Chapter Text
"My Lord?" Lucienne stepped closer to the door to meet her Master, who eagerly walked into the castle. "Back so soon?"
"I need you to find a name in your books, Lucienne." Morpheus’ voice was clipped and purposeful. He didn’t slow his stride for a second, his whole body radiated tension, the anger beneath the surface was impossible to miss.
"Sure," she replied, blinking rapidly in confusion.
"Lyra, it is..." he paused for a moment, realizing he didn’t know her last name. “If I’m not mistaken, it should be Revance. R. E. V. A. N. C. E.” he continued, hoping she carried her mother's surname. "Human. Mortal."
Lucienne raised her eyebrows. "Revance? As in..."
"Attend to it without delay, Lucienne," he ordered as he resumed walking. "This matter is of the utmost importance. Defer all other tasks until it is resolved." And before he disappeared behind a door, he added: "I trust you will keep me thoroughly informed as your quest progresses. This shall remain between the two of us."
The slam of the door echoed through the castle. Lucienne remained stunned upon hearing that surname. She found herself both intrigued and concerned by what her Master sought.
From afar, the voice of Mervin Pumpinghead snapped her out of her thoughts:
"Well, he's in a terrible mood for a change, isn’t he? Shocking, truly."
Inside the room Morpheus had locked himself in, he thought about the photograph of Lyra as a newborn with her mother. With his magic, he materialized it and held it in his hands, gazing at it tenderly. "What did you do?" he muttered softly, almost in a whisper.
He opened his coat on one side, revealing the universe inside. There, he stored the photograph and quickly left again, heading directly to the library.
Lucienne raised her eyes when her Master entered the room. She analyzed his countenance as she stood still, pretending to be searching through the shelves.
His jaw was tense, his lips pursed, and apparently, he didn’t blink. His pace was fast, and his steps echoed, but it looked as though he levitated between the books.
"Persist in your search, Lucienne," his voice was deeper than usual.
Without hesitation, he climbed one of the ladders until he reached a very high point, so high, clouds and stars surrounded him. He knew exactly what he was looking for. Stretching his arm, he retrieved a thin book with a wine-red cover. The title, in golden cursive letters, read: 𝒟𝒶𝒾𝓈𝓎 ℛℯ𝓋𝒶𝓃𝒸ℯ.
The thud from his jump startled his chief librarian. He was completely absorbed and lost in thought, failing to stop the train of images flooding his mind. Positioning himself at a reading table, he opened the book and a golden light illuminated his face. His expression remained still, emotionless.
“My Lord?”
He didn’t respond to the voice calling him, not until Lucienne positioned herself directly in front of him. “Is this the book you’re looking for, my Lord?”
Even then, he didn’t seem to understand the question.
“...Or should I keep searching?” she added, realizing how distant he was.
“Resume your search,” he ordered, turning back to his reading.
“The book you want isn’t where it should be. And if it’s not there, it means…”
“It does not exist.” They said it in unison.
“I must admit, its inexistence stirs no surprise in me,” he said, eyes still locked on the book, devouring it. “Yet I am deeply intrigued and troubled as to why.”
Unable to match his energy, Lucienne cautiously suggested that perhaps he had the wrong name.
The Lord Shaper sighed.
He carefully closed the book, and Lucienne had just enough time to read the name on the cover. She sighed too. Then she met her Master's eyes, and this time, she saw a flicker of melancholy in them.
A dozen questions rushed into her mind, but there was no time to ask. He quickly took the book and tucked it under his arm with visible sadness. Just like that, he returned to his state of focus.
“Sir, may I ask what this is all about?”
But her question was ignored. He heard her, but chose not to answer. Instead, he raised his hand and opened an oval window into a dream, one he seemed particularly invested in.
Inside, a green meadow unfolded, full of breathtaking scenery: towering mountains, flowing rivers, and cascading waterfalls.
As the meadow revealed itself, flowers of various shapes and colors bloomed, alongside enormous glowing trees. Everything was beautiful, yet Dream frowned to the image.
“She’s nowhere to be seen. Nowhere to be found in the dream I sent her to.”
“Who, my Lord?” Lucienne’s tone was exasperated.
It was obvious he was holding something back, something he might even wanted to share.
