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Chapter Text

It’s cold in The Dreaming.

The bolts on Dream’s helm chill your fingers. You trace the lines, following an intricate pattern of leather and bone and metal. The spine that protrudes from the snout curls around your lap. What an odd shape. It reminds you of a mosquito – the stuff of nightmares, indeed.

The steps to the thrones aren’t any better. The cold stone is freezing, with the edges digging into your legs. Yet, you stay seated, dressed in simple clothing. Such clothes aren’t suitable for a queen, but Dream isn’t exactly in ceremonial clothing either.

Dream places the ruby necklace around his neck. “You seem displeased with me.”

“Do I?” You tilt your head, smiling.

“Yes,” he says, and there’s a smile on his face that can barely be called one. At least he sounds amused. “Have I done something to gain your ire?”

“It is not me who seems . . . displeased ,” you say, lightly. “The Dreaming can feel it, my dear. Every resident can feel The Corinthian’s absence.”

Dream stretches his hand out for you, close enough for you to see it as it is – An offering. You take it, and slip your cold fingers into his own. His hands are warm. It’s so strikingly different from the mood of The Dreaming.

He guides you up the steps to the throne, your hand gently resting against his own. The helm is secure around your arms, and you hold it tight as you climb the winding staircase.

His hold continues, even as you reach the platform of the thrones. Dream guides you to sit on his throne, pulling you away from your own, only releasing his hold when he’s seated you onto his seat. You hold on just a little longer, and tug his hand closer, pressing one, single, kiss around his fingers.

There’s a rare, but proper smile on his lips now.

Lucienne clears her throat, reminding you of her presence.

Right.

The concerns Lucienne voices hold no lies, but a king settled deeply into his way cannot see other paths. Still . . . it doesn’t hurt to try.

“Lucienne is correct,” you tell him, still tracing the lines on his helm. The stars above the throne room shine below you. So different from the ones you’ve painted across the sky. “The night is high in the Waking World. I can easily bring The Corinthian back. I am due for a visit soon — The stars . . . They . . . they call my name.”

“The Corinthian is my responsibility.” Dream stands tall, speaking to you with a voice that demands no arguments. “ My duty.”

You sit tall on his throne, and do not dignify him with a response.

Dream leans forward, almost bowing before you.

The helm in your hold somehow becomes colder. Still, you bring the helm to his head, and place it on him until you could no longer see his eyes. There’s a small part of you that begs, yelling at you to rip it off his head.

Dream looks at you through the lenses on his helm. The weight of an Endless’ gaze is heavy, and this one never seems to look away. “Will you continue to be displeased with me?”

“You can rectify my displeasure when you return.” You press your lips on the helm, offering a bit of your powers to him. “The stars will guide your travels. I cannot do anything once you have arrived — You will be unprotected.”

You press your head against the helmet, letting your eyes flutter to a close.

“I will return,” he says, voice muffled through the helm.

“Let me come with you.”

Dream presses you back into his throne. “There is none I trust more with The Dreaming than you.”

Sand is thrown into the air. It grows and swirls, and it takes the king in its whirlwind.

The queen slumps around his throne, staring at the myriad of stars painted above by the king. “Be back soon.”

There are no stars in The Dreaming. The above, the blow, and the in-between — All are creations of Dream. That means so are the very stars above you. The Dreaming is a vast land; an infinite bubble separated from the universe that birthed you into existence.

The stars above the throne room glitter, each shining and flaring like an actual constellation . . . but you cannot feel the connection of the universe through them. The stars in The Dreaming are silent, a symbolic piece placed into the sky for those who built their life in its warmth, but you know better.

You lean your head on the armrest of the throne, allowing the growing strain on your neck to settle as you stare at these silent stars. The particular patter above the throne mimics the exact position the night you wed an Endless.

C . . .Cr . . .

It starts off small, impossibly small.

A single crack appears through the very fabric of this reality.

 . . . Cr . . .

Crack!

The damage to the stars mimic shattering glass. The cracks spread through its very reality and onto the marble beams. The colors . . . they start to fade, growing dimmer with every passing second. The heart of The Dreaming stands proud, even as the edges of the land begin to crumble.

Yet, you do not move.

You stay on his throne, curling deeper into the seat. The weight of it barrels deep into your shoulders.

Footsteps sound echo around the chamber. It’s precise. It’s quick. It’s efficient. You do not need to turn to know who it is.

“My lady . . . ?” Lucienne calls out for you. She explains everything you already know. The Dreaming is dying – Fast. The land is turning grey with each tree dying, its leaves returning to dust. The stars . . . they’re dimming. “I’ve gotten reports all over the area. The residents are in a state of panic, and with lord Morpheus gone—”

“A moment, Lucienne.” Your voice is soft as you lie listlessly on his throne, but it still carries the weight of it. “It seems . . . something has happened to my husband. A few moments, that’s all.”

Lucienne lowers her gaze. “Yes, my lady.”

A moment, that’s all you really need. Just . . . a short . . . moment.

The Dreaming is impossibly cold now, and the chill settles into your bones as you descend the steps to the throne. You stare ahead; gaze locked to the impossibly long hallway. You don’t think your heart could take seeing it decay any further.

Lucienne follows when you walk past her.

“The residents are ordered to the palace immediately,” you say, keeping your back towards her. This isn’t the time to break, not when The Dreaming and its people rely on you. “This is the heart of The Dreaming – it will be the last to decay. Once it is safe, they are free to return to their homes.”

“What will you do?”

You continue walking, even as Lucienne stops following. “Change.”

The hallways of the castle open up to you. The stones are not as vibrant anymore nor are the painting on the wall.

The Dreaming is decaying. Its truth settles deep into your bones.

You walk across the winding halls until you reach the private quarters. It’s a single door etched into the wall of an infinite hallway. It recognizes your touch, and it opens to you with a single push.

There’s a book tossed into the little nook by the window. It’s where you were lounging this morning as Dream read its contents to you.

Who will read to you now?

A mug stands on the table, forgotten. You told Dream you would have it removed the night before. There’s no one left to remind you.

You run your hands across the table, glancing at all the items – some yours, some his, some you do not know who it belongs to.

“Where are you?” You whisper into the room, hoping for a response.

It never comes.

Lucienne makes a tally of all the residents in The Dreaming, sighing with relief when every resident is accounted for. They settle into the great hall with a low murmur, asking questions she doesn’t know the answer to.

Merv tries his best to repair any cracks he sees, but it returns the moment he turns his back. Taramis offers a drink to everyone who comes in, and Lucienne knows it’s her way of reassuring the residents.

The decay has yet to destroy the castle, but the colors have already faded. Her once vibrant home is losing its warmth.  

Lucienne is scared, and she does not know what to do. There are very few things that make her scared, and even less things she doesn’t know what to do about.

She’s done something about the residents. She’s done something about their unease. She’s done something about their worries. But she cannot do anything about her dying home, or the state of her master.

The murmur dies down into complete silence.

Lucienne turns as the door to the grand hallway opens. She watches, as all of them do, as the lady of The Dreaming appears on the top of the steps, looking down at all of them.

Dread hits her with the gentleness of a tidal wave, crashing against her over and over and over and over again – For the lady of The Dreaming is wearing her symbols of office.

You remove the hood from your head. It’s difficult to tell where you were looking, not with the blindfold wrapped around your eyes. There’s a moment, a small moment, that worry gnaws on Lucienne – You could trip with your eyes bound by a blindfold.  It’s a foolish concern, of course, for the vision of a Celestial is not limited by something as trivial as eyes.

The residents of The Dreaming all stare at their lady . . . their queen . All look to her for guidance as their homes continue to decay.

You do not speak a single word.

You do not need to.

For Lucienne knows that stars do not speak when they guide – They shine like a beacon across the dark night.

