his skin prickled. Hours had now passed since Hell had first seeped through the Dreaming, and the waking world would suffer for it too, this he knew all too well. What would he do? Another voice instantly followed. He would follow her, to the ends of this lifetime and the next. And then he would look back. He had often wondered, tortuously, why Orpheus had looked back, why, why he was unable to resist..

But then, its always in the little things, where the love lies. Grabbing an extra coat for rainy days, in case they forgot theirs. Adding two sugars in their tea, even though they insist on one, but you know they like two better. The ‘be careful’ that lingers in the back of your throat, whenever they run an errand. Looking back. To see if they are still there. I understand it so much better now, my son. A slow exhale escaped his lips. Restraint. I need strategy and restraint.

He needed to find Nada and Lucienne, but he needed to protect the core of the Dreaming too. If the demons reached the core, and it became infected by Hell, all those in the waking world would suffer like they have never known before. It wouldn’t simply be Nightmares that roam above. It would be Hell on Earth. He turned, and leaving the study far behind him, made his way to the Great Hall. This was the last he had laid eyes on them.

The door creaked upon on his arrival, still empty, the battle still raging on outside. His eyes swept the room quickly, looking for anything that might give him a sign of life. His gaze snagged on the thrones. Underneath his, he saw the waxing-crescent moon slightly pulled upright. They found the passageway. A small anticipation grew within him, a bright and delicate hope; could he have found them first? Quick and long strides took him to it, and with a flick of his hand the throne was pushed aside, he peered underneath nervously.

Gentles dreams and weeping shadowlings glanced up at him, initially surprised, and then nervously joyful. They think that it is over. He bent low, and peered deeper within the passage; there was no sign of Nada or Lucienne. A deeper, more subtler panic now eroded him, gripping his stomach. The dreams below began to hum joyously.

‘Shhh,’ he bent lower now, putting a finger to his lips. ‘Do you know where they went? Nada, and Lucienne? Do you remember?’, he whispered, gazing at them all, hope quickly draining from him. They settled instantly, but looked at each other, confused. He quietened them hastily, and shut the passage door, moving the throne back in place. Outside, the sun was rising on the Dreaming; hues of blood-orange and crimson flickered among the horizon. Colours of war.

A quick pace took him out of the Great Hall, and outside the castle gates. Desire was still stood at the front, the crowds below obeying his command. They seemed..tired. Small creases developed around the eyes, their hair ragged and alive, small cuts across their cheekbones, as though glass had thrown near. Yet, they had stayed. The crowds had thinned out, less of them seemed to be here now. Countless bodies, friend and foe alike, lay strewn across the fields, churned in the mud, bloodied and still. He curled his lip as he took in the scene of death and devastation. His people. Decimated. Assaulted. Defiled.

‘Dream,’ Desire called out, their gaze not pulling away from the field. It was..eerie, to see it like that. He approached Desire, and noticed a black panther sitting by their side, waiting patiently. He recognised it instantly. Nada’s Nightmare. His mind tripped over questions and possibilities, but as he looked at it, silent and foreboding, he realised; she must be alive. The Nightmare was made entirely outside of his creation, and came from her. If it lived, then so did she. A small wave of relief washed over him. The worst had not come.

‘Brother. You are still here?,’ though a statement, it came as a question. Desire gave a faint smile, and tilted their head.

‘I am. Your eyes do not deceive you.’

‘Why?’

Desire tutted. ‘Don’t ask me why. You know I hate sentimentalities,’ they paused, glancing at the panther, ‘this came for you. I am sure it was seeking you out.’

He glanced at the panther, regally sat at Desires feet, and beckoned it closer. The air around them blew softer than it had; in the distance, demons had begun to retreat back through the seams. The panther padded closer.

‘They are..retreating,’ Desire looked out at the Dreamscape; Morpheus bent low behind them, a long hand out-stretched towards the creature…

Upon his touch, it recoiled instantly, and began to wretch violently. He withdrew his hand and stepped back; Desire turned around, startled by the movement. Once more, the panther began to contort, its skin sliding off its bones, its spine violently snapping, eyes melting..

‘Dream, what is that?,’ a sharp panic had taken to the undertones of Desire, as they stepped back but put out a hand, as if to repel it; Morpheus gently pulled them back.

‘Wait!,’ both of them paused, watching it take shape. For a second, it merely appeared as a mass of skin and bones, horribly blotched together, as if decompressed - then - it began to take firmer shape, a head and spine grew, dark skin was pulled over, a pair of half moon spectacles appeared -

The Nightmare had twisted and contorted into a less-sharp, less-defined version of Lucienne. It resembled her, undeniably, but it was only an imitation of her. His heart raced in his chest. A flesh memory. He realised then she must have sent it herself, to him. Nada had not sent it. Lucienne had. So where was Nada? A desperate sinking feeling pitted to his stomach as he tried to swallow down the nausea. It opened its mouth, almost mechanically, its jaw clenching unnaturally in its movement.

‘..Time you receive this message, I would have already gone…Nada has been taken..’, it yelled, voice hoarse and distorted, ‘..portal..do not attempt to follow..’, he heard Desire tense beside him, but he remained fixed on the Nightmare, his teeth grinding slowly.

‘..You must remain in the Dreaming..or they’ll be no home for us to come back to..,’ the Nightmare convulsed violently, a choking sound of a sob escaped it. He felt as though his body had been drenched in icy water. She had been crying when she recorded this message. She had been alone.

‘It..it has been an honour and a privilege..to serve by your side… I will see you again, very soon..’, another heart-wrenching sob escaped it, and it looked at Morpheus, now finished in delivering its message. He stared at it for a moment, and it began to contort back to its original form. A blankness had taken his mind. He could not think, thought evaded him, and in the depths of this emptiness, a raw wrath began to bubble. The more he tried to think, the blanker it got. Only anger remained, chaining him to reality. 

‘Dream?’, Desire asked, tentatively, a gentle touch on his shoulder as he continued to stare into nothingness.

His eyes, a will of their own, surveyed the castle behind him, his head turning with his gaze. Stones walls presented like missing teeth; holes had been cast and forced through. Tall towers of the east block had been almost completely destroyed, beautifully carved wooden windows and gates now bearing black scarred smoke, charred and undone. The field was no different. Trees had been stripped of their greenery and bark, alive and violated. His eyes flickered. A green flat-cap lay trodden into the thickly churned mud, bloodied. Fiddlers Green. Nearby, a charred corpse lay tied to a tree.

Desire had followed his gaze.

‘Dream,’ they said again, slightly more desperate this time, ‘We can reverse this. We can. We’ll get Nada and Lucienne back. Let me help you. We can call our siblings -‘

‘Our siblings?’

It came as a hollow whisper. His nose wrinkled slightly, disgust written all over his face, his lip curled. Anger had seeped from his words, clawing at the edges, barely given admission, but a struggle to keep out. Desire only stared, almost nervously.

‘From this day onwards, I have only one sibling,’ he turned and bowed slightly, resolute. ‘You have done me a great honour. I shall not forget it,’ he continued to stare blanket at his Kingdom. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done. That was how it went, wasn’t it? The prideful King, brought to his knees by divine intervention, and just as his love had returned, just as the change in the wind had blown - it was gone. In the blink of an eye. Quicker than falling asleep.

Pale streams of sunlight spilled across the Dreaming; many of Hells patrons had returned through the void. If they were leaving now, what will they return with? More force than before? Could the Dreaming endure it? He breathed outwardly, feeling slightly light-headed as an idea began to form in his mind. She was gone. But she was not lost. He had heard mortals express many a time in the waking world: the most dangerous man is one who has nothing to lose, but stands everything to gain. The Fates had cryptically expressed she would take up a throne. Did it have to be Hells? Was the prophecy ever about Hells throne, or the Dreamings? 

‘So, what will we do now?’, Desire cut in, tentatively once more. Morpheus continued to stare out into the realm, his mind ticking like broken clockwork. The realm can wait. He could..unleash it, as protection, while he was gone. His eyes glanced at the black panther that lay lazily at Desires feet, licking its paws. Now, we pave the path to paradise, beginning in Hell.

‘They have taken her from me. They believe that in doing this, I will bend the knee. They think I’ll grieve quietly in my realm. Mourning her loss, feeling sorry for myself,’ he glanced at Desire, a new fire had been lit within him, a will and determination so unshakeable that he felt his fingertips crackle in electricity.

‘They’ve assaulted my realm. Slaughtered my people. Stolen my love,’ he spoke quicker now, ragged breaths, ‘They’d have me bend the knee? And what next? You? Death? Destiny? Hell, where dreams go to die, where torture is a routine sport, where fire perpetually burns? Worship that? Never.’ His breath was ragged, his chest tight. He turned fully to Desire.

‘I will go to Hell, and I will collect what is mine. As I cannot be sure that the Dreaming will be safe while I am gone, and as I do not know how long I will be gone, I will call it,’ Desire gave him a questionable look, and stuttered a nervous laugh.

‘You-,’ they rolled their eyes, as if in disbelief, ‘You would call that which is forbidden? Have you gone mad, Morpheus? You know why it is forbidden. It has a will that is unbendable. You can’t control it. And what if it doesn’t go back into that nice little prison you trapped it in, centuries past?’

‘It is of no consequence. It will bend to my will. My will is fate, Brother,’ a pause, then,‘what would you have me do? Accept it? Take it lying down? You know there is no honour in that. And you know I’d never do it.’

Desire stared for a moment, then sighed. ‘There is no point in arguing with you when your mind is set. When do we leave?’

Morpheus stared at them, incredulously.

‘We? I would never ask you to accompany me. No, your journey ends here. You have your own realm to govern, and you’ve been gone long enough.’

Desire gave a snort. ‘Morpheus. If you do not succeed, then Hell will have free reign over the Dreaming for the foreseeable. That’s one thing. But what if it doesn’t stop there? Like you said yourself, its ambition knows no bounds. It will come for other realms. It has a hunger that cannot be satisfied. So,’ they placed a hand on his shoulder, ‘I am coming. Get used to the idea. And, be sure about releasing The Unraveller. Once its out, there’s no saying it will go back in.’ Another pause hung between them; the skies now relished in light once more. He looked at the sun, rising steadily, bright and beautiful amongst the chaos. A quiet had set around them.

‘Sometimes..the only way out is to go in. It must be done. I can’t risk those that remain. The Unraveller will ensure that protection. I will deal with the consequences upon my return.’ He turned his back to the skies, and stretched out his hands, his fingertips stretching, as if to touch the sun above.

‘Unraveller. Un-maker of all things. Hear me now,’ he hung his head low, eyes closed, whispering, a desperate ache at the edges of his call.

‘I call to you. Rise to me,’ for a mere moment, nothing happened. The stillness remained. Then, a deep rumbling came from below. The ground shook as though an earthquake had taken hold, cracks appeared from the castle gates, deep and gouged. A silky smoke drifted out from underneath, seeping. Then, a shadowy flame, black as coal, flowed out of the cracks. It came in abundance, seeping out, more and more, until the rumbling ceased, and the ground lay still once more.

In front of him, a collapse of shadow began to merge into human form. It had no eyes or features, only a wide definitive smile that curved unnaturally at the edges. For a second it looked as though it was deciding on what shape to take. It cast its look to Morpheus, and in imitation, grew taller, and more lean, as though becoming his personal shadow. Wisps of black smoke seeped from all around its body; it was total abyss. It cocked its head slightly, smiling as it did so, and black tufts of thick hair sprouted from its skull. Do not attempt to intimidate me, Un-maker. Morpheus felt his heart flutter a little faster as it took his shape. It was a bold creature. Bold..and free.

‘I will take my leave of the Dreaming,’ he said, slowly, ‘I appoint you as the sole guardian of this realm, and protector of its inhabitants,’ he stepped closer to the shadow now, it only tilted his head, listening. ‘As sole protector, you will destroy anything and anyone that attempts to enter this realm, with the intent to harm us. You will show no mercy. And you will not fail,’ he held his gaze for a moment, before the Unraveller let out a wide, cat-like grin, nodding its head. It seemed pleased to have been released from its cell. And happier so, that it had permission to wreak havoc. An uneasy feeling settled within him as he watched it grinning, nodding enthusiastically. He pushed the feeling away. It had to be done. He had to get her back. By any means necessary. He stepped back, and watched it collapse into multiple shadows; within seconds, it was gone. Desire turned to him.

