nerdydaydreamer

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 37: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~Gift of Passage~

Nora stirred, a languid stretch rippling through her. Consciousness bloomed slowly, a soft, pleasant unfolding rather than the abrupt, jarring return to reality she’d grown accustomed to. For a moment, she simply luxuriated in the sensation, a bone-deep contentment she hadn’t felt in over a century. This rich comfort was a recent change, something that had only truly settled in since their escape from captivity, and some days she still half-expected to wake with that familiar, nagging ache from sleeping on the glass.

This is still so weird, she mused, a soft smile touching her lips. To sleep within the Dreaming, and then to dream while she slept, was a paradox she was still trying to unravel. But it was a good weird, a truly restful one. She rolled onto her back, stretching her arms above her head, feeling every muscle hum with newfound ease. She was more rested than she had ever been, truly.

Her hand, reaching instinctively for the comforting weight beside her, met only cool, empty sheet. Her eyes fluttered open. Morpheus was gone.

A tiny pang of disappointment, fleeting but sharp, pricked her. She closed her eyes again, focusing inward, reaching for the familiar thread of their bond. It stretched, clear and strong, already resonating with a quiet hum of purpose.

Sandy? she thought, a soft, inquiring touch along the link.

His response was immediate, a weighty, resonant thought that flowed into her mind, imbued with a familiar, gentle warmth. Good morning, My Star. I am in the throne room, attending to duties.

Nora chuckled, a soft, happy sound. Be there in a bit.

With a renewed lightness in her step, Nora swung her legs over the side of the bed. The cool, polished obsidian floor met her bare feet, a pleasant sensation. She padded over to a newly added door in the far wall, a sleek, dark wood that blended seamlessly with the chamber's restored grandeur. She still marveled at it, a wardrobe of impossible depth, filled with clothing suited for any occasion, any whim, all conjured from the fabric of his realm specifically for her.

Today, she felt good. Better than good. She felt…ethereal. Her fingers ghosted over different garments before settling on a particular dress. It was floor-length gown that seemed to shimmer with an inner light. It was a pale silvery-blue, but with every shift of light, every subtle movement, it seemed to morph, sometimes hinting at a soft lavender, sometimes a delicate rose. It looked light as air, almost translucent even with multiple layers, yet when she touched it, the fabric was surprisingly substantial, impossibly comfortable. And if she spun, the inner lining shimmered with what looked like hidden stars, winking into existence with each turn. Nora absolutely adored it.

She slipped it on, the cool, smooth fabric a whisper against her skin. She then turned to the tall, ornate mirror that stood beside the closet door, admiring the way the material just draped delicately off her shoulders, falling behind her almost like a cape, leaving her arms bare. She reached up, a soft smile playing on her lips, and traced the line of her collarbone, feeling the lightness of the fabric against her skin. She then chose a pair of simple, elegant sandals that also seemed impossibly comfortable, slipping her feet into them. She pulled her hair back from her face, securing it with a simple silver clip, a final touch before she set out.

With a buoyant step, Nora left the bedroom, the silent palace corridors stretching before her. She hadn't seen the throne room since Morpheus had begun its full restoration, and a thrill of anticipation bubbled within her. She knew it would be magnificent.

As she walked, a blur of black descended from above, landing with a soft ruffle of feathers directly on her shoulder.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty herself!” Matthew chirped, his voice teased against her ear. “Decided to join the land of the living, have we? Leaving all the hard work to us poor, diligent creatures, eh?”

Nora chuckled, patting his head gently. “Oh, please, Matthew. Every time I see you, you’re either preening your feathers or bothering someone. What ‘work’ exactly are you referring to?”

Matthew let out an indignant squawk, fluffing his plumage. “I’ll have you know my duties are vast and multifarious! I am the Lord Morpheus’s most trusted… eyes and ears! The indispensable companion! The… the moral compass!”

Nora snorted. “A moral compass that only points to biscuits and naps, I’m sure.” She leaned her head closer, her voice dropping to a mock-conspiratorial whisper. “You know, Matthew, you’d better watch what you say. I’m feeling particularly good today, and I’m pretty sure I could convince Sandy to swap out those sleek black feathers of yours for something a bit more…noticeable. Say, a nice, vibrant hot pink? Or perhaps a dazzling chartreuse?”

Matthew squawked, a sound of pure, unadulterated horror. “Hot pink?! Chartreuse?! How dare you! You wouldn’t! The indignity! My aesthetic! My gravitas!”

Nora snorted, a soft, amused sound escaping her. "Oh please, you don't even know what 'gravitas' means!"

With a frantic, outraged caw, Matthew flapped his wings, catching Nora lightly across the cheek with several feathers – entirely not by accident, she knew. He launched himself off her shoulder and soared ahead, a black streak against the newly mended celestial ceiling, disappearing down the corridor towards the throne room in a flurry of mock-offended indignation.

“Aww, Matthew!” Nora called out, her voice echoing playfully down the hall as he flew. “You know I’m kidding, right? He’d probably change you to cerulean!” Her laughter, bright and clear, followed him, echoing through the palace corridors.

Nora was still giggling to herself as she approached the towering throne room doors. Before she even reached them, with a soft, almost reverent whoosh, the massive portals began to open, silently parting for her in a grand, welcoming gesture. As they swung wide, revealing the vast expanse within, Nora raised her head, a gasp catching in her throat as she truly took in the room.

Directly ahead, dominating the far wall, three colossal, floor-to-ceiling windows gleamed. They weren't merely windows; they were living canvases, currently frozen in a breathtaking display. The middle window showed a man in a light suit and a flat-brimmed hat, his face obscured by round, dark sunglasses. To its left, a woman appeared, bald, with skin like a dark, swirling galaxy. The window on the right was a verdant, green-hued image of a lush, meadow-style garden with abundant trees.