You descend the steps in silence, and Lucienne swears she sees stardust trail behind you. All heads bow as you walk past. They do not rise, not until the doors to the castle close.

Only Lucienne rises her head and follows after you.

It’s difficult . . . more than difficult if you were being honest, downright impossible if you were really being honest . . . to see The Dreaming in this state. You do not let your home’s decay stop you.

Lucienne follows you across the bridge, and through the decay, and out the ivory gates. The sound of crashing waves is a small comfort. It temps you to enjoy its shore, but you walk past the sand and head through the pier.

You reach the end of the pier, watching the deep waters swirl with the dreams of mortals. Only then do you turn. “My loyal librarian,” you say, smiling. “Have you come to see me off?”

Lucienne glances at the waters below. It’s getting wilder. “Will you be getting lord Morpheus?”

“There isn’t time.” You do not know why you were stalling. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . it’s time to accept that you were frightened.

“How about his siblings?” she says. “Or, even yours.”

“When we were wed, Destiny left me a gift.” You pull the hood over your head. “It was just a couple words strung together . . . I didn’t understand what he meant until now.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A Celestial holds great power,” you tell her, playing with the ring around your finger. “It’s nothing in the face of an Endless, but it should be enough.”

Lucienne stares at you, searching for eyes she cannot see. “Did Destiny foresee this?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” You stare ahead, looking at where your home decays. “Dream is out there, cut off from The Dreaming. That is why it is dying, but he is The Dreaming, and The Dreaming is him. If something happens to our home, I fear it might . . . ”

You cannot finish your sentence.

“Those waters were not meant for you.” Lucienne takes a step towards you. “My lady, it could kill you if you throw yourself into it.”

“I cannot let my home be destroyed, nor can I allow the waking world to suffer any longer” you say. “I can hear it, Lucienne. The universe is crying.”

“I am begging you to think about this for a moment,” Lucienne says. “You have been away from the waking world for some time now.”

“I am a Celestial.” You stand proud, staring her down. “I am every star in the universe – every single one that has ever been made, and every single one that will ever be made.”

“But you are not in the universe, you are in The Dreaming, cut-off from the cosmos.” Lucienne takes another step closer. “If we lose you –”

“I will not repeat myself.”

“Very well, my lady.” Lucienne bows. “I apologize for speaking out of turn.”

You pull her into a hug, wrapping her deeply into your body. “You have nothing to apologize for,” you say. “This is not your fault.”

Lucienne takes a moment to answer, and you do not mention the tears you see pricking her eyes. “Is there any way I could help?”

“A small favor is all I need.” You slip your ring off your finger, and wrap it around her hand. “He will return . . . I’m not sure if I will.”

There’s a pleading look on Lucienne’s face. It almost makes you turn back.

“Go back to the castle.” You turn your back towards her, facing the water. “I leave The Dreaming to you until its master returns.”

You wait until Lucienne is barely a spec of dust, and then some more. Only then do you reach for the waters, watching its ripples flow across the surface. There really is no point in delaying the inevitable, not when your home is decaying.

“You are my home, and you are hurting.” You whisper into the water. “Your master left me his authority. Heed to my command – Let me help you.”

The water ripples once . . . twice . . . thrice. In the water, a projection of Dream appears on the reflection. You dip your hands into the water. A shadow of a grasp brushes your fingers. It clamps down on your wrist, and pulls you into its waters.

The trees bloom.

The colors brighten.

The cracks mend.

Lucienne tries to enjoy the sight around her. She digs deep into her to find the joy, but . . .

It seems . . . It seems all she can find is nothing.

Chapter Text

Our home is dying, my love.

The Dreaming has hours before the decay reaches its heart. The home you opened to me cannot die.

The scent of the lilies is starting to fade, and the ones by the window are already wilting, its petals curling into a pile of death. The book next to it is missing its title, and the letters are slowly fading into dust.

Maybe a walk through Fiddler’s Green would calm the building nerves. Maybe there’s a book that hasn’t faded. Maybe . . . Maybe it doesn’t matter. There is no joy to be found when the absence is this striking.

There’s no use delaying.

Time – That was the one thing we never should have lacked.

We needed more time.

    — Unsent correspondence from the lady of The Dreaming to her beloved.

Summary:

All residents have safely returned to their homes. A complete census was conducted to assess the state of The Dreaming. Every single one is accounted for with no major-injuries sustained. The decay started from the edge, where the magic was the weakest, and some houses along the border need repair. Thus, the castle remained untouched.

Tremors jostled unsecured vases of lillies.  The pieces were gathered and kept in the event of a repair.

— Recovered  journal report from Chief Librarian, Lucienne to the lord and lady of the Dreaming

Title: A Dream for One. A Nightmare for the Other

It begins how it always begins.  Someone was curious enough to ask a question – How does a dream and a start fall in love? Through a dream, of course, for stars are dreams themselves.

But if a star is a dream, then are they nightmares as well? Well, that depends on who is asked.

To the curse and lost boy who clutches your hand, you are a dream. To the King of Dreams and Nightmares, you were a total nightmare in his eyes.

You squeeze the hand of this young boy. The other hand lights the way, a single lantern dangling in your hold. It guides through the dark and illuminates the path, not with a flame, but with starlight itself. The boy stares at you, then at your lantern, and squeezes back.

“Will you not fall?” he whispers into your cloak, bringing his instrument closer to his body. It wasn’t the first time a nightmare had taken it from him. “Mother always tells me to be cautious when I run. I don’t want you to fall.”

“I will not fall.” You smile down at him. “The blindfold has no power over my sight.”

He looks at the path ahead, and smiles.

The darkness isn’t intimidating, not when the starlight shines through your lantern. He’s never seemed the path before. It’s always been just the darkness. Eventually, the bubble of nothing fades in the background.

The sound of crashing water is the first thing he notices. It pulls his attention until a gate of horn and ivory demands his notice. The gates open with a loud creak, and out comes a man . . . or something close enough.

He cannot quite describe the being that comes out of those gates, for how do you describe dreams? How do you put into words the very thing that fuels hope?

The boy is young, yes. But even he knows to show his respect to the being in dark clothing.

“Hello.” You say it gently, almost simply.

“It is polite to give a proper greeting to the master of the realm you are trying to enter,” he says with such a low voice. It’s barely there.

“Forgive me,” you say with this smile on your face. It’s difficult to decipher any expressions, especially when the hood covers your face, and a cloth binds your eyes. “I greet Dream of The Endless, the lord of The Dreaming.”

Dream raises his hand, and you lift your head. “You came from the outskirts –Why?”

“Music.”

“Music .” Dream mimics your words. “You brought him here for such a reason?”

“Yes.”

Dream glares at you.

“Am I not allowed to have preferences?" You show him your most innocent smile. “Music and lilies and art and books.”

The boy clutches his instrument closer. It was just a simple song, nothing of worth. You were the first thing he saw in the darkness, a bright figure with a lantern that doesn’t hold any flames. They were just notes strung together. There was no music.

“The boy is cursed to never dream. His mind gets lost in the dark,” you say the words with a smile. There’s a softness to the way you speak, but even this young boy knows not to mistake it for gentleness. “But he played me a beautiful song on his little instrument. So, I guided him to the Dreaming.”

The boy cannot decipher if you were kind and gentle or cold and distant. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s none. Maybe it’s because you are not like him.

The being of Dreams and Nightmares pulls his eyes away from you, and turns to the boy. “Is that so?”

“What she says is true,” the boy says, fiddling with the wood of his instrument. “I’ve never been able to dream.”

“I have done my duty.” You squeeze his hand one last time, before pushing him forward with a hearty laugh. “It was good to see you, Dream of The Endless. I shall bring more children to you.”

You disappear into starlight before Dream can protest.

The boy turns to the man who resembles a nightmare, but grasps his coat in his tiny hands.  There’s a moment, just a small moment, where the boy thinks Dream looks surprised . . . no, worried. He looks worried in this awkward kind of way.