‘You know, Morpheus. I have just caught wind of something rather delicious,’ they grinned, not unlike the one he had just seen on the Unraveller. He arched an eyebrow, and narrowed his eyes.

‘What is it?’

‘One of my informants has just told me..Hell is preparing for a coronation. A ball. Which means-‘

‘That Nada will be there?’

‘-Yes, yes. But, we will need to blend and fit in. I’m told the theme is masquerade. That’s where they are all going,’ they gestured a hand around, ‘That’s why they’ve left. After the coronation, they will return. Undoubtedly.’

So, he was telling the truth. About wanting a Queen in Hell. A family. His jaw clenched imperceptibly; a thought came to him.

‘Desire, do you know anything of Mephistopheles? He caught me in my study. He seemed to be under the belief that one of our siblings murdered his family, when he was a man?’

Desire shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting away from Morpheus, their grin faltering for a second. Morpheus stared at them, eyebrows arched, waiting for an answer. They clearly knew something.

‘You’d have to ask our sister about that, Dream. It really isn’t my story to tell. And it was a long, long time ago. Other than snippets, I really don’t know anything about it. Or him,’ they said, a little too quickly.

‘But-‘

‘We don’t have much time. The coronation will be happening soon. Very soon,’ they turned, arms stretched and breathing in, the mask back on, voice light and seductive once more.

‘And, as I am told the theme is masquerade.. We will need to find you something to wear,’ they looked him up and down, ‘you can hardly show up like that. Luckily for you, I have a very wide selection..’

They were right. Time was ticking by. Nada was still missing. And Lucienne? Potentially in Hell already. They could talk later. For now, the past was irrelevant. Only the future remained. He swirled his hand in gentle circular motions in front of him, a blue shimmer of a portal slowly materialising.

‘I will not allow you to dress me. I’m not a child,’ he said, over the motions. Desire gave a sultry laugh.

‘Oh please. Don’t humour me. If you want to get her back, you will need to fit in. And you should be thanking me. This is my natural element. Masquerade, leather and seduction..is it bad to say I’m a little..exhilarated at the thought? This will be my first ball in Hell,’ she smiled, eyes drifting off with their thoughts. The portal was now complete, and awaiting their passage. Morpheus looked at them, with soft resignation.

‘And hopefully our last. Shall we?’

Together, they stepped through, and left the Dreaming behind.

Chapter Text

Nada 

She shifted her head to recline more comfortably, nuzzling her face into the softness of the pillows. Beams of sunlight streamed through the curtains and spilled across the bed. Half-awake, half-asleep, she blinked groggily at the sounds of birdsong.

‘Good morning,’ a familiar voice warmed beside her in bed. She blinked again, more awake this time, looking at the ceiling, then glancing around the room. Burnt orange bedsheets, mustard-coloured curtains, softness. She turned towards the voice, brows knitted.

Morpheus lay beside her, half-naked, tucked under the quilt. His hair spilt over his face, his tall cheekbones catching in the sunlight.

Morpheus?

She turned to face him; her body ached all over. A strangeness washed over her as she squinted at him..a feeling you get, when you walk into a room, and almost immediately forget what you went in there for in the first place. Like writing a list, and finally getting it to a pen and paper, only to be unable to recall what is was you wanted to write down, and you sit there blankly staring at the space between. The more you try and remember, the hazier it gets.

‘Morpheus? Where..is this our..where are we?’

It was almost difficult to get the words out and string them together. Think. You need to think. Remember. But, remember what? Had she always been here? He slinked an arm around her, running his fingers through her hair. She shuddered slightly; his touch felt cold, unfamiliar.

‘You blacked out last night. You’ve done nothing but sleep since,’ his fingers continued to weave through her hair as he yawned, ‘This is our bedroom, silly. God, how much did you drink last night?’ He laughed lightly, and sat up. Her eyes followed his figure as he stood and stretched. On the back of his left arm, a small black mark. The base was a landscape figure of eight, with the cross coming out of it, only it was double-crossed. She scrunched her eyes, rubbing them.

‘I didn’t know you had a tattoo?’

He turned, confused, before catching sight of it. He pointed and laughed again.

‘This?,’ he turned and opened the curtains; sunlight shone through. ‘You really must have drank more than I thought. I’ve always had this. Remember?,’ he yawned again. ‘I’m off to take a shower. Will you watch Jacob?’

Her head jerked round to him, eyes furrowed. Who? He caught the look on her face, and gave an exasperated sigh, leaning against the doorframe.

‘Don’t tell me you don’t remember your own son. No more wine for you. Anyway. He’s up. Probably will want breakfast soon,’ he turned, whistling as he did, towel thrown over his shoulder. A small unease lay in her stomach, slithering, growing. None of this seemed familiar, yet it was all so familiar at the same time. Drinking? I don’t remember drinking. Another thought. I don’t remember anything. Her mind fizzed and buzzed, something lingered under the surface. A gut instinct that she just couldn’t put her finger on.

‘Mama?’

Her eyes swivelled round, her head turning towards the call. A small boy, thin and little, stood in the frame of the doorway, sunlight catching the tips of his hair. He looked just like a little Morpheus. No more than four or five, surely? He wore blue, linen t-shirt, and a pay of brown corduroy shorts; his bare feet padded softly in the carpet. He gripped the doorframe with one hand, while the other rubbed his eye, as if he too had only just awoken. For a moment, Nada could not breath. Her heart jolted, as if electric prodded at it, sharp and alive. She gazed into his eyes. He was Morpheus all over. Except for them. Her eyes, dark and unwavering, stared back at her, wide and expectant.

She blinked and moved her mouth to speak, but no words came, no thought rendered. My son? How can I not remember my own son? He took her silence for an answer, and padded over to the bed, climbing in beside her, and curled up into her side - as though he had done it a million times before. So routined. Small and warm, his weight pressed against her ribs as her snuggled further in; and still, she could not summon a single memory of him. She swallowed, her mouth ran dry. She couldn’t even remember his name.

‘Can you..’, she managed, ‘Can you tell me what your name is?’

The boy gave a light giggle, high pitched and loud. He fidgeted with his hands in front of him, not looking at her.

‘You know what my name is. Papa says you’re always joking like that.’

Papa.

The unease within her churned at the word; it landed like a stone in her gut, and it tugged at her heart like strings on a cello. The sound of running water came from the bathroom, accompanied with a light whistling. Morpheus.. Whistling? It was nothing like she had known. But then, she felt she didn’t know much, in this strange, unfamiliar place. The boy started clapping his softly, singing to Morphues’ whistling. She looked back at him, goosebumps prickling at her skin.

A trembling hand reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind the boys ear’ his skin was warm under her fingers. Real. Warm and real. He directed his gaze up at her then, and his face cracked into a wide smile. A trusting smile. She felt her mouth run dry once more as nausea rose in her throat.

‘Oh..I know, I know,’ she whispered, forcing a smile, ‘I just wanted to hear you say it?’, she looked at him, encouragingly, but strained.

The boy pressed his cheek to her side, his eyes rolling, and he sighed.

‘My name is Jacob.’

Her chest tightened painfully. Jacob. A name she had never spoken, never chosen, never given - never heard. But, as he said it, and she thought it over and over, it began to settle in her mind with a strange inevitability, as thought she had always known it. She chewed her lip, and stilled against his affection. It doesn’t sound like a name I would choose. It doesn’t sound like a name Morpheus would ever chose either.

No memories came to her when she commanded them; no difficult nights of newborn crying, no first steps, no tantrums, no cradling..nothing. Her mind fizzed time and time again, as though the thoughts and memories were like bees, trapped under a glass, buzzing to get out. Static. The harder she pushed to remember, the more difficult it was to think. A faint throb came to her temple, and she glanced down at the little boy, cosied into her side. Beneath it all, she reached out and stroked his hair anyway, mind still fuzzy, the strange feeling still washing through her, like a faint nostalgia. Silence fell between them as birdsong continued, and Morpheus whistled the same tune. Repeatedly. A small irritation stirred within her, and the snake of unease curled in her stomach.

This is..my life? It must be. And yet-

The boy sighed softly into sleep, and she felt the full weight of him against her ribs. Such a delicate feeling. Something that should feel natural. Wanted. Normal. But as she closed her eyes, a single thought rose into her mind, sharp and unbidden.

I don’t even love you. Because I don’t remember.

The water suddenly stopped, and Morpheus strode out, towel wrapped around his waist. His body was covered in droplets, but his hair..looked dry. She narrowed her eyes, observing, and her grip on Jacob unknowingly tightened. It looked like Morpheus. It sounded like Morpheus. So why did the distrust linger so persistently? It wasn’t the loud type of distrust that screams in your face, it was a subtle, faint echo, that rebounded over and over again in your mind, urging you: something is wrong.

‘Shall we have breakfast?,’ he looked at his watch; had it always been there? ‘I’ll have to be off to work soon.’ He walked along into the kitchen, out of sight. She shook the boy gently.

‘It’s time to wake up now,’ she whispered, stroking his hair gently. ‘Breakfast time,’ she lifted him, and followed Morpheus into the kitchen. It was a similar design to the bedroom. Beige colours, light streaming in from the windows. Marble counter-tops, cream carpets..she glanced around, taking it all in. None of this is me. It was cosy, and comfortable. But it was so…neat? Nothing seemed out of place, every line accounted for; fresh fruit lay, shining in the fruit bowl on the side, coffee brewed on the stove. So many enjoyable aromas, so much pleasantry in the light and the colours. It was a house. But my home? Harder to believe.

‘So,’ Morpheus started, fidgeting with his watch, ‘I’m heading out to work today. We have some new patients in the ward. They’ll need evaluating quickly,’ he took a seat at the table, and sipped his coffee. Fitted neatly around his shoulders, he wore a dark rouge suit, trim and smart. Nada placed Jacob down, and began to pour herself a coffee.

‘Patients?’, the teaspoon chinked gently against her glass. She didn’t look at him.

‘Darling. I mentioned this last week. New patients were due in. And its my job to get them back on track. To give them sweeter dreams,’ he said lightly, still sipping his coffee, flicking through a newspaper. She continued to stir her coffee, adding sugar, her mind in free fall. Sweeter dreams? Darling? Since when did he talk with such..casualness? She cradled the coffee in her hands and brought it to her lips, watching him.

‘And indulge me. What is it, that you do with your patients?’

He flicked the page of the newspaper, not looking up, and sighed. ‘Well, I’m not sure darling. I’m a Sleep Therapist, so what do you think?’, his tone was light enough, but there was an irritation underneath, she was sure of it. So that’s how it is. She sipped her coffee, and almost choked. Instead of sweetness, a sharp bitter taste roamed. She coughed, and placed the cup back on the counter.

‘And these patients of yours, what do you give them, to help them sleep?’ His answer came sharper and quicker than she expected.

‘Oblivion.’

Oblivion. Her eyebrows creased slightly; her finger tapped lightly against the cup. Jacob pulled at her leg.

‘I’m hungry!’

‘Well, that’s my cue,’ he stood up, folded the newspaper and tucked his chair under the table. ‘I’ll be back at five. I assume dinner will be ready?’ He swung a jacket over his shoulders. Nada arched an eyebrow.

‘Since when was this my sole duty, to serve you dinner on schedule?’

The room tense slightly, and he held her gaze for a moment. She felt an odd nervousness drop in her stomach as he stepped closer, his voice low and rough.

‘Since you agreed to be my wife.’

She held his gaze a little longer, before he dropped it, and plastered a smile back on his face. Picking up a small leather satchel, he turned towards the door, and waved goodbye.  Jacob had returned to the table, now playing with a doll. Nada caught a glimpse of it and peered closer. It has no face. Creepy. She shook the feeling and turned towards the stove. Breakfast. Right. On the counter, half a dozen eggs, and on the stove a frying pan. She blinked twice. Had they always been there? She hadn’t noticed them at first..