With another motion of his hand, the dream window vanished.
Lucienne stepped closer and repeated her question, this time with a quiet threat in her voice:
“Who is this mortal, my Lord?”
“A mistake,” he whispered so softly she barely caught it. “A mistake I made a few decades ago.”
“Sir?” she asked again, now irritated by his riddles.
“My daughter,” he let it out, barely moving his lips, unable to hold the secret any longer. “I have a daughter, Lucienne. I did not know.”
The librarian was speechless.
“Daisy Revance?” she broke the cold silence after minutes of him staring at the floor, a question to which he only nodded once.
In a solemn manner, still holding the book of his former lover under his arm, he sat in a chair, followed by Lucienne.
“She… Daisy… her mother… is no longer alive,” he began, sadness in his voice as he stared into the horizon.
“I am sorry, sir,” she said with all honesty. “Truly. But that is what happens to mortals, isn’t it?”
“She was quite young, as far as I understand. I haven’t had that talk with my sister… yet. Our daughter...” he struggled to articulate that last phrase, “…became an orphan at an early age. Imagine that, Lucienne, a daughter of mine wandering alone through the Waking World, abandoned.”
“If I may, sir, it’s not abandonment if you didn’t know about her existence in the first place.”
“I did not know!” he repeated with urgency, also trying to convince himself.
“I do not wish to interfere with your personal matters, sir, but did you meet Mrs. Daisy again? Ever?” She sounded like she was searching for another explanation, maybe the girl was fathered by someone else?
“Not even in her dreams did I appear. I honored the agreement we reached and disappeared from her life. She was distressed and overwhelmed with grief, visibly upset as well, yet I believed I was acting in her best interest. We did share one final encounter, a farewell.”
He looked the librarian directly in the eyes, his gaze filled with inner anger. He understood that was probably the moment of his daughter’s conception.
“She is mine. I am sure.”
“In any case, how is it possible that you did not know, sir?”
“That, I ignore.” Lord Morpheus stood up slowly, leaving his melancholy behind. He explained what his sister and he had discussed hours earlier. “It appears that, in some way, I was blocked from her life, and by doing so, our daughter was shielded… from me and the Realm. As to how, I do not know yet. And it’s the ‘why’ that’s been preying on my mind.”
“A protective spell, perhaps? Although it should have been a very powerful cast.”
“I never felt her existence. Somehow, I ignore her dreams and nightmares. Her book is nonexistent in my infinite library, and Daisy’s entries stopped after our last encounter...”
With that, he held the book tighter under his arm.
That event was strange beyond words. To say they were confused would be an understatement.
Lucienne thought she had fulfilled her duty as a librarian, but how could she not have noticed that a book, such an important book, was interrupted? When she attempted to apologize to her Master, he absolved her of all responsibility. After all, they had both been fooled by a simple mortal.
Death, my sister, said it was Daisy’s wish to withhold such precious information from me,” he concluded.
At that moment, a parchment appeared on the table, words were being written on it in real time.
“She is awake.” Dream suppressed a proud smile as he eagerly read each new word.
“What exactly are we looking at, Sir?” Lucienne asked.
“My daughter’s dream,” the Dream Lord replied emotionlessly, focused on the text. “I learned she has the habit of writing down her dreams. I deprived her of her usual writing tools and left her a Dreamscape pen I personally use. It worked.”
Lucienne did not like the idea. “So, you’re basically tracking her?”
“Observing,” he corrected.
With a stern tone, she voiced her concerns: “Sir, while I understand your worries and find them valid, as I am also invested in this matter and in her, you must remember she is mortal. You cannot interfere in mortal lives.”
“She may be mortal, Lucienne, but she is also my own blood” his tone rising with anger. “Imagine what could happen if… when someone else discovers this! She is no simple mortal. She possesses a power she does not yet understand.” Then he admitted: “A power I myself do not understand.”
“What do you mean?”
“What she dreams affects her waking reality. She sensed her aunt, Death. And she has been here before.”
“When you say here... you mean the Realm?”
Dream nodded once in affirmation.
“She has the gift of drawing,” he added with a faint smile touching his lips. “I have seen her illustrations: Mervin Pumpkinghead, Death’s key, The Corinthian… She has seen a great deal. I have a strong feeling she is the one activating our alarms and alerting the wyvern. I believe she’s been here in a sort of astral form, through her dreams.”