. . . What does he do now?

— Short-story from an unknown resident of The Dreaming.

Summary:

It started with The Land of Mystery. Patches of grey-zones were found in the area. Everything that was once living in those patches have dulled. Further inspection found that anything placed and left within those grey-zone dulled as well. The residents in the area were warned to stay away from these patches.

Over time, these grey-zones started to spread until it was considered a decay. It consumed five towns after only a month. The residents were re-located closer towards the palace. The remaining towns have become over-crowded. Tension is rising within the residents of each village. The village chiefs have tried their best to minimize any incidence, but the lessening space causes friction.

Daily monitoring is conducted by volunteers from each town. The decay spreads by day. It doesn’t spread towards the people, but it sucks the life of the very soil around it.

A full garden of lilies were thriving one day, but dead the next

The first damage to the castle took an entire tower. The bricks caved-in, and fell from its spot. Fortunately, none were harmed, but this was when the first batch of residents left.

Half left for lands healthier than The Dreaming. The other half left to search for their master. Despite their rezonings, none ever returned.

Others followed shortly.

—  Recovered journal report from Chief Librarian, Lucienne to the lord and lady of The Dreaming.

Title: From Nightmare to Dream

It’s raining in The Dreaming when you bring the boy . . .

No, he’s no longer a boy anymore, but a proper young man. He no longer holds your hand, nor does he hide his face in your cloak. Still, the music he brings echoes for you in the darkness, and the light you gift leads him to The Dreaming.

Rain pelts against your clothes when you step on the rocky shores. When the gates of horn and ivory part for the young man, Dream of The Endless is nowhere to be found.

The young man looks at you, but you urge him to enter. Dreamers are welcome into The Dreaming, and you are not dreaming right now.

You stand by the gate, pelted by the rain as the pooling water floods the beauty of The Dreaming, and . . . oh, dear . . . and for the first time, you decide to enter The Dreaming. Thunder booms across the land, shaking your bones. Part of you expects a bolt of lighting to strike when your foot passes the gate. It never comes, thankfully.

The Dreaming is quiet; the only sounds are the whispers of sorrow.  

You find him in the middle of a field, seated on the murky grass of the clearing. The rain soaks his clothes. It kisses his cheeks and drips down his face. There’s a far-away look on his face. It’s so different from the ones you’ve seen. It doesn’t look right.

A gust of wind blows the hood away from your face. The rain starts to damp your hair, making it stick to your face.

“Hello.” It’s a simple greeting.

Dream stays silent, even when you take the seat next to him. If Dream of The Endless have any complaints about your presence, he does not voice them. The silence stretches for so long that you almost turn back. Almost .

“Will you help me with this?” You tilt your head, showing him the knot of your blindfold. “It’s getting in the way.”

Droplets of water fall from his hair. It falls between the blades of grass, losing itself to the puddle below. “I thought . . .” he begins, the sound of his voice barely there. “I thought you do not need eyes to see. That is what the boy told me.”

“I don’t,” you say. “But The Dreaming is too beautiful of a place. I wish to see it with my own eyes.”

Dream undoes the knot that binds your eyes. The cloth falls between your bodies, and gets stained from the mud. The Dreaming is even more beautiful now. The thunderstorm dulls the area with its sorrow, but not even that can erase the vibrancy of his home. It’s absolutely breath taking.

“You dare to approach me.”

“I do.”

“You are the first to do so.” Dream searches your eyes, and the weight of his gaze barrels into you. Still, you allow him to make his judgment about you. “Then you are fool. There is a reason why no one else has tried.”

“Then you are in need of more friends.” You tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “If you wish from a star, you will have what you want. One word from you, and I will take my leave.”

Dream turns his back towards you, yet only the howl of the rain can be heard.

The . . . The cold? It prickles your skin. For the first time since your creatin, the rain on your skin buzzes your nerves. It all feels so different here. The rain that hits your skin is vibrant. The mud that stains your cloak feels slimy. The cold in the air settles deep within your bones.

It’s cold. You’re cold .  You have never been more alive.  It seems The Dreaming is removed from the universe. The call of your home is barely a whisper now, it’s power is dull, and it leaves you vibrant.

A gust of wind blows on your cloak. You undo the clasp, and throw the other half of it over Dream’s shoulders. The weather is downright freezing now, yet you do not move.

“Why are you here?” Dream keeps his back towards you, but he does not remove your offering.

“The stars shine despite the absence of the sun,” you tell him, smiling as your fingers numb a little from the cold. “It reminds us we are never truly alone in the darkness.”

“That is why you’re here.”

You reach across his shoulders, and drop the lantern by his feet with a smile. “No, that is what the lantern is for.”

Dream turns his head towards you, eyes narrowed.

You show him your most innocent smile.

His lips twitch . . . it’s the tiniest hind of a smile. Dream pulls the cloak back on your shoulder, ensuring that half is at least on you.

“I’m here because this is where I wish to be.” You press your back against his, and hug your knees. The howl of the wind blows your wet hair into your face. It’s annoying. It’s liberating.  “The Dreaming is beautiful.”

“You seem . . .” Dream pauses, as if trying to find the correct words, “. . . different.”

“I died recently.” You press your cheeks into your knees. “Time comes for everyone, and I am not an exception.”

Dream scoffs at your words. The sound rumbles his chest and travels to you. “Are you mocking me?”

“Am I allowed to.”

“Perhaps,” he says. “One day.”

“Stars cannot be killed, yet they still die.” You shut your eyes, even as the rain sticks your clothes to your back. “All that energy gets taken and recycled into a new star. From destruction, it’s me who rose. I’m still me – music and lilies and art and books – but just a little different.”

The cold that comes from the rain freezes you solid. Yet . . . yet . . . the cold makes you appreciate the warmth.  

Dream shifts to sit next to you, pulling the cloak closer around your shoulders. He’s quite warm for someone so pale. The thought brings a smile to your face. There’s this distance between you, but it’s enough to carve a space away from the rain.

“So, what will it be?” Dream says in a hushed voice. It’s difficult to hear when the pelting rain howls in your ears. “A poem? Some anecdotes? What wise words does a star have for me?”

The word comes out simple. “Nothing.”

For seven days and seven nights, storms cracked through The Dreaming but through the darkness, the star’s light never left.

— Short-story from an unknown resident of The Dreaming.

Lucienne.

Find the musician guided by starlight. He is to be commissioned.

— Recovered correspondence from the lord of The Dreaming to Chief Librarian, Lucienne

Summary:

The land is dead. Everything that was and everything that will be have long returned to the sand. The once vibrant land is withered.

There is nothing left but me.

— Recovered journal report from Chief Librarian, Lucienne to the lord and lady of The Dreaming.

Title :  A Lullaby from a Dream to a Star

The Dreaming opens it’s gates of horn and ivory. It opens to you like it’s never done before.

The Dreaming takes yo 

You walk across . . .

“It’s beautiful. I . . . I cannot accept this.”

“It is yours to do with whether you accept it or not.”

“Then will you accept a wish from me in return? Wish upon a star, and it shall be yours.”

— Corrupted short-story from an unknown resident of The Dreaming.

“ The words disappeared .”

Chapter Text

The halls that echoed with your laughter are silent. The Dreaming feeds on your life, yet the stars that once twinkled with your presence are dull. The trace of you has long faded into the night.

There’s none who can be blamed, except him. He is The Dreaming and The Dreaming is him, and Dream of The Endless takes and he takes and he takes until nothing is left.

Dream presses his hand on the door, and the scent of dust assaults his nose.

You would be livid to see the state of his . . . your . . . their chambers like this. The shelves are empty, and the flowers are dead with a pile of wilted lily petals. The book he was reading to you is gone. It was right there by the window when he left.