‘What about eggs on toast?’, she spoke, and turned the stove. Jacob clapped happily in the background. I’ll take that as a yes. She reached for the eggs, took one, and cracked it over the pan. A golden yellow oak spilled out, and she hummed quietly to herself, the strangeness easing now. To her right, a baby-blue radio sat. She tuned it and music ran through the kitchen. Jacob clapped again and giggled. Despite herself, and amidst the strangeness that was now easing, she felt a tug at the corners of her mouth as she listened to him laugh. She reached for a second egg, the first still sizzling, and cracked it over the pan. Nothing came out. It was just..shell. Dry, empty, light. She picked up another; it was the same. Another. Another. They were all the same. The unease quickly returned; she felt a slightly sweat at the back of her neck, a nausea jumped to her throat. As if it didn’t exist.

As if on cue, Jacob yawned once more. Disorientated with a trace of faint panic, she scooped him up and put him back to bed. Better there. Until I figure this out. He didn’t protest; and soon he slept soundlessly. She drifted back into the kitchen, the radio still playing softly, the sun still endlessly shining. The light was beginning to give her a headache. Annoying and unbearable. She turned and leaned against the counter, trying to think, to recall a single memory, the faintest detail. Then, a rapid tapping came from outside. She turned towards the window.

Against the glass, a huge black raven tapped furiously, its wings stretching out, flapping. Nada stared. A raven? Then, a sudden memory, painful and sharp, broke in her mind. Her grandmother; a flashback.

‘Ravens - people say that are omens. But not always, Nada. They are also a symbol of strength. And they are intelligent beasts.’

Slowly, she approached the window more closely, and stared out at the bird. It still beat relentlessly against the glass; small splintered cracks began to appear. She glanced further back; a garden seemed to stretch out the front, with some smaller houses around. It was so..modern. The raven did not stop. As soon as it had caught a glimpse of her looking, it only increased in its ferocity, pelting harder and harder. With a quick pace, she slipped some shoes on and opened the front door; to her right the raven stopped instantly, and cocked its head, looking at her. Her heart beat a little faster. What does it want?

To her left, a neighbour was washing down his flowerbeds. Nada gave a small wave, uncertain. He looked at her but gave no response, and began to look around the street. She flipped her head back to the raven. It had its head cocked in the same way, as if seizing her up. The strangeness that had temporarily ceased seduced her once more. Nothing felt real. Everything seemed right…but just off. Then without warning, the raven took flight once more, and disappeared into the skies. Inside, Jacob started crying. She turned, walking towards the door, when a hand firmly wrapped itself around her wrist. She gasped.

The neighbour she had waved at moments before now stood directly behind her, his hand gripped tightly, his eyes placed on her.

‘It’s time to wake up, Nada.’

Goosebumps prickled against her skin, her breath quickened, irritation clashed with fear. She was not accustomed to feeling afraid. And she did not like it. Not one bit. She clawed at his hands, trying to prise his fingers off, backing away.

‘What do you think you’re doing? Get off me!,’ she snatched her arm back, but he remained passive, still, silent. Menacing.

‘It’s time to wake up. Morpheus needs you. Lucienne needs you,’ he stepped forward just one step, measured and precise, his voice barely a whisper, ‘The Wheel awaits.’

She backed away, not taking her eyes from him, and once inside the house, slammed the door shut, back against it, breathing heavily. Lucienne? She thought harder, her chest tight, her blood pumping. Where have I heard that name before? And Morpheus? Morpheus is here..

She crawled into the living-room and peered out of the curtains, head cast down, crouching. A brief sigh of relief. He was gone. She bit her nails, chewing, thinking.

For the remainder of the day, she spent pacing up and down the soft carpets, trying to think and remember, but each time it felt close to remembering, nothing came, and it was harder than when she first started. It was as if a push-and-pull existed in her mind. She sat in the kitchen, glancing at the clock with no numbers. It looked as though it could be near quarter to five o’clock. Jacob had spent most of the day sleeping. She had tried to wake him a few times, but he lay in a deep slumber. Do children his age usually sleep for that long? The neighbour she had encountered earlier in the day had not come back, and the raven that pelted had yet to appear. She nervously glanced at the clock again; it was almost five, she was sure. No dinner had been prepared. No food had been left in the cupboards. Would he be angry?

Tap. Tap. Tap-tap.

Her heard swivelled round to the window, and saw once more, the raven. Mingled curiosity and nervousness swirled within her as she raced to the front-door, not even bothering with shoes. The sun still shone brightly, at the same position it had been in since she had awoken that morning. She scrunched her eyes and looked upwards at the bird, majestic and prideful, it hovered in the air, its wings creating a current of wind. In its beak, it clutched a long, black cloak. She squinted at it, wondering where she had seen it before. The raven dropped it to the ground; it collapsed in a soft heap upon the grass. She stared at it, not moving. The raven got closer and squawked for the first time, loud and high-pitched.

‘What?’

It cocked its head at her, and began to peck at her feet; she jumped, trying to avoid his beak. It was sharper than she expected.

‘Ouch! Stop that. What do you want?’ It pecked more and more, before she shouted, losing her temper, her nerves getting the better of her. ‘For Gods’ sake, what is it?’ The bird stopped, and turned its head towards the cloak that lay crumpled on the ground, a few feet in front. 

‘What? This?,’ she approached the cloak, hand out-stretched, ‘You want me to pick up this?’ The bird sqwarked, flapping his wings. She reached out and no sooner had her finger-tips touched the smooth fabric, her head violently arched upwards, her eyes rolling, her body coiled as though an invisible force gripped her - a flood of memories unleashed its banks within her mind -

‘..Dance with me..’, Morpheus stretched out a hand, they were in a small cosy bar, a man strung his guitar on stage in front of them, the music took them; another memory flashed; A black panther stalked near two large doors, she was in the Great Hall again, distance rumbles came from above, Hell had descended on the Dreaming; the memory shifted once more; she looked up at the sky above, beautiful strokes of blues and purples, yellow-oval stars, a banquet with swollen fruits, Lucienne in deep conversation with the guest.. Lucienne, again, a blurry hand stretched in front of her, the swing of a silver sword..a voice that rang out, dark, cold and final; “the time has come.. I will take her”; and then, stronger, overwhelming thoughts.. Morpheus, I love you, I love you, I lov-

She gasped threw head forwards, gasping, her body seemingly released from an invisible and indefensible grip; sweat pooled under her eyes, her teeth chattered, and she knew. The veil had been lifted; the blur cleared. None of this was real. She looked down quickly, her hands still clutching the long black robe. Morpheus’ cloak. The one she had been wearing before they had taken her. Her shoulders ached more than ever, hair stuck to her face. She looked around wildly, and caught sight of the raven.

‘Matthew?’

The raven squawked loudly, flapping its wings, and hopped over to her, nuzzling his face into the palm of her hand. She stroked him absent-mindedly, glancing around, trying to steady herself. From inside the house, she heard the back door close, and Morpheus calling out. She looked at Matthew.

‘But..’, her head turned, wide eyed, ‘If I am here, and Morpheus remains in the Dreaming..who is that?’ A slow realisation dawned on her; a horror lingered in her mind. They took me. That’s what he said. Took me..where? If this isn’t the Dreaming, then it must be..

‘No,’ she whispered to Matthew, who slowly nodded his head, seemingly unable to speak. A trembling hand covered her mouth as she stifled her fear; Morpheus - or whatever it was - called again. Think. Get up. Don’t let him see. She shoved the coat behind a nearby bush, and scrambled to the door. She turned to Matthew briefly.

‘Wait here. Stay out of sight, though. I’ll be back,’ she whispered, before walking into the kitchen, calming her demeanour.

Morpheus - the man - was sat in the kitchen, waiting. The clock ticked by on the wall, and the sun had begun to dim down. He was sat, a whiskey in-hand, swirling the ice, watching it clink against the glass.

‘Where have you been?, he asked, eyes still on the glass. She stepped lightly, but kept her distance. Her eyes swerved around the kitchen, and settled on a block of kitchen knives.

‘I was out in the garden. Looking at the flowers’. Her breath hitched.

He smiled wearily, and chugged the rest of his whiskey.

‘Not looking at any ravens, then?’ His voice sounded different, smoother, softer, honeyed..

She glanced across at him, but he didn’t meet her gaze. The kitchen knives flickered within view once more. Just reach for one. You only need one. One to end this.. She moved quicker now, her hand reaching for the knife handle-

‘Put it down, Nada,’ he stood up and brushed his coat, and as he did, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sprinkle of black dust. With deliberation, he held it above his head, and as it drifted down, his appearance began to change. Where once her Morpheus had been, a shorter, sharper figure stood, his voice honeyed and layered; in his left hand, he held a walking cane. He titled his head playfully at her, and looked at the knife still clutched tightly in her hand.

‘Honey, I’m home,’ he purred softly, taking a theatrical bow. She clenched her jaw.

‘Mephistopheles’

His eyes flickered up at hers, his grin unfaltering. The gut feeling of unease that had torn at her all day blanched; she had been right, everything was off, and wrong, for she was not in the Dreaming, she was dreaming. He raised a gestured hand, casting a glance around.

‘How do you like it?,’ he took a step closer, deliberate and calculated. She didn’t move, and raised her chin slightly, the knife handle growing damp in her hand. He cocked his head at her silence, still smiling.

‘Let me guess. Yellows not your colour? You don’t like the wallpaper? Or maybe eggs just aren’t your dish?,’ he stepped back again, and turned his back to her, arms outstretched, voice raised, but still soft. ‘I created all of this, for you. You can re-decorate, if you like. Have the walls crimson?’ He clicked his fingers, and her eyes widened by a fraction as she saw the walls drape in a deep crimson. ‘Or perhaps, inkwell?’ Again, another click, the wall bore a deep inky-blue. He stopped and turned to her, his body still, his smiling face now suddenly serious and meaning. He stepped over to the kitchen table, and picked his glass back up, amber liquid swirling once more.

‘Tell me, Nada..what has he ever given, sacrificed, destroyed, for you? What love did he give, save chains and torment?’, he took a sip from his glass, his eyes never leaving her, ‘He would have left you there, ten thousand years and more, until the stars fell dark, until time itself ceased to be.’ He took another sip. She said nothing. What of these accusations could she defend? It was always the elephant in the room with Morpheus. A horrible, undeniable truth: that he left her in Hell. His voice grew firmer now, more decided, undertones of anger brimmed beneath.

‘And would he have stirred? No. He was never coming for you. Never. Alas, that is the love of a Dream: cold, unyielding..only an echo of what we truly feel. But I? I have unravelled the cosmos. I have topped kings, burnt realms to ash, ripped Hell wide open! Oh yes,’ he wiggled a finger, whiskey still firmly gripped in the other hand; he was riled now, emotive, no longer wearing the façade dripped in honey.

‘When I saw you in Hell, a lifetime ago, I knew you had come back to me. But, you were caged. What was I to do, with Lucifer in charge? With the so-called King of Dreams, commanding you to be there? Well, you introduce a little chaos, you tie a knot here and there, and it all begins to unravel rather quickly. It’s funny, how fragile it all is. A touch here. A nudge there,’ he fell silent, only gazing at her. Words..came and went away. She swallowed; her mouth suddenly dry. A horrible dread consumed her.

‘You talk of chaos..’

‘Ah! You want to know what I did, don’t you? How this all came to be?,’ he pulled up a chair, his voice low and soft, menacing.

‘Let me ask you but once question,’ he paused. She only stared, waiting. The clock ticked near them.