In the center of the room, directly before the windows and leading up to the elevated dais where the throne sat, a long, grand, wavy staircase swept upwards. It appeared almost to float without any railings, and Nora absently thought it looked like a danger waiting to happen. The throne itself, far off at the top of the stairs, seemed carved from stone, its details too distant to discern. Along both the left and right walls, giant carvings adorned each pillar, their intricate designs spiraling upwards. Arches extended gracefully from these pillars, connecting above, forming the only visible ceiling. In the spaces between these arches, the room was open to the sky above, which at that moment was a breathtaking expanse of flowing galaxies and distant wisps of dreams or shooting stars, constantly shifting in silent cosmic dance.

Nora took several slow, deliberate steps into the vast chamber, her shoes making no sound on the polished floor. Then, drawn by the sheer magnificence, she paused, slowly spinning around, her eyes wide with unadulterated wonder. She stretched out a hand, not quite touching, as if to embrace the restored grandeur, a silent acknowledgment of the countless hours Morpheus must have poured into its rebirth. The intricate details, the impossible scale, the quiet power humming in the air—it was all so incredible, so overwhelming. She felt almost overcome by the sheer beauty of standing there, enveloped in his creation, a sensation that bordered on reverence.

As she completed her slow circle, her gaze sweeping over the breathtaking vista one last time before turning back to the front of the room, she stopped abruptly. Morpheus stood directly in front of her. His presence, as silent and sudden as always, made her heart do a delightful flutter. A soft smirk played on his lips, his eyes, those familiar pools of starlight, gleaming with amusement and pleasure.

Morpheus inclined his head slightly. "Good morning, My Star," he murmured, his voice a low, resonant rumble. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze performing a slow, deliberate perusal of Nora, taking in her choice of outfit for the day. He couldn't hide his quiet appreciation for her selection, nor the subtle pleasure he felt at how the fabric flowed around her, seeming even more majestic with her wearing it. Nora felt the warmth of his approval, a silent current flowing through their bond, and her shoulders shifted just ever so slightly back, her confidence swelling even more.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, his gaze still fixed on her.

Nora, wanting to tease, tilted her head. “Oh, it was… okay,” she said, a hint of playful nonchalance in her tone.

Morpheus’s dark eyes narrowed just a fraction, his head tilting in a silent query. “Okay?” he repeated, the single word a soft question, inviting elaboration.

“Yeah, well, it was a pretty good sleep, I suppose,” Nora replied, her voice stretching out the words, "but my awakening left much to be desired.” She paused, letting him stew for a breath, watching for the subtle shifts in his impassive features. “My morning would have been absolutely, ridiculously perfect and utterly complete, if I hadn’t been subjected to the chilly, empty expanse of the bed beside me instead of your inconveniently absent self.” Her voice was laced with a sassy blend of mock indignation and genuine affection.

Morpheus lowered his head a little, his gaze still holding hers, and his smirk broadened just perceptibly. He reached out, his hand finding her waist, and with a fluid motion, pulled her against him. Her hands, as if by instinct, found purchase on his biceps, feeling the cool, firm muscle beneath the fabric.

“Is that so?” he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly sound that sent a shiver tracing down Nora’s spine. His eyes, dark as midnight, held a wicked glint. "And you suggest my duties are less pressing than your... desire for warmth, My Star?" His brow arched slightly, but his tone was tinged with amusement.

   Nora immediately slumped against him, dramatically burying her face into his chest with a soft sigh. "Less pressing? Sandy, my emotional well-being is always pressing! I'm pretty sure I nearly suffered a crisis of existential loneliness this morning. How am I supposed to conquer the day when I'm left to face it, utterly bereft, without my personal Dream Lord for morning snuggles?" Her voice was playfully muffled, but her sincerity shone through.

   Morpheus's chest vibrated with a low, melodic chuckle that rumbled through her. He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head, and his voice softened before he murmured to her lowly, "Then I shall endeavor to correct my egregious mistake.”

Nora looked up at him, her expression one of mock seriousness. “See that you do,” she stated, her voice a low, feigned warning. “I will not forgive this transgression again.” She ran her hand up his chest, lightly tracing the line of his jaw. “After all, you’re looking far too pleased with yourself this morning for someone who committed such a grievous error.”

Morpheus caught her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers, pulling it to his lips for a feather-light kiss. “Perhaps my satisfaction stems from the knowledge that I now have a delightful debt to repay,” he murmured, his eyes holding hers with an intense, playful warmth.

An irrepressible smile, too vast to contain, began to bloom on her face, reflecting the unshielded joy that Morpheus delighted in. A soft, almost imperceptible tremor of pure happiness ran through him, a feeling he cherished beyond measure. He moved his face just a fraction, the barest distance, and pressed his lips against hers in a tender kiss.

After a long moment, they finally parted. “It all looks incredible,” she breathed, her head gesturing around the magnificent throne room. Unknowingly, she transmitted a wave of sheer pride through their bond. Morpheus felt it, this unexpected surge from her, warm and potent, unlike anything he had experienced in eons. He savored the sensation, realizing with a quiet, startling clarity that he was going to become addicted to this feeling. Nora, His Star, was going to make him even more greedy for the emotions only she could evoke from him.

Just before Nora could say anything else, a slight, polite cough was heard from somewhere behind Morpheus. Nora quickly turned to look around him, her eyes widening as she spotted Lucienne standing near the base of the grand staircase, facing them.

Nora immediately flushed crimson. She took a tiny step away from Morpheus, covering her mouth in shock. “Oh! Lucienne! I am so, so sorry!” she stammered, her voice high with embarrassment. “I didn’t even see you there!” She winced, realizing how rude that sounded. “No! Not like that! I mean, I was just… I was looking around,” she began, waving her arms around to gesture to the grand room, “I was distracted, I’m so sorry, I just…” She trailed off, fumbling for words, her cheeks burning.

Lucienne, a gentle smile gracing her features, interrupted Nora’s flustered tirade. “Absolutely no trouble at all, My Lady,” she said, her voice calm and soothing. “I quite understand the… monumental experience of witnessing the palace’s restoration.” She cast a soft glance around the re-formed hall, a hint of genuine reminiscence in her eyes. “It is a joy to have it back as it should be.” Turning her attention back to Nora and Morpheus, Lucienne added, “I figured I would give you a moment and not interrupt.”