Yet, despite everything, there’s still that mug on the table, forgotten. One-hundred and six years , and you never removed it. It almost brings a smile to his face.

Dream runs his hand on the desk, ignoring the way dust sticks to his skin. His hand runs through one of your pens. It seems you’ve been writing, but the words you left are missing. There’s a part of him that wonders what you were writing – A good-bye? An apology? Was it even for him?

There’s a selfish part of him that hopes he was in your mind.

Lucienne clears her throat, indicating her presence by the door. She does not step inside. “Forgive me, your majesty,” she says. “The door was open so I figured . . .”

“What is it?” Dream traces the pattern on one of your jackets. The Dreaming can turn cold, especially the sea you so eagerly flung yourself in. “I am busy.”

“I’ve managed to locate the pier,” she says, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “It took me a minute, but the waters seemed to realize your return.”

There isn’t much power left in him. It’s nothing compared to the ocean he used to wield. Every drop should be conserved.

This doesn’t stop him from nudging the dead lily. Just a touch of his finger, and the once wilted petals rise from the flower. It connects back to the stem, until the flower blooms. A single flower in a broken room. (A single star in a ruined kingdom.)

Lucienne tightens her grip on her wrist. “I tried – ”

“ Enough .” It comes out harsher than he intended to.

The walk from the castle to the gates of horn and ivory breaks something in him. The music that used to fill the sky is now silent. The fields of flowers are now barren lands. The home you loved is ruined, and that . . . that is on him.

Lucienne trails behind him, following through the dock. There’s an unmistakable look of apprehension on her face. It doesn’t take long before she voices all her concerns about the sea of dreams.

It’s too late to turn back.

Gregory’s entire being is in his palm, because that is what Dream of The Endless does – he takes and he takes and he takes . From you. From Gregory.

The sand slips between his fingers, and into the water below. Then . . . then . . . nothing .

Gregory’s life isn’t enough, the price of the water too high. Dream closes his eyes, pushing down the weight on his heart – He has wasted Gregory’s life. The Dreaming is going to take you away from him.

Lucienne places a hand on his shoulder. She kneels with him for a moment, and Dream forgives her touch.

“I think it’s time I completed this favor.” Lucienne grabs his hand, and presses something cold into his palms. There’s a certain sorrow on her face that Dream doesn’t pry on. “The lady told me you would need this when you returned.”

Dream opens his palms, and the sight of your wedding band almost makes him crumple into the wood. Almost .

Lucienne steps back, far enough to give him space.

Dream presses the ring to his lips, feeling the cold metal. It’s supposed to be warm, because it usually is. The warmth of your fingers heats the ring. How many times has he pressed his lips against the engraving of the metal? Too many times to count.

You’re waiting for him in these waters. Thus, there’s no time to mourn. So . . . Dream of The Endless does what he always does because that is who he is.

The sand from your wedding band filters into the water.

The water ripples once . . . twice . . . thrice. The reflection on the water shifts. It’s you.

Dream finds himself staring at the image of you. One-hundred and six years . Throughout that time, trapped in Roderick Burgess’s basement, Dream of The Endless yearned for even the tiniest of your smiles.

You mimic the movements he makes.

Dream brings a finger to the water, reaching out like a sailor who hears the siren’s song — uncaring even if you drown him. The palm of your hands open, and Dream takes the invitation. He plunges himself into the water, letting you drag him into its depths.

The currents are faster than he remembers. It swirls him around until he could no longer distinguish up from down. Navigating the waters takes more than it should, but he finds his offerings through the dreams: a crossroad, a hangman, and a snake.

There’s an egg, nesting by the —

There!

In the corner of his eyes. The one place none ever bother to look. A lantern with a light not made from fire. Bounded eyes not limited by its cloth.

You’re standing at the corner, observing the dreams.

This image of you disappears when he turns.

Dream navigates through the harsh water. It doesn’t get easier, but he needs to see you again. At the corner of his eye. Always at the corner of his eyes, still so far from reach. Dream after dream after dream after dream after dream . Always there. Always watching. Always disappearing when he turns.

It takes a thousand dreams for him to give up.

The sea of dreams brings him closer to its core. The ground is solid this time, but the inch of water ripples beneath him. Darkness fills the space.

“I am your master,” Dream says to the void of currents and dreams. “Return her to me.”

The dreams do not answer his command. You walk out from darkness’ embrace, ripples of water spreading with each step you take. A single fire pointed behind him. That’s all you do.

Dream takes step after step after step to reach you. He never gets closer. He doesn’t know what to do but he does know anger, and it is knocking on his door.

“It was not your place to interfere with the dreams of mortals,” he says to you. The words come out low and tense. Dream doesn’t know what he was saying. “There were better ways to handle this.”

Stop

Stop!

You did everything you could. If anyone were to be blamed, it should be him. The words come out nonetheless.

“Did you think that one such as I could be powered by a mere star?” Dream stares at you, unblinking. “You have only wasted your life.”

A reply never comes. Instead, all he revives is a single finger pointing behind him. There’s a part of him that knows your directions lead to safety, because that is who you are. So different from him.

So . . . with his offerings . . . Dream of The Endless must leave you behind once again.

Lord Morpheus asked where you went.

It took a moment for him to bring up your absence. As if you were around the castle, just around the corner. As if you would be here, just a moment longer. That moment never came.

There was a certain glint in his eyes . . . almost broken . . . almost as if he would crumble. Your husband is an idiot, my lady. In his mind, there was a reality where you had abandoned The Dreaming – abandoned him.

There wasn’t much to say but the truth.

Once the words left my mouth, the unspoken words were written all over his face. Do not blame him, my lady, for it is only the truth. There were many who thought it would have been better had you abandoned The Dreaming to its fate. Lord Morpheus was one of many.

Then, something amazing happened. For the first time in centuries, a raven appeared by the name, ‘ Matthew’. A chatty fellow, that one. You would like him. He was promptly sent to accompany lord Morpheus. After the raven, a few books started to appear here and there. The words in this journal started to return.

This humble librarian begs you. Survive a little longer.

He is coming for you, my lady.

—     Recent correspondence from Chief Librarian, Lucienne to the lady of The Dreaming.

Flick . . .

A spark of light.

Flick . . .

A glimpse of brightness.

Flick . . .

A lantern cuts though the black with a light not made from fire.

“For fuck’s sake.” Johanna Constantine mumbles, running a hand through her face. “It’s you again. I’m starting to think you’re in love with me or something.”

The cloaked woman in her dreams stay silent. There’s a never-ending smile on your lips. It reminds Johanna of one of those percaline dolls, and those are always creepy as fuck.

If anyone was asked about their opinion on Johanna Constantine, they would say that she is a, ‘ massive fucking bitch’ or ‘ a total nightmare. They’re not wrong, of course, she is all of those things and more.

That’s why Johanna can say, with full certainty, that you are a ragging bitch.

“Come with me. . .,” you say with a certain gentleness that makes Johanna’s stomach churn. She’s not an idiot, for only fools mistake gentleness for kindness.

Johanna already knows how this will end. It’s the same song and dance with you. That’s why she doesn’t hesitate to take your hand, and follow the lantern that cuts through the black.

It’s unfair, really.

The way you hold her hand is laced with gentleness and warmth. So why . . . why do you lead her to the same nightmare over and over and over and over and over and over and over again? Such cruel, cruel action for such a gentle touch.

Johanna Constantine has never begged.

She will not begin now.

You press a kiss on her forehead, and Johanna falls into the darkness.

The scent of sulfur assaults her nose. It’s always the same scent, and Johanna wonders if that much sulfur was in the air that day. There isn’t much time to keep wondering. The portal to Hell sweeps her off her feet, inviting her to its domain.

The Latin spell that comes out of her mouth is automatic. It’s the same set of words all over again. Nothing’s changed. Johanna thinks nothing will ever change.

Latin

Astra

Don’t let go!