‘Who do you think slithered in the grass, that faithful twilight morning, waiting patiently? Who placed the serpent there, to sink its sharp teeth into her ankle?’ Another pause. Her mind found the answer before she understood it. A wedding. The snake bite. No. No, no- an audible gasp, a lump rose to her throat, her stomach churned violently, this could not be-

‘No,’ her mouth dropped open, a hollow shiver escaped, she tightened her grip around the knife. Mephistopheles nodded, giving her a small smile, humming. He continued, taunting, mockingly, a low revelation;

‘And when the boy looked back? Whose voice do you think curled at the edges? Who whispered at the cusp of his ear?,’ he stood up once more, his face growing darker, ‘Who planted the seeds of abdication? Who set brother against brother? Sister against sister?’

Her stomach doubled, her panic rose. This plot…stems centuries. A lifetime of planning. A lifetime of execution. He took a step forward.

‘All of this. Every action, every choice, every failure - every single step - for you. I willed the threads of fate myself to have you here, in this very exact moment, with me. It’s not about where the domino’s fall, Nada. It’s about who pushed the first,’ he whispered, getting closer and closer; the room suddenly grew claustrophobic and hot. She felt a gag in her throat, but she pushed it down, for anger brimmed underneath.

‘You murdered Morpheus’ son! His death isn’t some tragedy, it’s a sabotage,’ her voice cracked, louder and louder it got as emotion seeped out; her mind flashed back to Morpheus in his study, cradling his broken lyre. She moved forward to Mephistopheles, knife in hand, and pointed it at his throat. Her eyes lit with fire, her rage spilling out.

‘The boy was innocent!,’ she screamed, pushing the knife further into his skin, breaking it. He didn’t resist, but pushed closer, tilting to the edge as if to prove a point. As if to say, I’ll take it. For you. For all pain is pleasure.

He licked his lips, his eyes intent.

‘I nudged fate. No one made him beg before Hades. And no one helped him, or steered him off that path. Not even his own father,’ he cooed, low and soft. Each word riled her more and more, her hand did not withdraw, but it did not push further either. His lips moved toward her ear, his fingers tucked a lock of hair.

‘Do you want the Dreaming to perish?’

Her breath hitched, her hand faltered. He didn’t miss it.

‘I did not think so,’ he stepped back, dusting himself off, ‘You will take your place in Hell, with me, as Queen. You will attend the coronation - the masquerade - without struggle. If you do this, the Dreaming will remain untouched. You will never return to it. And you will never see Morpheus again. Should you disagree with my terms, I will return to the Dreaming within the hour, and I will take ten thousand times the power of Hell with me, and I will kill every man, woman, and child. Do we have terms?’ She stared at him. He had her. He knew it, and she knew it. He knows I still love Morpheus. He knows. She raised her chin slightly, and placed the knife calmly on the side, her gaze unwavering, eyes and word dripping in cold fury.

‘We have terms,’ his eyes flashed with triumph, she continued,

‘But make no mistake. I will never love you. Not in this lifetime, or the next. You may take my freedom, my choice, my fate. But you shall never have my love or forgiveness. That, cannot be stolen. It can only be given. And I will never give it,’ she replied coldly, folding her arms, chin raising. His smile faltered for a moment.

‘Time bends even the hardest of stone. And when the Nine Circles bow to you, you will begin to realise, you are right where fate intended for you to be,’ he extended an arm, and slowly around them, the house began to peel away, like fragments of glass. A sudden panic as she reluctantly took his arm.

‘What about Jacob?’

‘Jacob was never real. But with time, he could be,’ he murmured, the honey in his voice once more.

A bitterness took her then. Men in crowns, playing God. Deciding my fate. Sitting in your thrones, ripping at my heart, until there is nothing left. She thought of Morpheus.

He would come for her. Wouldn’t he?

Outside, unbeknown to either, Matthew lingered on the edges of the Nightmare, watching, listening.

It was time to return to the Dreaming.

Chapter Text

Morpheus 

Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the portal, and felt the hot fumes of Hell swarm around him. The difference was vast and instant. Where the Dreaming usually held coolness and clarity, Hell brimmed with heat and uncertainty. He felt his heart flutter as he thought of Nada. She spent a lifetime and more here. Because of me. And now she’s back.

So what was it, that suddenly made him feel guiltier than he had in the last ten thousand years? Was it the tenderness that was now swelling in the caveats of his heart? Was it the way she had looked at him, as he had gently swayed her across the wooden floorboards, that one magical night? Or was it the way he kept questioning himself, if she had condemned me, would I have forgiven her? Would I - could I - ever love her again?

‘God, what is that smell?’, Desire wrinkled their nose as they dusted the front of their jacket.

‘It’s death. Runs through the land and waters here,’ his eyes swept across the landscape. Molten fires had returned in the far distance, black flames licked towards the sky. The sky. As if it ever sees daylight.

‘Deaths here? Since when?’

‘No, not our sister. I mean actual death,’ he sighed. Desires brows remained knitted in confusion, as if the penny hadn’t dropped yet. Morpheus stared.

‘Desire. Death as in, rotting bodies. Carcasses. Putrid flesh. That kind of death?’

‘Ahhh! Oh,’ they scrunched their nose again, ‘Well let me tell you. The living smell so much better,’ they strutted forward, in tow behind him. He rolled his eyes, walking forward.

‘And don’t roll your eyes,’ Desire shouted from behind. ‘Where are we going anyway? What’s the plan?’

‘We need to get to the coronation, and find Nada, and Lucienne. Then..,’ his voice trailed off as he thought. What then? Would Hell willingly give her back? Probably not. So..where does it stop? Where does it end? Destiny’s words suddenly flashed in his mind.

“In the end if my beginning. In the beginning is my end”.

Stupid words. Meaningless without action. He brushed the thought away. One step at a time. Desire was still looking at him, expectedly. He cleared his voice, thinking.

‘..then, we return to the Dreaming and figure it out from there. But we’re stronger together. I can’t leave her here, Desire. I won’t.’ A pause lingered. In the distance, the churning of faint screams. Hell was resuming its usual activities.

‘Well, if we go to the coronation, we need to blend in. It’s masquerade. Which actually works in our favour. No one will see our faces, or what we look like. How long will it take to reach the palace?’

‘Less than an hour. The gates will likely be open to welcome guests,’ he paused, his eyes flickering up to them.

‘Desire, I don’t want any leather. I don’t do leather. I know I need to dress for this, but nothing extreme, please,’ he turned. They made no reply, but their smile grew wider by the second.

‘Shall we do it now? So if anyone does see us, they’ll assume we’re guests? And Dream, please. I would never waste good leather on you,’ they snorted. He decided to ignore that, and stretched his arms out.

‘Yes, do it now then. And try not to take too much pleasure in this. It will be the first and last time you dress me, I can assure you,’ he murmured. Desire’s cat-like grin remained stuck as their eyes brightened, watching Morpheus stretch out his arms. They said nothing, only grinning, and whispered into the palms of their hands, before blowing a thick smoke towards him.

It came sudden and swift. Lilac smoke clung close, seeping around his body, scents of lavender swarming the air. For a moment, his chest loosened, his shoulders slackened; the smoke clawed at his throat, sweetness filling his lungs with each breath of wanting. For an instant, he was no longer himself, as he felt a familiar warmth coil in his stomach, a flush spreading up to his throat, tingling. And then, her. Her eyes, her mouth, the feeling of her body pressed against his seared brightly in his mind - a betraying sigh escaped his lips. Thoughts of her and more came in unrelenting fashion, sharp and unbidden. A strange elation had taken hold, a brief intoxication that he both relished and resented. Was it his desire, thrumming through his veins, or theirs?

Just as suddenly as it had come, the smoke thinned, and the air cleared once more. He stood, swaying slightly, oddly aware of the feel of new clothes wrapped tightly around him, his heart racing. The pleasure had drained from him like wine and an empty barrel, it left a sobering and unsettling feeling. Desire tilted their head, eyes lingering a little too long at the thin line of skin revealed by his shirt, lip curling in silent appreciation at their creation. He suddenly felt all too aware of Desires heavy gaze, and looked away, as if to sever the moment. The heat in his chest did not relent.

‘Nothing to be ashamed of, Dream,’ they cooed, ‘We all feel pleasure from time to time. Do we not?’

He made no response, but felt his cheeks flush with heat. It had always irritated him. That his desire did not feel like his own. Perhaps that is why I repress it. He flicked a hand; a tall, long mirror materialised in front of him. He gazed at his reflection for a moment.

From below, black silk trousers flowed like shadow, shaped and cut to move with him. Above, a silk back shirt, long-sleeved, pulled tight with a gold-flamed waistcoat. He looked closer. Two buttons were left undone, exposing a sultry line of skin down the centre of his chest, an opening that felt..deliberate. Draped across his shoulders, a velvet coat hung, burgundy inside, black on the out. It felt heavy in its fabric, and regal in its shape. The fabric carried a strange weight and feeling to it; as if it were alive, breathing, a living thing. It was not merely how it looked, but what it demanded. It demanded a presence. Attention. Desire. He felt his irritation ebb away as he took in his appearance, and his eyes swept up to his face, where his mask hung. Obsidian shards layered like dark feathers, catching light in razor-thin glimmers. It imitated a raven; sharp and alluring. It concealed the upper half of his face, bar his eyes, but left his mouth exposed, a move that seemed..  inviting. He looked again, taking it all in, turning slightly. He felt taller, more formidable, and though he loathed to admit it..he felt visible. Dangerously visible. Attractive, even..

‘Well? Admit it. You’re a little impressed,’ a soothing voice cooed from behind him. Their fingers clasped softly at his shoulders, as they gazed into the mirror together.

‘Though..there is one thing you should know, Dream,’ they stepped away, and the mirror vanished once more. He turned, and looked at Desire, waiting for an answer.

‘Since you’re in my clothes, made from the fabrics of my domain, they come with my essence. From time to time..it can be, overpowering, if you’re not accustomed to such..feelings,’ they raised their eyebrows, Morpheus made no reply. Feelings? Do I wear the clothes, or are the clothes wearing me?

‘Do you understand me?

‘Yes’, he lied, not fully grasping, but not wanting to admit he didn’t understand. Desire gave him a knowing look.

‘You’ve always been so proud, haven’t you? Look, the clothes are tied to me. At times, they enhance whatever it is you’re feeling in the moment - if its an intense feeling - it makes you feel it more. I can’t control this. It’s just something that comes with me. You’ll need to control yourself tonight. At the ball,’ they cast him another knowing glance. Morpheus resisted the urge to roll his eyes; a retort held in his throat. Do they believe me to be so incompetent? So weak that I’m unable to resist? Honestly. They stepped forward. More screams came from the distance. Time was pressing on.

‘You know what I mean, Dream. All I’m saying is, stay focused,’ they walked ahead; the palace only a short pace away. Morpheus snorted. Stay focused? I’m not you. I am the epitome of restraint. It is my one constant. Certainly not to be easily swayed by desire. He picked up his pace, and joined them in their journey to the palace.

They walked in silence for most of the way. Hell was not a place where chat comes easily, or where comfortable conversations makes its way to the surface. The land lay barren and sparse, endlessly stretching, yet intensely suffocating at the same time. Thick red smoke dusted ever corner, no stone left unscorched, no fire turned to ember. It burnt. And it burnt endlessly.

He looked up. They were approaching the palace faster than he anticipated. Along conjoining paths that led inside the gates, he saw others approaching in masquerade wear, walking and chatting. Demons, friends, foe - it would be impossible to tell. Masks of all shapes and sizes cast long shadows over faces, long coats and flamboyant dresses concealed all possibility of identification. It was in their favour, yes. But it was also in their disadvantage. Desire remained quiet as their feet crunched along the hard stone path. To Morpheus, they looked as they always did. A slim-cut mask dripping in black beads, white and black feathers supporting the top. It covered their eyes and nose, and the beads dripped down on gold thread, past their mouth. Like a curtain waiting to be pulled back. Where Morpheus wore a suit, Desire chose a black corset, trimmed with lace, tied with black silk. The swirls of feather and flame patterned into it seemed to be made of some type of metallic-shiny material, dotted in starlight. Along their legs, fishnets, with high red leather boots, and a dark cloak draped over their shoulders. Seductive, pulling, alluring. All of that. But something else lingered just beneath the surface, gasping for air, choking under glamour. Something..savage and wild, begging and pleading to be set free. Perhaps that is just Desire.