At least someone knows a thing about timing, Nora thought, a mental sigh of relief and a flash of her little feathered fiend—friend—duly corrected in her head, for Morpheus to hear.

Morpheus, his soft smile lingering as he looked at Nora, then turned his head towards Lucienne. He gave his librarian a slight, appreciative nod. “Thank you for your consideration, Lucienne,” he said, his voice a low, sincere murmur. A flicker of surprise crossed Lucienne’s face, swiftly replaced by a wide, genuine smile. She quickly returned to business, her scholarly composure snapping back into place.

“My Lord, perhaps we should continue our conversation from before,” Lucienne stated, gesturing towards the three colossal windows that held their frozen images. “The three major arcana are gone.”

Nora, still flushed from her embarrassment, walked towards Lucienne, her gaze drifting up to the immense windows. Morpheus followed silently, his presence a dark, reassuring shadow at her back.

Lucienne, ever composed, continued her account. "The first is Gault," she began, her voice clear in the vast hall, "a nightmare who, I must say, I never trusted."

"She is a shape-changer," Morpheus added, his voice a low, even hum. "It is not in her nature to be trustworthy."

With a small nod, Lucienne continued, her hand gesturing towards the middle window. "The Corinthian."

"I assumed as much," Morpheus responded, a grim note in his tone. "Still feeding on the dreamers he was meant to serve."

Nora, catching sight of the image in the middle window, let out a totally nonchalant, "Ooh, he looks cool."

Both Morpheus and Lucienne turned to stare at her, their expressions a synchronized blend of surprise and mild incredulity. Nora bounced her gaze between them. "What?" she asked, a slight defensiveness creeping into her voice as she shrugged. "He does look cool." She nodded resolutely to herself. "Continue, please, Lucienne."

Lucienne shook her head, a faint, amused smile touching her lips, before her features settled into their usual scholarly calm. "The last is Fiddler's Green."

Morpheus looked genuinely surprised. "That is a passing strange," he murmured, a flicker of bewilderment in his eyes. "He is, after all, vavasor of his own Dominion, and always so reliable." Morpheus's gaze swept over the images of the missing arcana once more, a profound sorrow settling on his features. "This is my fault," he stated, the words heavy with self-recrimination. He paused, then continued, "Had I been here, fulfilling my function—"

"It was not your fault, My Lord," Lucienne interjected, her loyalty a sharp, unwavering point of light in the gloom.

"No?" Morpheus questioned, his voice laced with a raw vulnerability. "Then whose?"

Nora stepped closer to Morpheus, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. "You've done all you can with what's been given," she said, her voice soft but firm, a steady anchor to his self-doubt. "No one, in their right mind, could ask more than that."

"I'm afraid there is yet more news," Lucienne said, a hesitant note entering her voice, her gaze flicking nervously between Morpheus and the vast, restored hall. "Gossip, really, but…"

"What is it?" Nora asked, her curiosity piqued, leaning slightly forward.

"There are rumors among the dream-folk of a vortex." Lucienne looked at Morpheus, her expression grave, her usual composed demeanor showing a flicker of genuine concern. "Perhaps you might wish to investigate."

"The rumors are quite true," Morpheus stated, his voice now imbued with an almost imperceptible wonder as his gaze fixed on the colossal windows where the images of the missing arcana still hung. As he spoke, the images within them dissolved into a shimmering, silvery-white flow, fractured like ice on a winter pond, leaving only an ethereal, shifting light. "There is a vortex."

"Then you must hunt for it, sir.” Lucienne urged, a new urgency in her tone, taking a small step closer.

Nora's head snapped towards Lucienne, her eyes wide with shock and a growing apprehension. "Hunt for it?" The idea sounded drastic, dangerous.

"The vortex is a she, not an ‘it’," Morpheus corrected Lucienne, his voice firm, a subtle inflection of correction in his tone. He then explained further, a heavy weight seeming to settle on his shoulders. "And the Endless are forbidden from taking action against any mortal who is not an active threat."

"Yes, but should the threat become active?" Lucienne pressed, her brow furrowed with concern, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Then perhaps one of our problems may prove a solution to the other three," Morpheus mused, his voice taking on a thoughtful, almost distant quality, his gaze drifting back to the shimmering light that now filled the three windows. "She is a vortex, after all. Sooner or later, she will draw the stray dreams to her."

"Is that not risky, My Lord?" Lucienne questioned, apprehension lacing her words, her eyes wide with worry. "She could destroy the Dreaming and the Waking World in the process."

"I think the fuck not,” Nora muttered under her breath, a fierce, protective fire kindling in her eyes, her jaw set with determination. She was completely offended by the mere thought of the Dreaming being destroyed again.

"I am watching her," Morpheus stated, his voice quiet but resolute, his starlight eyes holding a deep, unwavering intensity.

"But only when she's asleep, though, right?" Nora asked, her gaze fixed on him, a fresh concern etching her face. "What about when she's awake? What then?”

Morpheus nodded slowly, his expression grim. "I think it's best I not leave the Dreaming unattended for now."

A sudden flutter of wings and a soft landing on Nora’s shoulder signaled Matthew’s arrival. “Hey Boss! Boss Lady! I am here! The indispensable eyes and ears of the Dreaming are at your service!” he announced with a flourish of his feathers.

Nora turned her head slowly, a playful smirk tugging at her lips as she looked directly at the raven. “Oh, look who decided to grace us with his presence! And with such dramatic flair,” she added, her voice dripping with mock awe, “right when the conversation was getting good.” She leaned in just a fraction, lowering her voice conspiratorially, though Matthew surely heard every word. “Your reputation for impeccable timing precedes you, Matthew, especially when it involves appearing just as things get interesting.”

Matthew, seemingly unbothered by her sarcasm, simply puffed out his chest, his sleek black feathers rustling with self-importance, and cocked his head. “I could go!” he chirped, his tiny head tilted, clearly pleased with his suggestion.