A little girl’s arm is still clinging to her.

It’s the same . . . fucking . . . cycle.

Flick . . .

A spark of light.

Flick . . .

A glimpse of brightness.

Flick . . .

A lantern cuts though the black with a light not made from fire.

The devil locked up in Roderick Burgee’s basement is walking next to her.

That’s the reality she’s living through right now. Johanna Constantine thinks she’s still dreaming, but the absence of sulfur tells her otherwise.

“So, you’re actually him,” she says, because he looks like a guy who prefers silence, and Johanna isn’t about to give him what he wants – not when they’re walking to her ex’s apartment. “ The Sandman. I thought my gran was crazy, but I guess that’s my fault . . . given my line of work.”

“I am.” That’s all he says.

“Dream of The Endless . . . lord Morpheus,” she says the words, feeling it against her tongue. “King of Dreams and Nightmares. You are one fucked up anthropomorphic personification. That nightmare of yours is something. How did you even come up with the lady with a lantern?”

Dream pauses for a second, and there’s a far away look on his face that almost makes Johanna apologize. “She is my wife.”

The words come out on its own. “Your wife is a bitch.”

Granny Constantine used to tell her that the gaze of an Endless is heavy. It would be wise not to anger one. Well . . . Granny Constantine was right once again. Johanna really should have listened to her more.

There’s a hard expression on his face. Dream of The Endless doesn’t need to speak to get his point across.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, raising her hand in surrender. “I didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”

“The stars guide you wherever you wish to go,” he says, voice low, “wherever that may be.”

And . . .  that . . . makes a lot of sense.

“Why is your wife crashing my nightmares anyway?” Johanna crosses her arms with a huff. “Trouble in paradise?”

“It was my fault,” Dream says in such a soft voice she could hardly hear. “Because I . . . . Who is she? The woman in the picture.”

“Not so fast,” Johanna says. There’s a part of her that wants to keep prying, whether it angers him or not. The look in his eyes keeps her from doing so. “Tell me what she’s like.”

Hmm . . . You’re not sure what’s happening right now.

Mervyn drops an umbrella in your hands with a thumbs-up. To your right, Lucienne secures a cloak around you – for the rain or something like that. They place a gentle hand on your back, and push you out the castle doors with a hearty wish of good fortune.

It’s raining in The Dreaming, again.

Drops of water slide along your cheek. While it brings a smile to your face, this is probably why you were so enthusiastically pushed out of the castle.

The sounds of rain bouncing off the umbrella bring you into a lull. Even in its dullest days, The Dreaming’s beauty shines through. But there are some (Mervyn and Lucienne) who fear The Dreaming will become, “an underwater city if you do not do something”.

So, with nothing but an umbrella and this cloak, you set out into the rain.

The Dreaming leads you to him, and you find him deep in the forest, leaning on the side of a bridge. There’s a certain look on his face as he watches the river bed below. The rain has soaked his clothing, and hair sticks to his skin.  What a sight it is to see the King of Dreams and Nightmares sulking like a wet cat.

“Hello,” you say the words simply, twirling the umbrella around your hand.

Dream turns toward you, blinking a little. Yet, he opens his hand out for you and only you.

The stones from the bridge are slick with rain. So, you take his invitation, and slip your hand into his hold. Dream secures you, gripping you tightly as you place step after step on the wet stones. That hand of his never let’s go, not even when you reach the apex of the bridge.

You bring the umbrella over his head, shielding him from the rain. “Do you smell that?”

“I do not.”

“It’s the smell of rain,” you tell him with a smile. “It’s becoming quite the familiar scent in here.”

Silence rises into the air, the only sound being the splatter of the rain against the umbrella. It’s too small to comfortably fit two bodies, but you make do. There really isn’t anything else to be done but to press your bodies together, and huddle underneath the rain

Dream searches your eyes, and the full weight of an Endless settles into you. “You are going to freeze.”

“Stars do not freeze, my dear.” You lean on his shoulder, pressing a little kiss on the area. It doesn’t even matter if his clothes are getting you wet. “Nor do we get colds.”

“Yet, the one in The Dreaming does,” he says, softly. Always softly. “The residents were worried to hear about your fever.”

You smile a smile he cannot see. “I’m staying right here.”

“Leave.”

“I’m staying.”

Dream looks at you. “Leav—”

“I detest repeating myself, and I have already done so twice.” You pull the umbrella closer to your bodies. “The only response you can give me now is an expression of regret.”

“Would this suffice?” Dream presses one, single, kiss on your wet cheek.

A pleased hum escapes your lips. “Not one bit,” you say, smiling. “But I will be kind and forgive you anyway.”

“Is that so?” Dream pulls your hand closer, pressing a kiss to your ring. Each word he says brushes your skin. “Then . . . what wise words does a star have for me today?”

A small smile. “Nothing.”

The rain slides off the umbrella and damps your shoulder further. A bigger umbrella would have been preferable. Dream takes the umbrella from your hand, positioning himself behind you until you’re pressed up against his chest. It’s unethical to have such a lanky body be so sturdy with muscles. At least . . . it easier to hide from the rain?

“I have humored you long enough,” Dream says, whispering against your ear. “Go, before you get a cold. I will not nurse you back to health.” That is the biggest lie he’s ever told you.

You wrap your arms around his waist, and look up at him with a cheeky smile. “Are you flirting with me, Dream lord?”

“No.” He glares at you, but there’s a distinct softness in his smile.

“That’s a shame – I love it when you flirt with me.” You show him your most innocent smile. “You know I can’t leave you here like this. So, the only reason I can think of is that you want me to stay.”

“You can leave.”

“You’re making it very hard to do so.” You press a kiss on the edge of his lips, lingering there for more than a moment. “The path out the forest is missing, my love. The whims of The Dreaming cater to you, intentional or not.”

Dream doesn’t give you an answer, but the way he pulls you closer is enough. He leans his head down on your shoulder, and you’re pinned against him and the stone.

“I missed you,” you say, whispering it as you press your face into his cheek. “The past three days have been so dull that I tried to learn how to play an instrument. You would hate it – Actually, you would laugh if you had a sense of humor.”

He turns towards you. “Does a Star not know how to play?”

“And you’re telling me a Dream does?” you say, laughing a little. “I wanted to learn how to play the lullaby, but this body doesn’t seem to be gifted in music. I wish I was gifted in more areas.”

“Not at all,” he says, and there’s a ghost of a smile. Right there in the corner of his cheeks. Always in the corner. “You and your instrument would be a talented nightmare.”

You blink at him, and the laughter that bubbles out of your chest fills you with life. “Then I shall become your personal nightmare,” you say. “I will haunt you with my music for the rest of my life.”

The rain weakens into a drizzle as he gazes at you. “Is that a promise, my love?”

“If you would like.”

It took time, but the sun eventually emerged from the clouds.

Matthew shakes his arms . . . no, wings . . ., trying to shake off as much of the rain as possible. It’s weird to have fingers and thumbs one day to having feathers and a beak the next. He’s not quite sure what’s happening exactly, but Lucienne said he would adjust eventually.

“Constantine,” Dream says, calling out to her from the rain. “That nightmare won’t trouble you anymore.”

“I better not see your wife in my dreams anymore. I might just snatch her up.” Johanna gives him a little wink. Or at least Matthew thinks she’s giving him a wink. She’s much taller than he is. “For what it’s worth, I hope you get her back.”

There’s this weird look on his boss’ face. Dream stares out into the rain, even after Johanna has long disappeared. Matthew thinks it looks like . . . longing? Or more like yearning?

Matthew looks out into the rain, trying to catch whatever his boss is staring at. There’s really nothing but buildings and rain. Matthew blinks, and he thinks he sees a lantern in the corner of his eye. It’s gone the second he turns to look.

G reat , he’s going insane!

It takes him fifteen minutes before he speaks up. “What are you looking at?”