‘When we get inside, we stay together. They’ll show Nada for the coronation. After, we find Lucienne. We do this quickly, as once Nada is out of sight, they’ll know we’ve come for her,’ he murmured. Desire gave a chesire grin to a passer by, who waved shyly. Morpheus nudged them.

‘And you’re tell me to be focused? Did you even listen to a word I just said?’

Desires eyes remained on passers by as they grew closer to the gates, entering a small crowd. They smile didn’t falter, but he heard a whisper through gritted teeth.

‘And how will Nada know its you, under your mask, and not someone else who is trying to steal her away? How do you plan on getting her back, when she’s the jewel of the coronation?’ Their words burned questions into his mind that he had replayed methodically time and time again. He clenched his jaw.

‘The opportunity will present itself, I am sure. And Nada will know its me. She will,’ he whispered back, his eyes focused ahead as the crowd grew thicker yet. Around them, swarms of people walked together, excited chatter drowning out the screams that were perpetually in the distance. The heat rose, but in Desires clothes, he didn’t sweat. It was as if they adjust the temperature accordingly. His breath became slightly ragged behind his mask, a small churn turned in his stomach, the seriousness of the situation finally grasping him at full length. If discovered, they were outnumbered by the thousands. And deep down, Desire confronted an issue he already questioned. Would Nada recognise him? Would she give a knee-jerk reaction, and give them away? What if she recognised him, and she was already under Mephistolples grip? No. Do not fill your mind with such delusion. She’s still Nada. My Nada. She will know me.

Slowly, they filtered through the smokey gates, corroded with rust, and the palace entrance lay a few feet ahead. Bright lights already shone outward from inside, and small champagne glasses were being handed out by men dressed in white suits, their faces half-covered with plain masks. He leaned towards Desire in a low whisper.

‘Why are they in human form?’

They shrugged.

‘No idea. It is odd though..to see so many living, in tact humans, in this place’.

The crowd slowed a little more as those in front were greeted with champagne and pleasantries. Morpheus felt the back of his boot scrap against another’s shoe; he clenched his jaw but did not turn, not wanting to draw attention. From behind, he heard the two voices conversing lightly.

‘Ooo, champagne! I can’t remember the last time I tasted it,’ one voice gushed excitedly.

‘And human waiters. How very interesting. Certainly different from Lucifers style,’ the other replied, cooler.

‘Well, it’ll be from the Queen. She was mortal once too. Apparently the Dream Lord sacked her off here until he found her,’ the voice dropped to a lower whisper, ‘apparently, he worships the ground she walks. People say…he crossed oceans of time to find her.’

Another churn landed in his stomach as he listened in, and his teeth ground to a halt. He resented that even in Hell, his business was known. Oceans of time? What nonsense. He felt his fingernails dig into his palms.

‘Sure when she looks like that, I’d cross oceans of time for her too,’ the voice laughed, the other joined in.

‘What d’you reckon she actually looks like? You know..underneath it all?,’ there was an edge of hunger to the voice. Though resenting it, Morpheus strained his ears to listen. Desire cast him a side glance, a look of warning. Don’t react.

‘Who knows. But there’s a reason he wants to fuck her so bad,’ they laughed again, and he felt the back of his heel catch once more. He turned almost instantly, his coat flying, anger thrumming in his veins.

‘Scrape my heel once more and I’ll have you skinned,’ he spat, with as much venom and rage as he could muster. The two men cowered slightly under his glare, taken aback by the reaction. He turned to face forward before a reply could be made, his breathing heavy. From the corner of his eye, he could see Desire glaring at him. He ignored it. I have to get her out of here. The urge to get her and find Lucienne and leaving was stronger than ever. Nothing about this place was welcoming, or inviting, or wanting. It is a dark festering pit, which I want no part of. They’re lucky I am concealed. If I were in the Dreaming..

Silence fell from behind them, and no more conversation was made, until they reached champagne flutes. Desire took one instantly, smiling as they always did, and gave him another look when he first refused, as if to say, just take the champagne. Blend in.

Reluctantly, he accepted, and together they walked through the entrance, leading to the ballroom. It was magnificent. Cosy-orange lights dimmed the room to a sultry darkness, illuminating jewels and glitter. Candlelight scattered amongst the tables that were pushed to the edges and engorged with rich and decadent foods. Deep crimson wines ran from luxurious marble fountains, like blood splurging from a wound. He cast his gaze towards the main source of light; a enormous chandelier swayed menacingly above them, constructed of bone, filled with dripping wax that fell on those below. A string quartet lay in the corner near the thrones, for there were two, and played a haunting melody that seemed to grow stronger in discord the closer you drew to it. Around them, chatter had taken the room, rich laughter as people clustered in, dresses  and costume meshing together for one hellish portrait. They found a small side-corner of the room, and with their backs to the wall, sipped their champagne quietly.

‘My, my. It’s so..decadent. But so rotten at the same time,’ Desire fixed their eyes ahead, sipping.

‘When does it start?’, he asked, also looking around.

‘Be patient, Dream. The guests will continue to fill, and as they do I’m sure the hosts will appear before the dances begin,’ they cooed. Dances? Another sigh of irritation stirred within him.

‘I don’t have time for playing around, dancing with demons in the pits of Hell. I want Nada, I want Lucienne, and I want to get out of here,’ he kept his tone restrained, but with difficulty. Desire turned to him then, eyes fixed and serious.

‘Morpheus. If you don’t stop complaining and losing your temper over meaningless gossip you will have us discovered. Get a hold of yourself. And drink your champagne. It will loosen you up,’ their eyes bored into him. ‘Drink it. Now. Or I leave.’

He shot them a look of loathing, but underneath, knew they were right. Restraint. That’s what he needed. And them. He glanced down at the champagne fizzing in his hand. One glass will be fine. Just do it.

In one swift motion, he chugged the whole flute, the bubbles quickly disappearing. Desire lifted their hands, eyes wide. He mirrored their expression, confused.

‘What?’. A hiccup escaped him.

‘What the fuck? I meant gradually, not all in one go! This is not regular champagne!,’ they breathed out, and adjusted their mask briefly. ‘Right. Well that will definitely loosen you up. If we are-‘

A loud voice rang clear through the room, and they paused in conversation, looking up towards the thrones.

‘Crocodiles and reptiles, demons and men, friends and foe. We cordially welcome you to the Masquerade Ball, our Coronation,’ around them, faint laughter and clapping. He raised a hand, and silence fell.

‘It would be my pleasure and privilege to introduce our Saviour, and The Queen. Please give them a gracious welcome,’ he bowed his head low, and clapping and cheers rang around them. Morpheus watched intently as two figures strolled on the platform, and for a mere moment, could not believe what he saw.

Mephistolples came out first, smiling that sly smile as he always did, his usual rouge suit only slightly amended to masquerade-fashion; on his face, a red-rubied mask that resembled a dragon. Nada followed from behind, no smile gracing her face, her dark eyes unwavering from beneath her mask. Her dress matched his rouge coat - of course - soft layers of rouge upon white, ruffled together, and pulled in at the middle with a tight white corset, contrasting against her dark skin. The dress flowed as it had always belonged to her, small wisps of red smoke escaped the frills. Withering roses dotted around the dress, breathing. On her feet, ruby-red shoes; her arms coated in long white gloves. But it was her mask that made his breath hitch in his throat. Similar to his own, it covered only half of her face, her lips swollen and exposed, parted as though breathless. The mask itself was covered in sharp, split shards of mirror, reflecting in the light with each gentle step she took. Her hair tied a thick braid that sat on top, while the rest of it cascaded, and flowed freely down her back. Beautiful is not the right word. Alluring. Delicate. Those would be better. His eyes followed them both carefully. Mephistolples strolled on, waving confidently, his hand locked in with hers, leading.

‘Thank you, thank you..’, he addressed them, and silence fell once more.

‘Tonight, I want to grant you all a warm welcome. Tonight, we shall celebrate a new era in this domain,’ more cheers and clapping came from the crowd. He continued, ‘But this Coronation is not simply for me,’ he gestured towards Nada, who’s face remained passive, her chin slightly raised. Morpheus smiled to himself faintly. She’s still my Nada. A raised chin was a warning of defiance. Anger. He knew this well enough. A flicker of pride brimmed within him. She bows to no one. Not even me, and certainly not you.

‘This Coronation is also for The Queen, who shall serve as Monarch of this realm with me, as my wife,’ more claps came, but in the midst, someone wolf-whistled loudly. Mephistopheles paused mid-sentence, his smile faltered, and his hand raised for silence.

‘Who was that?’, he spoke softly, around them, the room exchanged nervous glances. No one moved. No one spoke. Morpheus glanced at Nada, whose face remained passive, but her eyes flickered over the crowd.

‘My friends, I ask one simple question,’ he took a step forward, deliberate and calculating.

‘Who whistled at my wife?,’ more silence, and then, ‘If you do not reveal yourself, I will slaughter every man in this room,’ he stood forebodingly, watching them. A nervous chatter and shifting steps erupted around, before someone shouted out of the crowd-

‘It was him! He was in front of me. I know it was him,’ a masked figure shouted, pointing, and pushed a man out in-front of him, the space around him cleared as people stepped away, murmurs of agreeance. Morpheus looked over, his reactions slower with the champagne simmering through his veins. It was the same masked man from behind him earlier in the crowd. His lip curled slightly. So you will be skinned. Just not by me. Mephistolples smiled once more, his voice soft, his eyes full of fire.

‘And this, you believe, is an appropriate address to you new Queen?’, he purred, the question laced with venom. The man trembled slightly, looking up at the Saviour, tuts and murmurs came from around. He turned his gaze up towards him defiantly, though his lip trembled.

‘She will never be my Queen. I serve Lucifer. Even in absence,’ he said. Morpheus could not help but admire it, somewhat. Even though his voice shook, he spoke. And he spoke truthfully. Mephistolples plastered a wide grin, his gold tooth showing at the back of his mouth.

‘A high cost of loyalty indeed. Where is Lucifer now? Will she swoon in, and save you? Will she reward you? Will she take back her throne? I think not’, he gestured to the guards to pull the man up on the platform; they dragged him with little struggle. Face to face, they stood. Mephistopheles turned to the crowd.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, this brave harlot will now demonstrate what happens when you disrespect my wife, and by extension, me,’ he turned back to the masked man, and ripped his mask from his face, swift and rough.

‘Your behaviour offends me,’ he handed him a knife that appeared from his hands, sharp and shining. ‘For this, I want a pound of flesh,’ he shoved the knife into his hands, and stepped away. Whispers grew louder around the hall, a horrible silence drew over them.

‘You may remove it yourself, from any part, I care not where. Failure to do so will result in your unfortunate demise. You have minutes to decide, before I put the blade to your throat,’ he purred, soft and venomous. Beside him, Desire shifted, restless.

‘For Gods’ sake. This is taking too long. He’ll never do it himself. We need the ball to move on,’ they whispered to Morpheus, eyes facing forward, before putting their hand to their mouth, and subtly blowing outwards. If he wasn’t already looking he wouldn’t have seen it. A thin trace of lilac smoke breezed through the air; it reached the man on the platform, and Morpheus watched as his shoulders slacked, his chest loosened, and he took the knife, plunging it into his stomach, ripping at the flesh. Blood squirted outwardly, some spraying the audience, he whimpered in pain and a shock murmur passed through the room. Mephistolples laughed, surprised, and started clapping; the audience quickly joined in. Morpheus’ eyes shifted to Nada. She remained passive, but her finger twitched at the ends. The urge to take her right then and there and leave had never been stronger.

‘Well, I think that cues the start of our night!,’ he patted the man, who was still doubled over and dripping in wet blood, ‘Let the dances begin!’