"Very well," Morpheus conceded after a moment of consideration, his gaze fixed on Matthew. "Lucienne will tell you what to look for, Matthew. And what you see, I too will see."

Nora gave Matthew a quick, affectionate pet on the head, her fingers gently ruffling his sleek black feathers. With a soft flutter, Matthew launched himself off her shoulder and, with Lucienne, headed out of the room to get to work, his black form disappearing swiftly down the grand corridor.

Nora turned to Morpheus, a thoughtful expression softening her features as she met his dark eyes. "I'm thinking of visiting Hob again."

Morpheus raised an elegant eyebrow, a silent question in his dark eyes, his gaze steady on her.

"Well, in all fairness," Nora defended, a charming smile playing on her lips, "we did leave quite quickly the last time we saw him." She paused, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, a silent dare for him to disagree. "And I'm fairly certain he thought you were having a rather dramatic, existential crisis and just poofed us out of there. We probably left him with whiplash and a lot of unanswered questions."

Morpheus hummed in agreement, a low, pleased sound that resonated faintly through their bond.

"And," Nora continued, her eyes brightening with an idea that seemed to fully form as she spoke, "I can probably get Hob to agree to help me get caught up on modern-world things. Maybe even get a cell phone so I can communicate while in the Waking World."

Morpheus couldn't help but find the logic in her statement. Considering he was now on vortex watch and would be rooted in the Dreaming, there was no reason why she couldn't go to the Waking World to see their mutual friend. With a quick, subtle swirl of his hand, a shimmer of golden motes danced in the air. Then, hanging from a slender silver chain, a beautiful medium-sized pendant materialized. It was a flattened oval, slightly teardrop shaped and intricately framed with swirling silver. It was similar to frosted glass, yet it shimmered with a faceted inner light, emanating its own soft glow.

Morpheus held it up, looking towards Nora. "May I?" he asked, his voice a quiet invitation, his gaze holding hers with a soft warmth.

Nora turned around, lifting her hair from her neck. Morpheus slowly and gently placed the necklace around her, his pale fingers working the clasp. As his fingers lingered, softly dragging against her skin, Nora let out a little breath, a shiver tracing its way down her spine. The gentle touch, the quiet intimacy of the moment, deepened the affection blooming in her chest.

She turned back around, her fingers moving to rest on the pendant, which sat just below the hollow of her throat. She felt the necklace give off a slight hum, a delicate tingling against her fingertips as they traced its smooth surface. She looked up at Morpheus questioningly, a silent inquiry in her wide eyes.

Morpheus gently tilted her chin upwards, his thumb caressing her jawline. "The necklace is imbued with some of my power," he explained, his voice a low, tender murmur that resonated deep within her.

Nora went to immediately interject, not wanting to take any power away from him, a flash of concern in her eyes, but Morpheus quickly eased her worries. "It is a very small fraction," he said, his voice reassuring, "but this will allow you to travel between the Dreaming and the Waking World on your own, rather than relying on me to transport you." Nora couldn't help but love him even more, touched by this show of trust and the freedom he was giving her. It was a tangible sign of his affection, a part of him now connected to her, always.

Morpheus added, his gaze softening further, "While our bond allows us to communicate, if anything should ever happen, this acts as a secondary method of finding each other or calling for help."

Overcome with affection for Morpheus, Nora quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in tight for a hug. Morpheus grunted slightly from the unexpected tug down in height, before wrapping his arms around her waist and returning the embrace, holding her close, savoring the feeling of her against him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, I love it, thank you," Nora mumbled into his shoulder, her voice muffled by the fabric, but filled with genuine warmth.

After a moment, she pulled away from the hug, looking down at the pendant again. "But how do I use it?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "It's no whoosh of sand that I'm used to."

Morpheus chuckled, the sound a low, melodic rumble that sent another shiver of delight through Nora. "You need but to imagine where you wish to be in the Waking World, and it shall take you there." He gently brushed some hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a moment, then cupped her jaw, his touch lingering. "Do not worry, My Star, it will do most of the work." He gave her a soft, teasing smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Nora lightly shoved him on the chest, a playful gesture, a familiar comfort between them. "Okay, okay, fine." She stepped back, before bouncing on the balls of her feet, shaking her hands out and bracing herself. Morpheus couldn't help but shake his head at her endearing shenanigans, a gentle smile gracing his lips. "Okay, alright, well, here goes!" she declared, and then closed her eyes, focusing intently. She imagined the alleyway that she and Morpheus had used to return to the Dreaming the last time they visited Hob, picturing the grimy brick walls, the overflowing trash can, every detail she could possibly remember with vivid clarity.

She felt a strange shift, almost as if her center of gravity was reorienting itself. It was an odd, peculiar sensation, but not at all painful; she could almost tell her very being was shifting slightly. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in the alleyway, facing out towards the street. She couldn't help but huff out of breath and shake her head in amazement before she grabbed the pendant, raised it up, and placed a soft kiss on its surface, a silent thank you to Morpheus. She looked down at her clothes and saw that the floor-length dress she had been wearing had been shortened to about knee-length, and the cape-like part had been removed, transforming it into a sleeveless dress. "Damn, he's good," Nora muttered to herself with a grin, before stepping out of the alleyway, in search of her fellow immortal friend.

-

Morpheus watched as Nora shimmered and swirled, her form dissolving like a mirage in the grand throne room. The air where she’d stood still hummed faintly with the residual warmth of her presence. A moment later, he felt the subtle shift in their bond, a comforting reassurance that she had arrived safely in the Waking World. A soft, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.

He turned from the vast windows, his gaze sweeping over the newly restored grandeur of his throne room. While it pleased him to see it whole again, his mind was already turning to the matter of the vortex. He began to move with purpose, a silent shadow gliding across the polished obsidian floor, heading towards the library.

As he walked, the weight of the pendant he'd given Nora settled in his awareness. He had told her it contained only a small fraction of his power, and in the grand scheme of his being, it was true. Yet, even that "small fraction" was a considerable amount, especially within the mortal realm. Reflecting on it, Morpheus mused that Nora might very well smack him if she ever truly comprehended the full extent of the power within it. The pendant would grant her effortless passage between worlds, as promised. But more than that, it was a silent, potent declaration woven into the very fabric of the charm, a clear warning to any and all who might cross her path: Do not mess with what is his.