“The sand connects me to the sea of dreams.” He keeps his eyes locked out into the rain, but his face softens a little. There’s a moment where he reaches out, but drops his hand mid-way.

That . . . doesn’t really answer Matthew’s question, but he knows better than to keep pushing. “So . . .,” he says. “What’s our next move?”

Chapter Text

Avernus.

Tartarus.

Hades.

There’s something in the air. It’s thick and unrelenting, hindering all sight. The sand around him settles, but the cloud of ash blows all around.

The scent of death is unmistakable. Putrid. Rotten. Foul. It’s so different from the freshness that comes from his sister – there’s no kindness here.

“I just didn’t expect Hell to be so cold.” Matthew shakes his feathers. “So, which way do we go?”

The ash is too thick to make out anything in the far distance, blurring the horizon in clouds of grey . . . Except . . .

Except a lantern with a light not made from fire cuts through the hazes. It shines from the corner of his eyes.

Down the hill, and through the distance, you emerge from a fog made from the ashes of the dammed. The dust rolls away from your very presence, settling into the ground with your silent command.

You turn towards him . . . waiting . . . expecting.

It’s funny, really – almost hilarious, even – how his body moves on its own, drawn to your light like a moth to a flame.

Dream of The Endless doesn’t run, yet bones crunch beneath his feet as he takes faster and faster and faster and faster strides to reach you.

Matthew has to fly to follow his speed. “Hey – Hey, wait!” he says, squawking a little. “Where are we going?”

There are so many things he wants to say . . . and even more thing he wants to do.

It takes every drop of his control not to reach out for you. There’s fear as well. It’s in the way he digs his nails into his palm. A small part of him says it’s a foolish endeavor to try and reach out. You are not here, thus reaching out will only amount to nothing.

Control . . . Fear. You always were the best at unraveling those threads in him.

“To the palace,” he says instead. “I wish to go to the palace.”

A single nod – That’s all you give him.

You turn your back towards him, leading him to a path with an unknown destination. It doesn’t even matter if following you leads him somewhere else.

All Dream knows is that he trusts you, and never once have you steered him wrong.

It’s difficult, if he was being honest . . . almost impossible, if he was really being honest . . . to pretend you were not next to him. Matthew doesn’t seem to notice your presence.

The trail of stardust. The scent of the universe. All are so unmistakably you. More and more pieces of yourself are returning as he amasses more of his power. Dream hopes this will lessen the pain of being consumed by dreams.

One hundred and six years.

That’s how long he was imprisoned. That’s how long you’ve been imprisoned as well. But the prison that bound him was made by Roderick Burgees. The prison you are trapped in was made by your own husband – the being who vowed to love you.

He is The Dreaming, and The Dreaming is him.

Thus, he is doing this to you.

There’s a fork in the road — evenly split, evenly ominous.

There is confidence in the way Squatterbloat steps towards the right, letting the fog of ash and bone consume him.

You pause between the two paths, even as your lantern settles the blurry clouds on the left. Dream stills for longer than a moment, his whole body steeling . . . but the words he has for the demon die in his throat.

There’s a certain expression on your face.

It’s in the way you tilt your head, smiling curling just a fraction higher. You’re starting at him again, and those eyes of yours are certainly watching every tick in his muscles. Dream wonders what you see in those eyes of yours.

The vision of a Celestial certainly differs from an Endless. There are things only your eyes can reveal.

Whatever you see in the right path is unknown to him. You watch Squatterbloat walking deeper into the fog, and follow after him, your lantern illuminating the burnt and decaying of flesh.

The action nags at him. Just why would you suddenly change course?

Dream . . . well, he decides that it doesn’t matter. If you turn decided on the right, then it must still lead to the palace. The way you were watching him and Squartteebloat brings questions into his mind.

And there are very few things Dream of The Endless doesn’t have an answer to.

“Kai’ckul?”

The name beings a heavy wave of memories. It forces him to take a moment, learning how to breathe again. The nails dig deeper into his palm as he slides his eyes to Squatterbloat. So this is the greeting of the Morningstar — their plan all along.

You’re watching him again, that small smile on your lips. Did you foresee this?

No.

No.

The paths of Hell are subject to the whims of their monarch. The fork in the road was a misdirection. All roads would lead to here . . . to her.

Nada presses herself to the thorns of her cage, uncaring if the points dig into her skin. “Dream lord?”

The weight of a different time, a different face, pushes deep into him. It is the weight of the burden they have both carried for ten-thousand years. “I greet you, Nada.”

The conversation lasts as long as it needs to —mothing more, nothing less.

Yet . . . Dream is thrown back to that night, as if he was still there. The sound of a fire-kissed castle. The scent of charred skin. It’s all still the same; curiosity then fondness then love then pain then rejection. . . then wrath.

You’re watching him with a smile he cannot decipher. It’s gentle but unkind, soft but uncaring.

“Yes, I still love you . . . but I have not yet forgiven you.” Dream of The Endless turns his back on the Queen of The First People. It is a story that never changes. “Come, Matthew.”

Nada cries out for him, reaching out with a certain inconsolable madness.

You cease your watchful eye, and not a single glance is spared in his direction when he passes you by the steps. Instead, you lower yourself to Nada, watching as she reaches out.

There’s a moment where you still before her cage.

You meet Nada’s touch, cradling her hand in your hold even if she doesn’t understand. Nada tries to latch onto the first kind touch in ten-thousand years, but she cannot fully reach you.

The Queen of The Dreaming bows before the Queen of the First People, and presses her lips on the back of her hand.

Nada calms instantly, finding peace that was blessed upon her by the stars themselves. Her fingers slip from your hold, brushing slightly against your own.

You climb the steps, pausing before your king. One hand rests on your heart . . . the other shoots out when your head lowers before him — A performer’s bow.

Ha . . .

There shouldn’t be that faint smile growing on his lips, yet it’s there anyway.

Such mockery . . . but it pulls him out of the wave that drowns him. Hope trickles in as well.

If you had the presence of mind to mock him, then you have recovered another piece of yourself that he has taken from you.

Matthew perches on his shoulder. Dream allows this intrusion, seeing he’s been forgiving them all day. “So that woman back there.” He squawks a little. “Anything you wanna share with your friend Matthew?”

For some unknown reason, Dream feels compelled to explain. He’s never had a raven this talkative before. You would like Matthew  . . . Maybe the reason isn’t so completely unknown.

Dream stares ahead, sneaking a glance at the stardust that trails with your every steps.

“Her name is Nada,” he says, and the name feels foreign on his tongue. It’s been thousands of years since he thought about speaking her name. “She was the ruler of a tribe that call themselves the First People. We were in love.”

“So what de she do?” Matthew says. “How’d she end up here?”

Stardust catches the light, shining even brighter than jewels in his eyes. It always captures him, and it takes Dream more than a moment to answer.“. . . She defied me.”

“Wait,” Matthew says, blinking at him. “So, you put her here?”

“The Morningstar is letting me know that Hell has prepared for my visit.”

Matthew shuffles on his shoulders, stepping closer to him when ash blows a little too close. “So, that’s your wife . . .?”

The word comes out quick, without thought but with assurance. “No.”.

“Wait but you told her . . .” Matthew trails off, choosing his words carefully. “Didn’t you tell Johanna Constantine that you had a wife.”

“I still have one.” Dream reaches for his ring, and all he meets is smooth skin.

One-hundred and six years, and he still forgets what Roderick Burgees stole from him. The ring held no power, but it’s symbol is far greater than his tools of office.

“That’s,” Matthew starts, “ . . .cool . . .?”

“She is the stars themselves — every single one that was and will ever be.” Dream knows he doesn’t have to entertain Matthew anymore, but Dream of The Endless cannot stop himself when it comes to you. “The universe itself trembles with her very presence, but our union was one of . . .”