The quartet began to play once more, the chatter returned, and in the distance, the man was dragged away, seeping into the dark shadows. Morpheus shuddered. Even in Hell, Demons were never free, never safe. In their own realm. Did Lucifer treat them like this? He couldn’t remember a time where she had..but lots of resentment lingered in her absence. She abandoned them. And they knew it. And they hated her for it. They didn’t love Mephistolples. They just needed a leader. His eyes flickered to Nada once more, who had stepped off the platform, and was stood near Mephistolples, silent. Another masked figure approached her, bolder than the last, and bent his head low, taking her hand. Was he asking her to dance? He watched as he led her to the dance floor, Mephistolples distracted, laughing richly. He took a step forward, his eyes following each turn, each movement. The room was filled with music and laughter, the smell of wine and bone swirling in the room. The mans hand strayed towards her lower back; her hand caught it and moved it away. Morpheus took another step forward, his breath slightly ragged. They are all so desperate to touch. Without asking. Without invitation.

‘Dream, where are you going?’, Desire grabbed the back of his should and spun him.

‘An opportunity has presented itself,’ he breathed, a little too quickly, ‘If I dance with her, I can get close enough to tell her its me. And to get her out. Keep watch from the side and keep an eye on him. Once we get Nada, we leave to find Lucienne,’ he finished, Desire caught in protest, but he didn’t listen. His eyes swept over the room and found her. He strolled over, confident, absolute, a warmth stirring within him. His waistcoat tightened by a fraction, his cloak flowed seamlessly. He pushed past a cluster of women, almost at Nada’s side.

‘Aren’t you just delightful?’, one cooed at him, her eyes lingering a little too long at his chest, exposed and inviting. He shoved past her further, uninterested - but the attention made him feel stronger, seen, powerful. He cut in beside the man who held her.

‘She’s engaged,’ he said dismissively, not even looking at him. Morpheus leaned closely into his ear.

‘You have three seconds to remove yourself before I tell the Saviour how I saw your hands wander across his Queen,’ he whispered softly. The man turned, face knotted with outrage; it vanished as soon as he met his glare. He bowed without saying anything else, and scurried into the crowd. Nada watched the interaction with slight interest.

‘You are a persuasive demon, indeed,’ she addressed him coldly, taking his hand as the music began to swell. He bowed his head.

‘I am no demon,’ she took a step back with the rhythm, and bowed her head also. They looked at each their for a second, and he caught a flicker in her eyes, lingering not on the mask, but the thin line of skin that his shirt betrayed, the glint of gold at his waist, the sweep of velvet in his shadow. Her dark eyes swept over..all of it. A flicker of emotion passed, and her face returned passive once more. The music began, and they stepped forward, embraced closely, hands entwined. A strange feeling came over his fingers, a jolt of electric, he quickly looked at her, and knew she had felt it too. Her eyes scrunched in surprise, but she danced on as normal.

‘If you are not a demon..what are you?’, she whispered, caught between beats of the dance; he twirled her round in cue, her dress flowing through the air in rhythm with other couples around them. The beat picked up in pace. He drew her closer then, his heart beating faster as he did, risky, risky behaviour, but necessary..

He brushed his mouth against her ear when the dance permitted, ‘I am the bringer of Dreams. The creator of Nightmares. The man who yearns for your love, more truly than anything else,’ he felt her shudder under his touch, and they pulled face to face once more, her eyes full of emotion, shimmering wetly, as if tears threatened.

‘Morpheus?’, she whispered.

He only nodded, and rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. That was all the confirmation she needed. The familiar touch of his comfort. She knew. Relief flooded him as he saw her lip tremble, but she danced on, her grip tightened around his hand. The music continued to swell, the beats faster, the pace quick, desperate. Silks flowed all around them, laughter filled the air, wine flowed the fountains, and for a moment, it looked something of a cinematic dream. A heat swelled within him, hungry and wanting, his cheeks flushed from the champagne. He closed his eyes briefly, imagining himself elsewhere with her, what he would do if they were not in this exact situation, this exact moment..

Subtly, his hand dropped to the lower of her back, and a betraying sigh escaped her lips, her pupils dilated. He clenched his jaw. Go no further, a voice urged in the back of his mind, lest all will be revealed. But as the dance pulled them closer, face to face, her gaze deepened, steady and unblinking, and his resistance hollowed. She desires me. He knew that look. It had been centuries since he had seen it face-to-face, but by God and all that is Holy, he knew that look.  A heat stirred in his chest that he did not summon, a wanting that was both his and not his. Was it the clothes? The touch of Desire that lingered upon them? Or was it..more simple..was it his desire alone?

Do not yield.

But yet, in the same space of that single thought, he already had; the more he fought to resist temptation, the stronger the feeling came, pulling, magnetised, wanting, the need for release grew heavier in his mind and body. He felt it now, a raw, hot thrumming in the place between denial and surrender. Slowly, and by only a fraction, his hand slipped even further down, bringing her closer to him, the shape of her body pressed sharply against hers; his hand trembled in reverence - how long had it been, since he pressed her against him like that? Too long, too long..

Another sigh escaped her lips, her eyes rolled back slightly, as if intoxicated; both had forgotten where they were, what they were doing-

‘Morpheus..closer,’ she whimpered, suddenly aching for his touch, to be near. There was something so awfully seductive about the forbidden, the danger of the situation, the taboo of want. His chest fluttered and more heat flushed across his cheeks; his fingers tightened their grip.

‘Say no more,’ he whispered, his voice hoarse and raw, ‘Or I will forget myself.’

His lips had barely left her ear when his gaze flickered towards a narrow, shadowed corridor at the side of the hall. The thought came sharp and unbidden to his mind, hitting him like a jolt; a quiet place, dark and shadowed, away from the music, the masks, the crowd..somewhere he could press her against the wall, her legs wrapped around him, to feel her, to taste her without restraint. Heat flared within him, sharp and insistent, a vivid dream begging to be a reality.

He wrenched his attention back to the dance, to the hall, to the plan. No. No, no. Restraint. He breathed outward, steadying himself, the clothes around him seemed to loosen in tune with his mind. His eyes flickered to the crowd around them, suddenly much more aware of reality. Desire gave him a warning of a look, and cocked his head towards Mephistopheles, who had clocked them. He was looking at him with the same fire he had seen in his eyes when someone whistled. His stomach churned uncomfortably. He knew. He watched, and drew Nada closer, as Mephistopheles took the stage once more.

‘So this is how it is, Lord of Dreams?’

The quartet halted, strings screeching, whispers rebounded once more. In the distance, Desire watched from shadows.

‘You show up to my Coronation, in my Realm, and you dance with my Queen. Was the invasion and decimation of your precious Dreaming not enough to deter you?,’ he seethed, the anger sudden and abrupt, no longer did softness linger at the edges of his voice. It feel quiet in the hall. Morpheus pulled Nada closer, determined.

‘She is no Queen of yours. No wife to be claimed,’ his voice rang out. Mephistopheles cocked his head.

‘And yet, here you are. Claiming her. The very thing that gave you away. The lingering touch. The gaze. I knew it was you from a mile off-,’

‘-Morpheus, please-,’ Nada pulled on his sleeve beside him, Mephistolples was descending the platform, the murmurs grew louder, and for a moment, he was lost, and then-

Lilac smoke filled the air once more.

He gripped Nada’s hand, and did not let go. Chaos ensued as the room become temporarily blinded. One thought struck in his mind.

Run.

Chapter Text

Nada 

’I am no demon,’ he murmured, pulling closer, steps deliberate, measured. A flicker of hope lit within her stomach. That voice. So familiar..

The music swelled, and dresses swirled, blossoming like flowers that still clung to winters chill. She bowed her head, and her eyes caught his gaze. Inside, her stomach fluttered; her skin prickled. I know your eyes. Her gaze dropped to his chest, to his clothes, his steps. Everything.. Was so familiar. Could it be? Could he have come for her? The more hopeful she became, the more doubt lingered; she would have one opportunity to ask, and if it were not Morpheus, she would reap the consequences. The devils screeched among their strings once more, and they stepped forward, in sync, hands colliding, and she felt it - a jolt - a feeling, an indescribable feeling that pulsed through their fingertips. His eyes swept over her quickly, too quickly, and she knew he had felt it too. Heat rose to her cheeks, her eyes dragged slightly as she blinked - too much champagne - too much movement, too much hope.. In the background, sharp violin notes swayed the air, the patter of feet as all around them people danced…

‘If you are not a demon..what are you?’

A hollow whisper caught in her throat, her voice and soul entwined as one, her heart beat as though her very life depended on this moment, this reveal, Hope itself pulled at the strings of fate, willing, willing…a sharp thought came to her then, unkind, and unbidden; who does an atheist pray to, in the time of misery? In the time of hope?

As if on cue, he lifted her effortlessly, his touch warm, and the beat picked up in its pace. He drew her closer then, closer than needed, his lips brushing against the top of her ear.

‘I am..the bringer of Dreams. The creator of Nightmares,’ a pause as he caught his breath, her chest tightened as she realised with an undoubted clarity, he had come.

‘..The man who yearns for your love, more truly than anything else..’, a shiver ran down her, an overwhelming power of emotion - he had come for her - just as she had left for him. She blinked rapidly, the threat of tears not far away.

‘Morpheus?’

He had come. All doubt in her mind vanished. Safety, temporarily restored. His hand found hers amidst the purple smoke, the room blinded, shouts and faint yelps of panic engulfed the floor; in the distance, Mephistolples’ voice rang out, sharp and brimming with wrath.

‘What have you ever done for her, King of Dreams?,’ his voice was still in the direction of the platform, Morpheus was leading her away, quick measured steps, silence falling until it was safe again to speak. Around her, shoulders brushed roughly against her as the room swelled with panic and chaos. The crowd became thicker from wherever he was leading them to. She felt a tug at her hand then as he pulled her to the side, behind a pillar at the long-end of the ballroom - no one lingered here - most were attempting to leave.

‘Morpheus?,’ she whispered, not daring to raise her voice too loud in case she gave them away. The purple smoke thickened, seeping into all corners. A brush of a hand against her cheek, soft and gentle.

‘Nada,’ another low whisper, the outlines of his face coming faintly into view, ‘I am so glad you are here,’ he sighed, relieved, and pulled her in, arms wrapped around her, his face nuzzled into her neck. She helped him tightly, wishing they were anywhere else, hoping it would not be the last time. Don’t cry. You know what you have to do. She pulled back and saw his face more clearly; she steadied herself, around them, chaos continued. They didn’t have much time.

‘Morpheus..If I agree to stay here with him, he will leave the Dreaming untouched,’ she felt his fingers tighten around her arms, his head already shaking, ‘..No, but listen - listen,’ she licked her lips, mouth suddenly dry.

‘I am already tethered. A piece of Hell lives within me. If I do this, if I do this and stay, then the Dreaming will be safe,’ her eyes pleaded with him, she reaffirmed herself, her voice weak, ‘..It means that you will be safe. Everyone will be. Lucienne, Matthew..’

His grip did not relinquish; in his eyes, a darkness had taken root, the same she had faced ten thousand years before..the last time she had refused to come back to the Dreaming.

‘We will talk of this later,’ he murmured, and pulled her closer then, ‘You are not a lamb to be sacrificed. You are not a puppet to be played with. This needs discussion, Nada. Not impulse,’ she opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed on, ‘And what do you mean, Lucienne? Where is she? Is she not here, with you?’

Her brow folded in confusion.

‘Lucienne was left in the Dreaming. They only took me. She’s not with you?’, a hollow feeling dropped in her stomach. A frantic feeling took them; he looked at her face and knew that Lucienne would not be found in Hells domain. From behind her, a hand placed itself gently on her shoulder, the other covering her mouth from yelping.

‘Shhh,’ they cooed, ‘It’s me, Desire. I’m going to let go of my hand. Don’t speak. The smoke will clear any minute,’ they looked at Morpheus.

‘We need to leave,’ they said quietly, their tone final. Morpheus looked at Nada, then around the room, sweeping his eyes. He clenched his jaw by a fraction, then stepped closer as they huddled together.

‘I can’t leave without Lucienne,’ he spoke directly to Desire now, ‘I need to at least look. Take Nada back to the Dreaming. I’ll not be far behind. It’s the last thing I will ask of you, Brother,’ his eyes flickered towards her.