With that thought, Morpheus stepped out of the throne room, his faint smirk broadening into one of deep satisfaction, a testament to the exceedingly good mood Nora had put him in.

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 36: Of Dreams and Deliverance

I'M BACK BITCHES! Thank you so very much for waiting for the next part of the story! I didn't intend to leave y'all on a cliffhanger 💀

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, oral sex (m receiving)

~Unraveling Dream~

The finger that had been rubbing the edge of his jeans now hooked slightly, pulling the denim downward a bare inch. The whisper of the denim against his skin, a barely audible rasp, was the prelude to Morpheus’s hitched breath. Nora could see the muscles of his abdomen clench in anticipation, a ripple of controlled power under her hand. His eyes, dark as the deepest dream, were fixed on hers, a silent challenge and an undeniable invitation. The air between them crackled with newly forged tension, a dance of desire and dominance that Nora, for the first time, was leading.

Nora, revelling in this reversal of their usual dynamic, allowed a slow smile to bloom on her face. Her eyes, alight with amusement, met his, challenging him to deny her this delicious turn. The tables had turned, and she intended to savor every moment of her newfound power, especially after all the playful torment he had subjected her to recently.

Leaning down, she pressed a series of soft, teasing kisses along his jawline, tracing a path down the elegant curve of his neck. When her lips reached his Adam’s apple, she nipped lightly, a playful bite that elicited a faint shudder from him. She felt the subtle tremor travel through him, a gratifying response that only fuelled her audacity. She continued her descent, her kisses scattering across the sculpted planes of his chest.

The hand that had been resting on his chest now slid to the side, her thumb brushing delicately over his nipple. A jolt, subtle yet unmistakable, passed through Morpheus, and the grip of his hands on her waist flexed and tightened even more, as if anchoring himself against the surge of sensation. Not content with just one, Nora’s other hand now moved to his other side, her thumb tracing the outline of his nipple with a curious slowness. A wicked spark ignited in her eyes; she leaned in, a soft breath escaping her, and then, like a curious kitten, lightly licked it.

A deep, guttural sound, a moan laced with a groan, rumbled In Morpheus’s chest, a sound he evidently tried to suppress. It was a desperate attempt to maintain his composure, but it escaped him, raw and unrestrained, and Nora couldn’t hide her glee at his surprise reaction. She felt the vibration of it against her, a thrill shooting through her at the sheer vulnerability of the sound.

“Oh no, no, no,” she purred, her voice a low, husky murmur, a playful reprimand. She pulled back slightly, her gaze unwavering as she looked into his darkening eyes. “Don’t deny me, Morpheus. Your voice… it’s like liquid gold, a melody only I am privileged to hear.” Nora slowly moved her hand upwards, coming to rest lightly at the base of his neck. She leaned in, her lips meeting his in a soft, fleeting kiss. “Don’t you dare deny me the gift of hearing your voice, especially when it’s blessed with such pleasure.” Her eyes, sparkling with the thrill of this delicate power play, danced over his face, watching for every subtle shift. She saw the deepening lust in his gaze, the quick, shallow breaths, the frantic beat of his heart beneath her hand, and a wicked smile curved her lips. This was her moment, a sweet, slow revenge for decades of his teasing, serving him his exquisitely delicious just deserts.

With renewed purpose, Nora began her meticulous torment. Her touch became a symphony of feather-light caresses, her fingertips barely grazing his skin, yet leaving trails of fire in their wake. Small, almost imperceptible scratches from her nails, just enough to prickle his senses without breaking the skin, danced across his chest, his shoulders, and the taut expanse of his abdomen. She pressed soft kisses to the hollow of his throat, the curve of his collarbone, the inside of his biceps, each kiss followed by a light, teasing lick that sent shivers through him.

Then, the cool air followed, a whispered caress. After each soft touch or lingering kiss, she would gently blow, the sudden chill on his heated skin an exquisite counterpoint to the warmth she had just provided. She flowed over him, a living current of sensation, her body pressing lightly against his, her hair falling like a silken curtain around them. From his neck to his shoulders, down his arms, across the hard planes of his chest, and over the lean lines of his abdomen, Nora was ceaseless. She lavished him with this sensual onslaught, a calculated effort to overwhelm him with tender, potent desire. Morpheus’s body became a taut bowstring, every muscle coiled, his breathing quickening, growing uneven. He groaned again, a deeper, more desperate sound than before, his fingers tightening on her waist, pulling her closer, a silent plea to end the delicious agony.

Nora’s performance was masterful, a symphony of deliberate provocation. She used her body, her breath, her subtle movements, all designed to push him further, to strip away the last vestiges of his formidable control. She shifted her weight slightly, a barely perceptible grind of her hips that sent a low growl rumbling up from Morpheus’s chest. His hands on her waist were no longer holding her, they were clinging to her.

She leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear. “Breaking, Lord Morpheus?” she whispered, her voice laced with her own burgeoning desire. She grabbed his hands and with a surprising strength, forcibly placed them flat on the mattress beside his head, pinning his wrists there. As she more purposefully ground down against him, she added, “Or have you had quite enough?”

Morpheus’s head tilted back roughly against the pillow, a low groan escaping him, a sound of strained desperation. “Nora,” he rasped, his voice raw, “cease this torment.” He didn’t know what he was truly begging for, only that this exquisite, agonizing pleasure was pushing him past any limit he’d ever known.

Nora, who couldn’t help but revel in his unraveling, leaned up and kissed along his jawline, slowly making her way back towards his mouth. Her lips met his, soft and fleeting, a tantalizing brush. “Only if you say please,” she whispered against his lips. She knew the proud man beneath her rarely, if ever, uttered that word. He was the King of Dreams, a being of ancient power and unflinching will, and “please” was a concession he seldom made. Yet, as she held his gaze, seeing the raw hunger in his eyes, feeling the desperate tremor in his body, Nora had a very strong feeling that she was the exception.