Dream trails off. How does he describe the life he’s living with you? How does he describe the tale of Dreams and Stars?

There are no words in the human comprehension that can describe his union with you.

You and him.

Him and you.

The evidence is already there.

“Is she around?” Matthew shakes his feathers. “Ah, well, I mean. Y’know. Like stars . . . They must be busy shining?”

The castle comes into view, and Dream doesn’t bother to respond anymore.

Squatterbloat leaves and there’s a second where he fears you would do the same. Dream learns to move again when you stay.

The path is steep, making it easy to fall. The fog lightens with your lantern, but Dream knows he is safe in your hands.

The fog of ash and bones settle at the confines of the palace. Matthew scoots even closer when he notices the wall of fused bodies.

Lucifer Morningstar is as beautiful as legends describe — probably even more so. They’re starting at him, watching his every movement.

There’s a moment where they seem to follow his gaze . . . and their eyes find you.

Dream steps between you and the Morningstar. It’s a foolish action, but he does it anyway. It is a chance he does not dare take.

Lucifer’s smile widens a fraction higher. “Hello.”

The word is a greeting — the beginning of something.

In your hands, the word started a lullaby of dreams and stars. In the hands of Lucifer Morningstar, the word started a very, very, old game.

A dire wolf, prey-stalking, lethal power.

A hunter, horse mounted, wolf-stabbing.

A serpent, horse-biting, poison-toothed.

A bird of prey, snake-devouring, talons ripping.

A butcher bacterium, warm-life destroying.

A world, space-floating, life-nurturing.

A nova, all-exploding, planet-cremating.

A universe, all things encompassing, all life embracing.

Anti-life.

The Beast of Judgement

The dark at the end of everything.

The floor is as cold as he is. It’s a bit comforting to be here, curled into himself. Dream of The Endless is dying, and that is a fact.

Lucifer Morningstar is watching him again, and despite every cell in his body screaming at him to stay strong, Dream of The Endless turns to look at you.

It seems he has more in common with his son than he realizes. You are the last thing he wants to se—

Drip.

A single tear slides down your face.

You bring a hand to your cheek, tracing the path of the tears. The lantern clatters to the floor as you bring your hands to your face. More tears drip from your eyes, but through the haze . . . the Queen of The Dreaming smiles.

You lower yourself to Matthew, and whisper into his ear.

Ravens are connected to The Dreaming in ways others are not.

These are the words Lucienne told him. Ravens can soar between the Waking World and The Dreaming. A gift, apparently, from the current queen long before she became their beloved lady.

If he’s connected to The Dreaming . . . then . . . then perhaps this makes sense.

Something . . . something? Whatever it is, it barrels into him, pulling him down in a deep, deep sea. Matthew cannot tell up from down, right from left.  

It’s a sea of dreams. No, it’s a sea of starlight.

Yes.

No.

Matthew is connected to The Dreaming, and right now it is digging its nails into him. It’s dragging him into its depths. For some reason, Matthew allows it to drown him.

Pain.

Anger.

Sorrow. Oh, so much sorrow.

Despite its maddening grip, there’s love in the hands that drown him. It’s carefully hidden underneath the waves, but it’s unmistakably there. It twinges every time he glances at Dream.

It takes him a moment to realize that these emotions do not belong to him, but they’re there and they’re real and they’re hidden beneath his own.

Emotions that do not belong to him refused to be ignored. Words that do not belong to him refuse to be ignored.

There’s so much love in the sea that’s drowning him, and all that love gathers into the words on his beak.

“The Star shines despite the absence of the Sun.” Matthew watches Dream. There’s a flicker of recognition on his face, a faint twitch of his hand. “It reminds us we are never truly alone in the darkness.”

Dream stares beyond Matthew, keeping his eyes locked to the air next to him.

Matthew doesn’t understand the words that are not his, but he does know it needs to be said because . . . because Dreams don’t fucking die.

It takes three words, then Dream of The Endless retrieves his helm.

In the far corner of his mind, where The Dreaming’s reach retreat into its shores, Matthew hears a faint humming . . . it almost sounds like a lullaby.

Whatev—

No, whoever is in the sea of dreams is waiting.

Chapter Text

The wall is smooth when Dream first touches it.

It bends to his silent command, his silent desire, and only then does the groves and spirals of their door make itself known to him. Dream pushes the door open. Candlelight illuminates the room, leaving the space flickering but dim.

Dream finds you in the middle of the bed, curled underneath the blanket.

The bed dips from his weight, absorbing him as he settles comfortably in its cushions. He places a hand where your head should be, stroking his thumb across you. The blanket opens for a fraction, and you shift closer to him. Your arm snakes around his waist, slow but deliberate as you settle it around him.

Dream savors the heat from your body when you press yourself into the side of his torso.

He allows your touch to ground him – to pull him away from being an Endless . . . and leave him in a state where he can just be here, in this moment, as yours.

Oh, what an absolute dream that would be! In this moment with you until Death comes for you both.

No duties.

No obligations.

Just you. Just him. Here.

You find his arm, running your hand down his body until you capture his hand. The pads of your fingers trace the outline of his ring. “Why are you here?”

A smile you cannot see grows on his lips. “I do not mind leaving.”

You clutch his shirt, fingers digging into the fabric it might just rip. “You are a cruel, cruel lover!” You laugh against him, and the blanket shakes as you do. “I should write your cruelty in the very constellations themselves. It will serve as a warning for your next set of wives.”

Dream presses a hand to your head. “You would create a new constellation for me?”

The blanket opens, and for the first time today, Dream catches sight of you.

There’s a grin on your face, but your eyes always were the most beautiful part – it’s wholly, and unmistakably you. You shift again, and roll on top of him, pressing your ear into his chest. Dream settles his hand on the small of your back, rubbing it up and down the length of your nightgown.

“For you,” you begin, and press a small kiss on his chest, “and only you, my most dearest.”

Dream trails his fingers down the length of your cheek. The very touch of you sends electricity coursing through him. Your eyes flutter to a close entranced by his action. There’s a moment where you lean into his touch, savoring this moment as much as he is.

“I genuinely want to know,” you say, and your fingers play with the hem of his shirt. “We rarely spend our night together.”

He traces your face, lowering his fingers until it catches your chin. It only takes a gentle push for you to face him. The reward for your obedience is one, single, kiss on the edge of your lips. “You make me sound neglectful.”

“That is because you are,” you say, the words soft. You press even closer, playing this song and dance with him. “Stars do not shine so bright for you to ignore them.”

“We spend our mornings together.” Dream tils his head when you lean in for a proper kiss, a small punishment for your words. He brings his lips closer to your ear, letting each word brush you. “Some matters arose in The Dreaming that could not wait until nightfall. That is why I am here now.”

You huff, but press your lips on his jaw instead, trailing it up and down the length. “What kind of matters?”

Dream takes a moment to feel the heat of your mouth, letting your lips claim his skin. It takes . . . uh . . . It . . .

It takes him more than a second to find the answer to your question. Especially when you graze your teeth across him. “Petty squabbles,” he says, finally. “They were important enough to be brought to my office.”

“I usually handle those.” You run your hands up his chest, taking your time in a way that almost drives him mad. Those fingers of yours slide to his shoulders, then to the back of his neck. You play with stray strands of his hair. “Are these not my duties as the lady of The Dreaming?”

Your breath heats his neck, and the hairs on his skin rise.

“You seemed tired this morning.” Dream has to pull himself back from the waves of your very presence.

His nose brushes against yours, lips barely a breath away. Oh dear . . . it seems he started a game he isn’t going to win. It’s not a surprising outcome – Dream of The Endless will always lose when it comes to you.

“And whose fault is that?” You dodge his kiss, pulling away with a cheek smile. “But to think you would take care of matters that don’t hold your interest.”