‘I love you,’ he breathed, holding her look, and turned, without needing a reply. Her mouth opened and closed, her eyes blinking rapidly, she hadn’t even said it, but, I love you too. Her gaze followed him until it could no longer, as he disappeared into the clouds of lilac smoke.

‘You need to choose, Nada,’ Desire spoke clearly now, no purr on the edges, only a finality that made her skin grow cold. She had chosen. She had chosen long before this conversation. Before the dance, before the goodbye. The second she knew she could relent Hell, and keep the Dreaming as it always has been, she had made her choice. But I’m just not ready. Not yet. Tears fells from her cheeks now, their saltiness stinging her lips.

‘I just need more time,’ her voice cracked, her chest was tight, ‘I’m..I - how do I know I am ready?’, a small sob spilled out, she took a sharp breath, a hand to her mouth, steady yourself. It was so much harder now she had seen him again. Felt his touch. Sensed his want. Known his love.

In that moment, she felt small again, like she had when she was a child. A child, with the weight of the world - and the next - on her shoulders.

She, and she alone, stood in the face of oblivion. How small she felt then. How insignificant, how powerless, against a cosmic destiny that had been thrust upon her. Her heart ached at the thought of sheer conviction in Hell. It ached more when she thought of her grandmother. Oh, how she wanted her then. Warm reassurance. Strength. Something. Anything. 

Her lip trembled at the thought of fulfilling the choice she had made. The small child within her resisted the Queen she was, as if to say, leave it to the adults to decide. I want to go home. The Queen replied, but our home was gone. And it has been for a long time.

For the first time, she saw a flicker of sympathy across Desires face as they shook their head gently.

‘I’m sorry, sweetling. There is no more time. You have to make your choice, and its one of two. I can guide you to the ladders, where you’ll climb until you reach The Wheel, and bind yourself to Hell. Or, I can take you out. Back to the mortal world,’ they spoke lowly, and their voice dropped even lower, as if the hushness of it carried a forbidden secret, an unspoken confession, ‘You can still leave. He would understand. Don’t stay because you have to. Stay because you choose to,’ their gaze held her for a moment. So, what’s it to be? The mortal world. What she had always wanted. What was always denied to her. But you know, already. You already know what you’re going to do. She swallowed down the lump in her throat, and wiped her eyes. A sharp nod came automatically, as if she was reassuring herself, this is what I want. This is fate.

‘Where will you take me?’ Lilac smoke had begun to thin around them, the hall was hollowing out, shouts had died down to scurries and whispers. Desire remained passive; their face gave way to no swaying emotion. They didn’t ask her to stay. They didn’t ask her to leave.

‘Outside the palace, in the middle between Heaven and Hell, where shadows lie and the light hides away, there are two doors. One will open up to a ladder, which you will climb. The other will open down to a staircase, which you will descend. The ladder takes you to The Wheel, the staircase, to the mortal world,’ they said quietly, not breaking her gaze. Her eyes wavered, and she bit her lip. It had to be now.

‘Then take me to them, please. I know what I will do,’ a clarity washed over her, a bleakness that came with hard choices. Desire said nothing more, and took her hand, leading her through the smoke and spluttering, out of the palace and through the gates.

Those gates. A bitterness took her then, as they approached them, drawing closer and closer. Rust corroded the outside, where once a shining silver had smoothed over, centuries of bloodstain and sin had rotted its beauty. Where once they were almighty, disgrace and ruin lay. These gates, that had kept her captive, a symbolic weight in her existence. And now, just as before when Morpheus first saw her, she stepped through them, as light and as easy as falling asleep. Had it always been that easy? If it was so easy, why did it weigh so heavy on her mind, make her shoulder droop just a fraction, her heart ache a little more? A tenderness, to the bitterness. Perhaps why that’s why they call it bittersweet.

Footsteps crunched among the hot stone, and for a small while, neither of them said anything. As she had thought many times in her stay, Hell is not a place that fosters hopeful conversation. Everyone here had given up a lifetime ago. Her eyes peered into the near distance, and saw two doors that stood, closed, alone. They were not attached to anything, and if you opened them, it would look as if you could simply walk through an empty frame.

‘We are here,’ Desire murmured, their eyes locking onto the doors.

She stepped closer then, but slower, an anticipation lingering underneath her skin, a hesitation pulling her the other way. Two wooden doors, old and chipped, a deep red paint that was peeling over, stood but a few feet in front of her. They looked almost identical; each engulfed with a black wooden frame and a brass knob that shone dimly. Her eyes locked into them for a second, the foundation of thought gently spiralling in her mind, she couldn’t blink, she couldn’t breath; and suddenly, she became very aware of all sensation within her body. The heat from this land scorched over her skin, her dress sticking to her with sweat, her pulse thrummed from her wrists to her fingertips; her teeth chattered, and for a mere moment, she could only hear the beating of her own heart. All else faded into the background.

This is it. The end has come. And the beginning is here.

Desire watched her silently, their eyes flickering towards her gaze. The atmosphere set heavily between them; each knew, and each waited. She turned her gaze to them.

‘Which door is which?’

Desire pointed to the door on the right. ‘This one leads to The Wheel,’ they pointed to the left, ‘This one leads to the mortal world.’

She nodded again, eyes watching both doors as if they might come alive. A sudden taste of iron and metal filled her mouth; she had bitten hard into her lip. Desire interrupted her thoughts.

‘Whichever you decide, you’ll need a change of clothes, no?’. They gave her a half-smile. Kind. Knowing. 

She looked down at her dress; torn, bloody and full of smoke. She sighed.

‘Just something simple, please. Trousers, boots, a jacket,’ she said quietly, her voice tired. Desire blew their dust, soundlessly and swift, and she felt nothing but the pull of new clothes around her. Within seconds, the dress had gone, and instead, brown leather boots, black, loose cargo trousers, and a white tank top. Her hair remained the same, half-up, half-down, cascading - but threads had come out, beads loosened. Right. Do it. Enough time has been wasted.

‘So this one,’ she pointed to the right, ‘Leads to The Wheel? And the other to the mortal world?’ Desire nodded. She turned towards them, and stuck out her hand.

‘Good luck, Desire. From here, we shall part. Look after your brother,’ she hesitated, then added, ‘..please. For me,’ Desire’s brows pulled together; they refused her hand, and brought her into their embrace. Surprised, her shoulders stiffened, but then, overcome with the sudden thought that this is the last goodbye.. She softened against them, their touch comforting and warm. They pulled back, a single tear streaming down their cheek; it glittered as it fell from their face.

‘You are a brave woman, Nada. And none of this has been fair,’ they sniffed, wiping the corner of their eye, ‘None of it at all. I hope.. I hope we will see you again,’ they stepped back further now, a finality hung between them both. With one last look, she turned towards the doors, and started walking towards them.

Last chance. You can always choose different.

Her hand reached for the brass doorknob.

No. I have made my choice. I must have conviction. 

She turned it; it creaked slightly, the touch cold in her palm.

Oblivion.

The hinges whined as she pushed the door gently with her fingers. She peered inside as it opened wider.

A tall, white ladder, constructed of human bone that had rotted against time stood before her. Only the ladder existed in this space. All else, darkness. Swallowing down a lump in her throat, her hand reached gingerly for the first step, curling around the smoothness of the bone, and pulled herself up. As soon as her other foot left the doorframe, the door slammed shut, and she remained alone in the darkness. And she was gone. 

On the other side of the door, unbeknown to Nada, Desire watched her climb in, and the door shut decisively behind her. They shook their head slightly, their eyes still rooted on the space she had disappeared into. She really chose Hell for him. After he condemned her. They shook their head again, a clicked their tongue. A sudden urge to look in both doors grabbed them, and they strode forward to the right, where Nada had been, and swung it open. A white ladder stared back; Nada was already gone. Poor girl. The prelude to her soul. 

Turning to the left, they reached for the handle and yanked it; it was stiffer than the other. A white ladder engulfed in darkness stared back at them, again. They paused, blinking as if in disbelief, and jerked their head back, eyes wide. What? They shut the door again, and opened it once more; the white ladders still stared back, unchanged, unmoving. Where the mortal world should have been, both paths led to one, final, destination. For the first time in centuries, they felt their skin prickle as thoughts turned over in their mind. The doors have always presented a choice. For as long as they had known of its existence. Always, always - a choice. Then, a rare ache clung to their heart; a sultry hand clasped at their chest, they breathed heavier. It was a sudden and unbidden thought that had punctured their heart.

Nada had thought she had made her choice freely. When she never had a choice at all.

They slammed the door shut, its hinges reverberating. It didn’t make any sense. Desires hand lingered in the silence, half in the air, wondering..That’s when it came. Beneath Hells screaming, beneath the crackle of hot stone, a hushed whisper, a faint melody..

“You are my sunshine…my only sunshine..”

Their heart stung for the second time that night. That voice - faint and familiar - haunting and long-gone, should not be here.. Could not be here.. The voice stretched sweetly, high-pitched, then dropped as though underwater, distorted and broken.

Delight.

Their eyes widened by a further fraction; an uneasy feeling coiled in their stomach. This is not possible. A panic gripped them, a rare feeling…No one else would know, or even care, if they heard it. But they knew. And knowing it made their skin crawl.

Someone had woken her up. Someone has found her.

Chapter Text

Nada 

How much longer? Where does it end?

Her fingers wrapped around both smooth and charred bone, time and time again. The darkness that swam underneath her lightened by a fraction, the higher she went. She had felt a change in temperature too; the higher she got the hotter it became. Not every step in the ladder was the same, and as she climbed, the bone became more brittle, delicate; easily snapped. A few times her hand had caught and snagged; they bled out, leaving a trail of bloody handprints as she ascended. She took care not to slip on her own wet blood when her feet reached those particular stairs. After a few grapples, her hands became stickier than wet; the blood finally ceasing, staining her palms. The dryness in the air made her splutter; it clawed at the back of her throat, her brow sweating, her hair sticking to her back. It was a long, long climb.

Just keep going. Don’t look down.

From below, in the depths of darkness and the land of shadow, she heard wretched souls screaming and whimpering, begging for mercy, hounding for release. Don’t look. Keep going. Her eyes squinted as she climbed, more and more, her arms throbbing with a dull ache, her chest heaving. Tiny specks of glass sliced the edges of her face.

Then, a few metres above, she saw spokes poking out from the top of the ladder, churning. The top was insight. A rush of adrenaline mixed with fear ran through her; she had reached it..

Just a final push. Heaving, the bones beneath her fingers curled to a smoothed-out edge, and with great effort, she pulled herself over the top of the ladder, finally relinquishing her grip. Uncurling her hands, she looked down at them; they were stained and blistered - but it did not matter - she had done it. By God, I have done it. Dizzy and breathless, she tilted her head, her eyes swaying, blinking fast, establishing the climate. Now she had reached the top, the light of what lay below was astoundingly clearer than it had been when she started, or when she had climbed. Where darkness had swallowed her whole, she stood at the cliff top, edging her feet as close as she dared, and gazed downward. The darkness still swarmed somewhat, but around the outer layers, hot blazes of smoke and fire surrounded the landscape, and she watched it expand, endlessly. The land was barren. Nothing grew here. No life was ever spawned. The climate was hot and unrelenting; she felt the dryness claw at her throat and the humidity sweat her brow. The blisters on her fingers had already cracked and dried over; it had no time to heal, but only to burn out the wound with raw heat alone. Her eyes searched for the line in the distance, the one that separates the sky and the land, but she could not find it. There seemed…no separation. It was endless, eternal, perpetual. It blurred together, giving the illusion of vast landscape, but the reality was suffocation.

Suffocation.

Such a neat little word. Like rot within wood, it always starts in the small things, originating from some small tiny corner, and spreading its malice to every reachable surface; by time you notice, its too late. It has already taken everything, and you didn’t even notice. Like a lobster in a warming pot; the temperature slowly increases, but you don’t feel the water bubbling until its boiling you alive. She continued to look out at the kingdom before her, and felt her mind wandering. Will I ever get out of the pot? Or will I allow myself to succumb to its lethal temperatures, taking hold, taking everything that I am?