Nora’s words hung in the air, a silent challenge, a demand for surrender from a being who had known nothing but command for eons. Morpheus’s dark eyes, still wide with a mixture of raw desire and desperate anticipation, fixed on her. He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet room, every muscle in his throat tensing. He was the King of Dreams, Lord Morpheus, a being of cosmic power who had stood against devils and fates, yet this one woman had stripped him of his defenses with nothing but a wicked smile and a whisper. To utter that word, “please,” felt like an unmaking of his very essence, a concession to a vulnerability he rarely, If ever, exposed. He had never had to beg anyone, ever, for anything.

Yet, the agonizing pressure of her hips, the teasing warmth of her naked body against his, and the glittering mischief in her eyes were an irresistible force. He craved the release she promised, a craving that eclipsed centuries of pride. His breath hitched, a silent, ragged sound. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back further into the pillow, the struggle visible on his pale face. “Nora,” he rasped again, the single syllable a desperate plea, unwilling to voice the word she sought.

Nora watched him, her heart thrumming with tenderness. She saw the war etched on his features, a sight few, if any, had ever witnessed. It was a beautiful, devastating capitulation. She was definitely not helping the situation, continuing her slow, deliberate grind against him throughout his struggle. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing his. Her thumbs, light as butterflies, began caressing the pulse points on his wrists, a soft, rhythmic friction against his skin. “Come on, Dream Lord,” she whispered, her voice soft but insistent, almost daring. “Say it. Just for me.”

His jaw tightened, a tremor running through his powerful frame. To concede, to beg, it went against every fiber of his ancient being. Yet, the exquisite torment of her movements, the tantalizing brush of her lips, and the soft caress of her thumbs on his wrists, were eroding centuries of pride. His dark eyes fluttered open, locking onto hers, and in their depths, Nora saw a fierce, desperate battle.

“Please,” he rasped, the single word a raw, almost inaudible exhalation, torn from him like a forgotten dream. Nora felt it more than heard it—a sound that resonated in the deepest chambers of her soul, a vibration of absolute surrender from a being who had known only command for eons. It was a sound few, if any, living beings had ever heard from the King of Dreams, a concession so absolute it vibrated through their shared bond. She could feel the aching need that Morpheus was experiencing, a deep, consuming hunger.

A radiant smile, soft and knowing, bloomed on Nora’s face, and Morpheus himself could not help but feel pride, even at his own expense. Nora let go of Morpheus’s wrists, her hands moving to cup his jaw. She kissed him, a strong, intense press of her lips against his, before trailing a path down his chest towards his abdomen. As her mouth moved, she felt the rough texture of his jeans beneath her hands, and then, in an instant, the material seemed to simply evaporate beneath her touch, leaving only the cool, smooth expanse of his marble-like skin. Nora’s feelings of appreciation, a silent wave of delight at his use of power to aid her, streamed into their bond.

When Nora pulled back, a soft gasp escaped her lips. It seemed an age since she had seen him like this, raw and unveiled. Before, her focus had been on protecting his dignity through their shared vulnerability. Now, there was no restraint. This time, her intent was to thoroughly ruin him, to lose herself in the glorious intimacy of his form. Her eyes devoured him, tracing the powerful lines of his legs, the lean planes of his hips, before finally settling on the undeniable, magnificent evidence of his desire. His body, as beautiful and sculpted as a dream made flesh, was hers to explore, to learn anew. She planned to get very well acquainted indeed.

Nora shifted herself, settling so she was now kneeling between his legs, and allowed her gaze to roam freely over his body, no longer inhibited by fabric. Every curve, every muscle, every line was laid bare before her, a landscape of exquisite beauty.

A flicker of hesitation, born of her inexperience, crossed Nora’s face. She had never been this bold, this dominant in intimacy, and certainly not with a being as ancient and magnificent as Morpheus. A small, nervous flutter stirred in her stomach. What if she did it wrong? What if her mortal touch, so unpracticed in this specific art, was not enough? The thought of causing anything less than exquisite pleasure warred with her burgeoning confidence. Her hand hovered, poised just above his arousal, a silent question in the air. She looked up, her gaze locking with Morpheus’s, a silent plea for reassurance, for guidance. He met her stare, his own eyes burning with a deep, unwavering intensity, and then, with a slow, steady, and encouraging nod, he gave his consent. His subtle affirmation erased her doubts, a clear signal that he trusted her, that he welcomed whatever she chose to do.

A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaped Nora, and she “went for it,” her fingers finally closing around him. She took her time, a meticulous exploration. Her touch varied, at times light and feather-soft, at others, a firmer, more possessive grip. She moved her hand with a deliberate slowness, then with a quicker, more teasing rhythm, watching closely for the subtle shifts in his expression, the tightening of his muscles, the catch in his breath. She discovered the different textures, the changing firmness under her touch, marveling at the living, breathing landscape of him.

What Nora didn’t realize, engrossed in her careful, almost interrogative perusal, was that she was very slowly but very surely driving Morpheus to the brink of madness. He was already captivated by her touch, every brush of her skin against his a sensory explosion. To have her explore him with such intimate, unhurried attention was an almost unbearable pleasure, a torment and a blessing combined. The fact that she seemed so oblivious to his desperate struggle to contain himself, to the very edge of his self-control where he now teetered, was both baffling and captivating to the Lord of Dreams. Each new sensation she elicited pulled a fragile thread of his composure, yet he would not, could not, ask her to stop. This was her moment, her discovery, and he would endure, savoring every exquisite second.

As Morpheus was lost in those thoughts, Nora’s thumb, deliberate and soft, ghosted over the head of his cock. Morpheus let out a sharp hiss, born of sudden, intense sensitivity. Nora’s eyes locked onto Morpheus’s, and then, with a wicked smile, she did it again. Morpheus’s jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek, and Nora saw his abdomen tighten.