“I’ve never heard of a case like this before.” Lucienne wondered how it was possible the girl knew the way to the Realm, it seemed impossible. “Maybe she is truly special, my Lord.”
“Above all, she is my daughter, my blood, and I must protect her. She's a danger to herself right now. I need to understand, so I can help her.”
Lucienne felt the rush in her Master and it worried her, knowing he was probably acting impulsively.
“If you allow me, we must proceed with caution, Sir. We don’t know what lies behind this, and it could be very dangerous… perhaps not for you, but for her…”
“We will proceed with caution,” he said sharply, ending the discussion.
As concerned as Lucienne was, she knew at that moment it was pointless to argue.
“We will need a new book. Create it handmade and resistant. We'll fill it by hand.”
“Matthew!” Dream’s voice echoed, and almost immediately, the crow appeared flying towards him. “I need you in the Waking world!”
And as he flew away, Lucienne’s words faded: “Stalking her might not be the best way... if you want to have a relationship with her.”
When Matthew arrived at Lyra’s window, she was already wrapping up her dream in the notebook. Once she finished, she stopped to observe the pen she was using.
It looked like a normal black ink pen, but it really wasn’t, it had something special, though she couldn’t figure out what. The ink was cool, with shiny pieces of sparkle, resembling outer space. The way they disappeared when dry was strange, though.
She thought she’d ask the café client where he had bought it from. She considered she’d have to apologize for using it, it sure was an expensive pen. She hadn’t meant to write with it, but her other pen, plus all of her pencils and even charcoal sticks, had disappeared. Oddly, she felt drawn to the pen. That train of thought made her realize she wished the mysterious emo client would be back at her work. She wanted to see him again.
A noise from the street interrupted the conversation she was having with herself. She peeked through the window, and Matthew went unnoticed, for Lyra’s full attention was on the car parked right in front of Mr. Burford's house.
Her heart sank, even the bird outside could hear her strong and fast palpitations. Coming back to reality hit hard. She remembered why she had skipped her morning walk that day, why she took the day off from work. She was mourning again, and she wished she could return to the beautiful dream she had the night before.
She met her mother in the meadow. Neither of them spoke a word, they only shared smiles, but that was enough. Her mother’s presence was enough, and she felt safe in that space, breathing her scent one more time. Everything was beautiful. She could have stayed there forever.
For Lyra, dreams were deeply personal, like pieces of her soul. She didn’t share them with anyone. Mr. Burford knew she dreamed often, but she guarded the details. She was protective of her notebook, jealous, even, always carrying it with her, afraid someone might find it and read it. Little did she know that, in another dimension, the one and only Sandman was very interested in reading about it.
More movement started on the other side of the street. A woman came out of her neighbor’s house, followed by a man. She was on her phone. Then, a moving truck blocked the view from the window.
“That was fast,” she thought and decided to go out.
Slowly and nervously, Lyra stood on the sidewalk, close to the woman who was still on a call. She knew this was Mr. Burford’s daughter, she had seen her in pictures and actually met her once at Mrs. Burford’s funeral service. The woman recognized Lyra, too, and signed for her to wait a little.
From inside the house, the old man’s son was guiding the workers around. Soon enough, they began to move the furniture to the truck. Lyra had to hold back her tears. As she struggled with her inner turmoil
“You’re the girl from the house in the front, right?” Mr. Buford’s daughter approached her.
“Lyra,” she introduced herself with her voice cracking.
“I was told you called the ambulance. You found him.”
Lyra simply nodded repeatedly.
“I’m very sorry. That must have been scary,” the woman sighed. “But thank you,” she added gently, as they moved out of the workers’ way.
“Lyra is a beautiful name,” the lady tried to start a conversation, clearly interested in talking to her. “I’m Ivy, by the way…Would you like to come in?”
The girl agreed and followed the woman into the kitchen. Everything was just as Lyra had left it the morning before, and she sat at the breakfast table trying not to look around, but it was difficult to ignore all of the movement.
Her host’s eyes were watery. “Can I ask… how did you find him?”