If Morpheus offered to take her place, would she switch? If she could go back and change her path, would she take it? If, if there was a way out, would she walk towards it..or would she stay, and remain? A sharp thrum came at her temple; too many questions, not enough answers.

‘It doesn’t matter now. I’m here already..’, she muttered to herself, eyes watering against the heat of the black flames that roared below. Behind her, a faint creaking and throttling, the sound of stepping on a squeaky floorboard. She didn’t look. She didn’t need to, to know. But she turned anyway.

The Wheel lay but a few feet away. Where wood should have been, a combination of human and animal bones constructed its spokes and handles. Each bone had rotted away over time, now brittle and black, lined with spongey-holes that had been devoured by each passing of a century. Torn ligaments and bits of muscle stringed across it; the flesh tender and fresh. The wheel always turned. And it always consumed. It creaked on, spluttering, breathing, as if it were alive, as if it could feel. On each spoke, a different rune had been carved into the bone, just about visible, if you looked closely enough. She counted silently. Nine spokes. Her brows pulled together as she counted them again. Nine? It didn’t make any sense. She counted them again; her eyes lagged with exhaustion as she kept trying, The Wheel constantly turning. Then, Mephistolples words rang out in her mind.

‘Time bends even the hardest of stone. And when the Nine Circles bow to you, you will begin to realise, you are right where fate intended for you to be..’

Nine spokes. Nine circles. Nine sins. A sordid inferno that lay at her leisure. The creaking didn’t cease, but below, the screams grew louder and more desperate. A horrible, uninvited thought fuelled her mind: could Morpheus be one of them? Lucienne? Matthew? Desire? She was too tired to be angry. But as those screams filled her ears, her body fell rigid, the thought it could be any of them…she was not too tired to be afraid. And my God, I am afraid. Her teeth bit into her lip hard, her eyes fixated on the churning of The Wheel, flashes of her family pushing forward into her mind; her shoulders slumped but her chest ached. Another thought, and possibly the last one she would have before sealing her fate.

Hell is not a place. It is a state. And here, I am Sovereign.

Her feet dragged, reluctantly, against the gravel and hot stone, dust kicking up into the air. A small voice fought in her mind, thrashing against her moving feet, pleading with her soul. Behind her, a flicker of light..

All that you are, and all that you have been, is coming to an end.

A trembling hand reached outwardly; the spokes turned without rest, unbothered, her eyes brimmed with tears -

Show me mercy. To get a dream of life again. Just a touch..a touch. That’s all I ask.

Her finger hovered above the spokes now, watching then turn, she must do it, she had made her choice, this was it; she lowered her finger by a fraction, her chest went tight as she drew a sharp breath - what will be will be -

‘What do you honestly think you’re doing?’

She jumped, pulling back her finger, and turned quickly. That sharp, cutting voice, clear as daylight, smooth as silk, spoke to her again as she felt her face drop, her gaze cast upward, heavenly light reflecting on her bloodstained cheeks.

‘Oh, Nada. You think you chose this?,’ Lucifer spread her wings even further now, the white feathers almost gleaming, blinding, she laughed.

‘You did not choose this. I refused it,’ the wings flexed once more and tucked inwardly, she clasped her hands together. Nada squinted. Was this real? Was she so exhausted, so paranoid, so tense, that this was simply.. A hallucination? Or another one of Mephistolples tricks?

Lucifer cocked her head to one side, her eyes lingering on her for longer than felt comfortable or decent. She looked different to how Nada had remembered seeing her in Luciennes memory. Where tight ringlets had curved her face, her hair now fell freely just beneath her shoulders. The tiredness that lingered around her eyes had gone; the dark cruelty that lay on her face softened; her wings still bright and terrible.

‘No,’ she whispered softly. ‘This is not a hallucination. It’s not a trick. I can assure you, this is very real. Are you going to speak, or am I going to have to spell it out for you?’

She opened her mouth; her tongue dry, her lips cracked. Breaking her gaze, she blinked and found her voice.

‘You..you abdicated the throne. You quit. Have you..,’ she swallowed the lump in her throat and summoned her courage, ‘Where do you go? Why?,’ she half-whispered, holding her gaze. Lucifer didn’t look away, but her mouth curved into a twisted smile.

‘I wanted a bit of time off. God didn’t want to play ball. I walked. The mortals would call it, a toxic work environment,’ her smile twisted further, her tone light, ‘Quite literally,’ she sighed. ‘Not only that, of course. I wanted..the freedom of choice. I wanted agency in my existence. One mistake that I made a millennia ago, has cost me my entire life,’ she opened the palm of her hand, an shiny red apple sat there, untouched, fresh. She gazed at it for a moment.

‘And I thought, much longer do I need to pay for that one mistake? I thought more, and more about it, until I realised; it was never about me. It was always about Him. Tell me, what makes Heaven so precious? What makes it so, desired? So pure?’, she looked pointedly at Nada now, who shook her head slowly, uncomprehending. She hummed, and clicked her tongue.

‘Hell. Hell defines Heaven. Hell is Heavens dark shadow. We are the sin-eaters that lurk beneath. Because there has to be separation, from those that repent, and those that don’t. Or Heaven would not remain so pure, would it?’, a small, biting laugh escaped her. She threw Nada the apple; she caught it, surprised.

‘If it wasn’t me, it would have been some other angel. Some other soul that dared to have agency. Dared to aspire. Dared to be ambitious, independent, curious. The mortals believe I am the curser of Hell, that I take pleasure in pain. Who told that lie? Who put me here?’, her voice coiled, growing louder, more resentful. ‘Who needs me, just to look good?’, her nostrils flared, her gaze turned to a glare, and a silence hung, only The Wheel creaking behind her. Nada found her mouth moving without her thinking; her hand clutching the apple.

‘So why are you back, then? Why return at all?’

Lucifer held her gaze then, her face relaxing once more; clarity had returned. She smiled brightly.

‘Because He asked me to’.

‘Because He asked you to?’

A smugness rang in the air. Lucifer stepped forward, gently, deliberate, and took Nada’s hand. She was surprised by the warmth of her touch; the freshness of her skin. It would not be difficult to think that, she was as lovely once as she is now bitter. Lucifer led her back to the edge of the cliff-top, where she had stood herself, only minutes before, looking out across the land of shadow and fire. Lucifer pointed outwardly.

‘All of this. Do you see it?’, Nada nodded, silent. She pressed on. ‘It is pure..chaos. Unfiltered, unregulated, unchecked. Things have been..slipping through the net. Slithering into the gardens of Heaven. And now, it is not so pure,’ she murmured, eyes still fixed on her Kingdom. She paused.

‘He did not command me. He asked. Because he has made one mistake, in casting me out of Heaven, and throwing me into this deep tract of Hell. Indeed, it was a mistake to only define Heaven through the functioning of this realm. He needs me. And I will not respond to his commands. It’s funny, isn’t it? Painfully ironic?,’ she turned her head towards Nada, eye-level.

‘They say that Pride is the birth of Sin itself. Mortals, Endless and Dreamers alike believe my sin to be Pride. But why did it take Him so long, to just ask, instead of command me?’, her hand gestured outward, ‘Look how many lives His Pride has cost us. His Pride has destroyed entire realms. As your precious Morpheus would attest.’

She sighed, and did not wait for an answer. Nada would not have given one. Her mind was in deep-freeze, slow to comprehend, trying to put the pieces together. Lucifer turned to her once more, with a look of knowing and clarity.

‘This is my realm. And only I may rule it. I assure you, it is a burden you do not want’, she clicked her tongue. ‘The Dreaming, however, is torn. You have become tethered by the diadem that rests on your crown, and as such, has created a tear in the Dreaming fabric. Hell will continue to seep its influence, and while it does, the Dreaming will never function at its full capacity’, her voice lowered, ‘You can leave it all behind. Or, you can touch a spoke, and bind yourself..as Regent.’

Regent?

‘And if I choose to bind myself, that would seal the fabrics in the Dreaming? And I could return to the Dreaming, if I wanted?’ Her heart pounded faster now, her pulse quickened. Could it be possible?

Lucifer shrugged. ‘Stay where you like, it is of no difference to me. Though I could hazard a guess of which realm you will reside in, should you choose to. I will not ask you twice, on what you decide to do. Do not expect friendship or sympathy from me..,’ she paused, ‘..I will, however, offer you some advice. Dare to be ambitious. Dare to aspire. Dare to love,’ she murmured, her gaze avoiding her. The last line had come softer than the others; whispers of love drawn from Lucifer herself. In that moment, Nada wondered what the rebel angel loved more; to serve in Heaven, or to rule in Hell?

She cast a gaze around, neither said anything more. Love? If it is love, then why does it come with such pain? Her eyes flickered as she remembered her time spent in the depths of this realm. Only great love can borne great betrayal. And, does that mean, it is..inevitable? That those we love, will always hurt us in some way? Or maybe that’s what love is? Trusting them not to? Her chest swelled, and an uneasy feeling coiled in her stomach. How many times would she have to make this choice? A warm, familiar voice swooned into her mind, easing her shoulders.

“Why do we do anything, if not for love?”

And what would her Grandmother say now, in this exact context, in this exact situation? The Wheel churned restlessly, the spokes rising. Rise up on my spokes, said The Wheel. But then, don’t complain when you are cast back down again.

‘Well?’

Nada turned and faced her. She nodded, slowly, and sighed.

‘Thank God, he asked you to come back,’ she smiled faintly, ‘And thank you, that you returned.’

Lucifer said nothing, but rose her chin slightly, and returned the faint smile. A certain respect bound between them. Nada looked towards The Wheel.

‘I will accept your offer. As Regent.’

Lucifer straightened her back, and her wings spread once more, bright and beautiful, a terribleness illuminating from them. She gave Nada a knowing look, but said nothing more, and took her hand tenderly, leading her to The Wheel. Together, they stood before its perpetual churning, on the edge of oblivion. But, she was not alone, this time. Lucifer’s hand gently lingered over hers, guiding her finger to just above the turning spokes.

‘When you are ready, press your finger down upon a spoke, until a single drop of blood seeps from it,’ she murmured, her breath cool at the back of Nada’s neck.

Clunk. Clink. Clunk.

She watched the spokes, counting. Her hand trembled slightly, but Lucifer did not push. It was her decision. She nodded once more, and inhaled a sharp breath.

With cold clarity, she pushed her finger down upon a spoke, its sharpness snagging her skin immediately; crimson seeped from her hand, warm and trickling, running down to her elbow. For a second, the churning stopped, The Wheel hissed, the air became tighter, a cosmic shift changed the skies - red hot fumes and black smoke cleared - sunlight shone into the land of shadow. Lucifer looked upon it then, her eyes ravishing it, as though she had not felt its warmth upon her face for a thousand years or more.

Hell held its breath. For the first time in a millennia, bright beams of sunlight spilled across the domain. Her arms prickled as she gazed up, mouth agape, eyes in awe…

Then, she gasped, a sudden and abrupt rush of hotness ran through her veins, blazing like molten metal, she pulled back, falling, and writhed in agony in the dirt, small yelps escaping her throat - she could not see, she could not breath, she could only feel -

It came as quickly as it had come, and in its passing, it left a wake of strength that she had not felt since her time as a mortal Queen. Her mind, clear. Her exhaustion, gone. Lucifer held her head straight, soothing her temple, no concern on her face, only patience. As if she had expected this. As if she too, had felt this. She helped her to her feet, and steadied her.

‘Rise, Dreamer,’ she commanded, her voice proud and clear.

‘I now declare you an equal of Hell. An overseer of duty. A Regent to Sovereignty. The Wheel abides your command,’ she held out a hand, ‘And I welcome you..Queen-Regent of Hell,’ a faint smile played on her lips. Without hesitation, and a revitalised knowing, Nada took her hand, and shook it. It was done.

Order had been restored. She felt the power course through her veins. No fear resided within her now.

Morpheus. I am coming. As I was always meant to.