Still holding his gaze, Nora moved her other hand and lightly dragged a knuckle across his balls, a feather-light touch that elicited a sharp gasp from him. Emboldened by his reaction, Nora did it again, a confident stroke, before running her fingertips over them and then lightly cupping them in her palm. Morpheus exhaled a ragged sound that was torn from his lungs, a deep groan in his chest, a desperate yearning. Nora, with her confidence rising, shuffled back just slightly before leaning down, her breath warm, ghosting over him just before her tongue, slow and deliberate, ran over the head of his cock. A faint, wet glide accompanied the sound, and Morpheus choked out a stunted curse. You cruel woman, he thought, after the wave of new sensation, what is this torment? This agonizing pleasure? Nora, of course, heard it, and for once, it was nice to be on the other side of this mental bond.

Nora tuned into Morpheus, lowering her mouth around him, sucking the head into her mouth, her tongue circling the sensitive peak. She was listening, not to spoken words, but to the frantic surge of sensation, the subtle shudders and gasps that were his mental cues, unknowingly given. These unspoken reactions became her precise how-to guide on how to pleasure Dream of the Endless. Nora continued her meticulous work, her mouth moving along the outside, tracing the firm length of him before taking him in again. Her free hand worked at the base, stimulating the part her mouth couldn’t reach, squeezing up and down, varying the pressure. Her tongue licked along the prominent vein on the underside, a deliberate, sensual path, before its tip began to tease and lightly abuse that triangular piece of flesh right under the head. Morpheus’s body went rigid, his back arching sharply from the mattress as a raw, wordless cry tore from his throat.

Nora pulled her mouth from him, a soft, wet sound, and looked up, her hand still pleasuring him. "Does that feel good?" she asked, a slight tease in her voice, watching his face intently. Morpheus was gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles were impossibly white, stark against the dark fabric. He swallowed hard, a visible struggle in his throat, before he strangled out her name, "Nora," then a ragged pause as his breath caught.

His mind reeled, searching for the appropriate phrasing, for words that could possibly encompass the shattering sensations. "It is…" he managed, another strained pause as if extracting each syllable from the very core of his being, "...not unpleasurable."

That statement, so precise, so quintessentially Morpheus in its deliberate understatement, made Nora bite back a smile. She tightened her grip a bit, guiding her hand upward with a slight twist. A surprised, “Gods!” tore from Morpheus, a raw sound of unexpected shock. The audacity. The irony. Nora, completely ecstatic for making him utter the very curse he had once reprimanded her for using, returned her mouth to him and simply hummed around him, a low, pleased vibration. Through their bond, Morpheus felt a wave of Nora’s knowing amusement, and in that moment, he realized he was completely at her mercy. And he liked it. Very much, in fact.

Nora, now emboldened by his desperate sounds, started to take more of him, slowly and deliberately going deeper, testing her own boundaries as much as his. As her mouth encompassed more, Morpheus moved his hands, sliding across her shoulders before sliding into her hair, gently holding it back from her face. It was a subtle guide that neither pushed nor pulled; it simply held her steady in her relentless descent. That tied in with the hand still around his base and the other hand now gently cupping and slowly rolling his balls in her palm—the combined sensation was devastating. Morpheus’s fingers, tangled in her hair, tightened, and began pulling gently but insistently, and Nora moaned around him again.

“By the stars!” Morpheus rasped, "Such... sensations... I... I cannot..." He felt that tightening in his lower abdomen and gasped out, “Nora,” a raw, pleading sound. He didn’t know what he was asking for, but this sweet agony was pushing him to his limits; every nerve ending was singing with a desperate, beautiful agony. Control? Gone. Beautifully, irrevocably gone. Nora paused for a breath, looking up at him, and said with a low, teasing taunt, “You're a master of sensation, my King of Nightmares. Don't tell me you're afraid to feel your own unraveling.” She dipped her head again, taking him deeper still, sucking him in with a firm, confident pull that stole his breath and broke the last vestiges of his composure. A guttural roar ripped from Morpheus’s throat, raw and uncontrolled, hands clenching in her hair and the edges of his vision blurring.

Nora felt his release vibrate through her, a visceral confirmation of his complete surrender. Yet, despite the intensity, she deliberately drew out his release, her mouth and hand working him to the brink, then easing just enough to keep him suspended in exquisite torment. His hips bucked beneath her, a frantic, unspoken plea, his muscles drawn tight. Just when he thought the sweet, sweet agony would never end, Nora let up, releasing him with a soft pop. Feeling feisty, she leaned down and kissed the sensitive tip, making Morpheus jerk.

Nora sat up, leaning over Morpheus, and looked at him. “So…how was that?” she asked, her voice laced with fake innocence. A wave of giddy triumph rippled from her through their bond, knowing he felt it.

Morpheus’s chest still heaved, his eyes dark as the void and swirling with starlight. He felt the pure, unbridled amusement radiating from her, a dizzying sensation through their link. In one fluid motion, Nora found herself beneath him. He grabbed both her wrists and then secured them above her head with one hand. His other hand cupped the side of her neck, his thumb tilting her jaw upwards. His breath still came out a bit ragged, but he looked down at her, his voice deep and resonant, “You hold too much power over me, My Star.”

His gaze, blazing with a raw intensity she had never seen, burned down into hers. “A dangerous, intoxicating power to unravel me so completely.” His voice resonated with a force that shook her to her core, its vibration a deep hum against her own body. “And for all of my ancient pride… I don’t give a damn.” A wave of intense, dark desire, mingled with a shocking tenderness, flowed from him to her through their bond, sealing the unspoken implication: he welcomed it, every shattering piece of it.

Nora felt this surge from him, and it settled deep within her, a warm, resonant echo to the exhilaration she’d just experienced. But beyond the thrill of her recent conquest, a keen sense of love and understanding bloomed in her chest. His words, spoken aloud, carried a weight that even their intimate bond couldn’t fully convey. It was one thing to feel his emotions, to sense his unraveling and his reluctant pleasure, but to hear him voice such a monumental concession, such an absolute acceptance of her sway, was something else entirely. It was a tangible gift, a foundation laid for something deeper.