“I… I used to visit him every morning before work, and I’d pass by every night in case he needed anything. I work at a coffee shop nearby, and yesterday morning he asked me to bring him a slice of the pie he liked. I knocked. He didn’t answer. I came inside and… he was already sleeping in his chair.” Remembering was the same as living the nightmare again.
By this point, the woman was crying uncontrollably and Lyra didn’t know what to say.
“I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. And thank you for taking care of him.” She reached for Lyra’s hand. “I know he was fond of you. The few times we talked on the phone, he mentioned you, said you were like an angel sent from heaven.”
“I just tried to keep him company.” Her voice trembled, faint and fragile.
“And you have no idea how much that meant to him.”
Lyra avoided looking Ivy in the eye, instead she let her gaze catch the activity in the living room, taking the chance to change the subject before she started crying. “May I ask what you’ll do with all of his things?”
“Oh, my brother wants to sell everything before putting the house on the market. I told him to wait, but he wouldn’t listen. He has a family of his own and is struggling, you know?” She tried to justify behavior she clearly disapproved of. “His body is still cold…” she muttered, more to herself.
At that moment, the brother interrupted.
“There are a lot of things to pack. You should come help me,” he directed his words to Ivy who sighed.
That was the sign for Lyra to leave: “Maybe I should go now. I don’t want to be an intruder.
“You’re more than welcome to come to his funeral, if you want,” Ivy told Lyra as they walked out, passing right by the living room, where the books from Mr. Buford’s precious library were being thrown into boxes as if they were trash. This hurt her deeply, as she felt that his neighbor’s memory was being disrespected by these actions.
“I’m sorry. What are you going to do with the books?”
“Sell them,” Mr. Buford’s son said from behind her. “Who are you?” he asked, clearly annoyed.
“This is Lyra. She found Dad last night and has been keeping him company while we… while we were away.”
Lyra knew the daughter felt guilty. She was absolutely sure that she loved her father and was now taking responsibility for her own actions, the abandonment. She felt bad for her, and could feel her sadness floating in the air.
“Your father loved all those books. I don’t think you should treat them with disrespect.” She mentioned it kindly. “Just a thought.”
But the man smirked mockingly: “Who cares?”
“How much do you want for them?” Automatically, words slipped from her tongue. She was sweating cold, a strong need to save the books overwhelmed her.
“What?”
“Do you want them?” Ivy asked. “I think you can have them… Moises, she should have them.”
“No. They’re for sale. You can give me $500.”
“I don’t have that much,” the girl said sadly. To be fair, it was a good offer.
“Moises, you won’t even read them. She’s been here with Dad, taking care of him… we should give them to her. It’s just books. It’s just fair”
Counting in her mind and thinking of friends who could lend her some cash, she replied, “Maybe $200?”
Moises just laughed. “That’s not a deal.”
“I’ll give you the other $300.” Ivy held Lyra’s shoulders. “Let her take the books, jerk.”
For the next hour, Lyra ran back and forth between the two houses, moving the books into their new home. With Matthew above her, trying his best to look inconspicuous. Ivy helped her a little, despite her older brother’s irritation. Soon, Lyra’s living room was filled with cardboard boxes, and the scent of old pages filled the air. There was no place to sit, no space to walk around.
“Where do you plan to put all of this?” Ivy asked, looking at the mess.
“Uh, I don’t know… I’ll figure it out eventually, with time.”
“What do you want so many books for, anyway?”
"To read them," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lyra spotted a book sticking out — A Midsummer Night's Dream. She picked it up and held it out to Ivy.
"Here. This was your dad’s favorite. I think you should have it."
But Ivy shook her head. “It’s yours now, you bought it.”
Once the noise outside had settled, the girl stood in silence, hands in her hips, gazing at her newly acquired belongings. It felt strange, these were, after all, the possessions of someone recently deceased. But there was also a quiet comfort in it, a sense that she’d honored her neighbor in some small way. And it made her feel a little bit less alone.
She stacked a few boxes to clear a bit of space on the seat and sat down to rest. Nyx curled up in her lap, and as she gently stroked his fur.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “I just realized… he never got to eat his pie.”
Sitting alone in the coffee shop, the emo customer waited impatiently for her, but she never came to serve his coffee, unaware that Lyra was receiving a visit from a mysterious woman at home.