Dream pulls on your chin, and presses kiss after kiss after kiss. His mouth devours you just as much as you devour him. The taste of you is addicting. So much so that he wonders if his sibling’s influence has reached him. For some reason, he doesn’t seem to mind, not when your fingers run up his air.

You pull away first, then press a kiss on his cheek, then to the other, then to his nose.

“So, are you here for repentance?” you say, and that smile on your face tells him he’s truly about to lose. “I waited for you all morning, and all I got for my troubles was a silly note. There wasn’t even an apology.”

“If that is what you wish.”

“It is.” You rise to your knees, sitting comfortably on him now as you straddle his waist.

It takes Dream a moment to realize you’re playing with the hem of his shirt again. Those eyes of yours watch him, and there’s so much you see that he does not understand. Dream wonders what you see when you bless him with your gaze.

You bring your hands underneath, but Dream grabs your wrist before you could get too far.

“You need your rest,” he says, hovering over your lips. “I did not come here for this. You require sleep in The Dreaming, in case you have forgotten.”

“I did not,” you say, ghosting over him “But you’ll be gone the moment I close my eyes.”

“No.” He doesn’t know why he said that. “I plan to stay until the morning.”

It’s official.

Dream of The Endless is a fucking liar. There were no plans.

He was going to check on you, then leave you to slumber . . .but the way your smile shines brighter than the sun itself stops him from admitting to his lie.

You close the distance first, speaking in a language only your rings understand.

Your lips are soft. Dream is familiar with these lips. You’ll tilt your head, giving you space to press a little deeper. And then . . .

And then he forgets to remember, because your lips are consuming him, and the kiss deepens a little bit too much.

Dream feels your fingers on his shirt again, sliding underneath the hem. You’re pulling it higher and higher while tracing the smooth muscles on his torso.

After thousands of years, it’s impossible not to notice. You like roaming your hands on every inch of him. It’s like you’re trying to map him, deciding which marks would make the perfect constellation — he was a blank sky, and your lips the perfect brush.

Your hands refuse to leave him. They stay grounded on him as you pull his arms out of the holes on his shirt. You break the kiss, only to pull his shirt out of his head. It’s thrown somewhere very irrelevant right now.

Dream wraps his arms around your waist.

He buries his face into your hold as you kiss along his neck, then right below his ear. You linger for longer than a moment.

You trail lower, mapping his body with the blessings of your lips. For some reason, Dream cannot stop you, not when you’re so lost in your own passion.

You kiss along his shoulders, then down his chest . . . and then even lower to his abdomen. Each kiss tenses him, and all that attention you’re pouring causes him to harden.

Dream can feel the way your lips curl into a smile when you feel his hard length straining.

“What does Dream of The Endless dream about?” you ask, tapping the button that clothes him, strains him. “I’ve always wanted to know.”

It takes a second to bring the blood back into his brain. Even then, Dream has to find the words to answer you. “I do not need to dream, for I am dreams themselves.”

You humm, thoughtfully, but accept his answer and undo the button of his pants. The movements were slow, achingly so. Your fingers brush against his hard length, and the action does not go unnoticed, unfelt.

A sharp exhale draws out itself, coaxed by your fingers.

You’re settled between his legs, lounging as you trace the muscles of his inner thigh. It seems you feel it as much as he does. This is the effect you have on him. You do not move, not until he sets his eyes upon you, watching just as much as he watches you.

Oh, you are a cruel lover, indeed. Maybe it should be him giving the warning to your next lo—

The very thought of you with another sours something deep into him.

Your fingers work slowly, pulling and prodding until you’ve freed him from his pants. It’s unfair, really, how you’re still clothed. Dream curls his fingers on the sheets. He cannot stop you – there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to stop you.

Take him.

Use him.

Do whatever you please as long as his ruin comes from you.

You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You.

All thoughts burn away, until only you rise from the ashes.

Still, Dream does not dare to take his eyes away from you, even when you take him into your hold, fingers curling around his length. A low sound vibrates across his chest and out of his mouth when you squeeze him. The sound mixes with your name when you trace across his veins.

Dream knows your game, and he is a willing loser in it.

You smile as you watch every twitch on his face.

Whatever you see in him must please you, because only then do you flutter your eyes to a close, and press your lips on the tip. It’s one, single, kiss. Dream feels the heat of your breath, and his abdomen strains to keep his hips from buckling, from taking what he wants from you.

You press a kiss on his inner thigh this time, then lean your cheek on it, watching him with those eyes of yours as you thumb circles on his tip. The way you smile is a bit too cruel, but he cannot take his eyes off of you.

“I’m enjoying this,” you tell him, adding a little bit more pressure. “Stars are not meant to be ignored, and you are about to learn why.”

“As if . . .” Dream says, or at least he tries to. It’s impossible to string the words together when you’re taking them from him. “As if you would ever allow yourself to be ignored. As if I would ever allow myself to do such a thing to you.”

The edges of your lips curl, and it seems you’re pleased with his response. Your tongue sticks out, and you trace a slow and wet line from the bottom to the top. Once. Twice. Thrice. Until your tongue swirls around his length. It seems you do not mind the taste of him.

It takes every bit of his control to keep his eyes on you when you take him into your mouth.

He feels every inch of your wet mouth as you sink deeper into him, calming him into you. It’s getting harder to think, harder to keep watching you, but he does not dare flutter his eyes like his body demands to.

The very stars themselves watch his every reaction, every twitch. It’s a silly dance – a give and a take.

Your cheeks hollow, the seal of your lips tightening around him. Then, you lean back and let his head touch the roof of your mouth. The grooves that slide over his head tear a groan out of his very lips.

Somehow, you’re able to take him deeper, and all Dream can think about is how your fingers dig into his thigh.

You bring your head up, releasing him with a trail of saliva.

There’s no time to protest the loss of contact, before you swallow him once more. The back of your throat coaxes him deeper, the muscles moving and grasping him in a way that can only be called greed.

Through the haze of pleasure, eyes that burn with starlight cut tough. You’re watching him. None have ever watched him like you do. They give their attention, but only you seem to truly observe him. Always looking, always watching.

“I . . .” he begins, trying to think about other things than the heat of your mouth. “ . . . am yours. I love you.”

What does Dream of The Endless dream about? Well, moments like this.

It’s not about passion. It’s not even about the release.

But right here, in this very moment, he does not have to be Dream of The Endless.  In this very moment, he can pretend he has a purpose other than his function.

In this very moment, all he needs to be is yours.

A familiar song fills his ears. The tune is gentle and coaxing. It urges him to close his eyes once more, to let it bring him to his slumber.

Dream is no stranger to a beautiful voice, but not even their beauty can make him forget yours. What is the use of such type of beauty, when it did not come from you? This is why he knows, deep in his bones, that the lullaby he hears comes from you .

One-hundred and six years. That isn’t much compared to endless, but Dream knows better now, for his heart has longed for you. Every second felt like a million years. One-hundred and six years isn’t long, but it was enough.

The lullaby brings him into a soft lull.

Dream savors the plush of your thighs, and the way your fingers trail into his hair. Despite the comfort, the warehouse floor is cold. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Matthew speaks to him. 

Dream dares to flutter his eyes open, and the finer details do not matter to him, not right now.

You’re watching him with that oh, so soft smile of yours. It’s you – the one smiling at him is wholly and unmistakably you. The pieces he has taken have returned, and you smile at him.

There really isn’t much he can do, but reach out to you. The fear gnaws at him, reminding him that there’s always a chance he could not touch you. But . . . but you meet his touch halfway, leaning your cheek into his hold before pressing your lips on the inside of his wrist.

The warmth of your skin transfers to his palm, and he can feel you. But there are things that need to be done – things that cannot be delayed anymore.

The dreamers are crying, and they cry out for him. 

So, with a heart that threatens to shatter, he leaves this moment with you and becomes Dream of The Endless once more, and Dream of The Endless needs his ruby.