“Oh, Morpheus,” she whispered, her voice thick with genuine affection, a stark contrast to her earlier teasing. Her head tilted slightly, a silent invitation for him to draw nearer, though his thumb was already gently tilting her jaw. “You speak of power, my Lord of Dreams, but what you don’t realize is the sway you hold over me.” A soft, almost vulnerable smile touched her lips. “It’s not dangerous or intoxicating, not in the way you mean. It’s… it’s a quiet, immense power. The power to make me feel seen, truly seen, in a way no one else ever has.”

She shifted slightly beneath him, her body still humming from the echoes of his release. Her gaze, steady and unwavering, searched his. “You, my beautiful, complicated Dream...you’re the whisper in my nightmares that makes them bearable and the brilliance in my waking moments that makes them extraordinary.” She paused, her eyes softening as she looked at him, remembering the Fates’ words of her being his “Anchor”. “And if I am your Anchor, my love,” she continued, her voice a tender murmur, “then you, my Morpheus, are my Constellation. You are the vast, guiding expanse that holds all my scattered stars in place, the unyielding point around which my universe now silently, beautifully orbits.”

A tender ache formed in her throat, a testament to the depth of her feelings. “Simply saying ‘I love you’ feels far too small, too mundane for what I feel. It’s an ocean, an infinite sky of feeling that expands every moment I’m with you.” She paused, her voice catching, her eyes glistening. “I’ve felt your emotions, your struggles, your ancient burdens, and even then, you’ve always been magnificent. But to hear you say those words… to know that you trust me enough to show me this absolute surrender, this vulnerability…” She paused, her voice catching, her eyes glistening. “It’s the most precious gift you could ever give me. It brings to life everything I already feel for you, making it even more real, even more sacred.”

Her body, though still subtly restrained, conveyed her unspoken sentiment, a deep connection that pulled his gaze even deeper into hers. “You are more than just the King of Dreams to me, Morpheus. You are my most cherished dream, made real.”

Morpheus’s eyes, which had softened with a rare tenderness, now blazed with an intensity that burned into hers. The raw, unfiltered emotion in Nora’s words, amplified by the sudden surge through their bond, struck him with the force of a physical blow. He had felt her presence in the cage, a comforting balm against decades of solitude, but this outpouring of explicit devotion, this mapping of his own significance within her soul, was something new, something more.

“Nora,” he rasped, his voice a low, rough growl, thick with emotion he rarely allowed himself. He swallowed, the sound audible in the quiet room. “My Star.” The words, spoken from the very core of his being, were a promise, a confession, and a desperate plea all at once. “You speak of a truth that eclipses even the Fates’ pronouncements, a truth I am only now beginning to fully comprehend.”

He met her unwavering gaze, his own eyes, dark as the deepest dream, mirroring the raw adoration in hers. “I knew of your unwavering spirit, your fierce loyalty, your boundless compassion even when you faced your own demise. I felt the light you brought to my endless silence, the vibrant color to my gloom.” His voice deepened, a resonant hum that vibrated through her very core.

“But this…” he continued, his voice laced with awe, “this understanding of my own essence through your eyes… to be your ‘Constellation’… it is a gift I never dared to dream of. It is a fulfillment more complete than the restoration of my realm, more vital than all my lost tools combined.”

A tremor, subtle yet undeniable, ran through him. “You have woven yourself into the very fabric of my being, My Star. And for that, I am not merely grateful. I am… forever changed. You are my everything, Nora. Everything.”

Morpheus slowly uncurled the fingers of his hand, releasing her wrists from their gentle captivity above her head. The moment they were free, Nora’s hands instinctively flew to cup his jaw, anchoring him to her gaze.

Then, with a fluid, almost impossible grace, Morpheus pushed himself back, shifting from leaning over her to sitting upright on the bed. With a gentle, deliberate tug on her waist, he drew Nora up with him, until she too was upright, facing him, their naked bodies still exquisitely aligned on the plush bedding.

He still held her, one hand on her waist, the other reaching up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the soft curve of her jawline. His eyes, swimming with an emotion so raw and radiant it was almost painful to witness, devoured every detail of her face.

“Nora,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper, yet it resonated in her very soul. “My heart, my very being… it strains to comprehend.” A soft, almost vulnerable smile, utterly unshielded, touched his lips, a sight so rare and tender it made Nora’s breath catch. “What ancient cosmic jest, what unheard melody of fate, did I unknowingly play to ever be graced with such a treasure?”

He shook his head, a slow, bewildered movement. “I am an entity born of darkness and dreams, a creature of solemnity and shadow. My pride has been a fortress, my will unbending for eons. And yet, you, my bright, impossible Star, have shattered every defense with nothing but your laughter, your kindness, and the sheer, unfiltered wonder of your spirit.”

His thumb stroked her cheekbone, a feather-light caress. “I look at you, and I see the dawn breaking over a realm I thought forever lost. I see constellations I never knew existed, sparkling in your eyes. You are the softest whisper of a forgotten dream, made real and vibrant beyond all imagining. And I… I have done nothing, nothing, to deserve such boundless affection, such blinding light. Yet, you offer it so freely, so completely.”

A faint, almost imperceptible tremble ran through his hand as he held her face, a testament to the magnitude of his feelings. “How is it possible, My Star, that a single heart can hold such immeasurable kindness, such unwavering loyalty, that it could thaw the ancient ice of an Endless being? You are the most astonishing creation I have ever encountered, Nora. And I am utterly, irrevocably yours.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur, meant only for her. “Every shattered piece of me… belongs to you.”

-

THANK YOU for your patience!!! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[nerdydaydreamer]

GIIIRL! You keeping us waiting on chapter 36. Im dying over here!!!😂💜 All seriousness hope you’re ok😊

I KNOW I'M SORRY!!!! 😭😭😭 I'm on vacay right now so it's really hard to find time to write! I promise I am still working on the story 🩷🩷🩷

[nerdydaydreamer]

Introduction

Elle • 32 • she/her

I’m currently only writing for Bucky Barnes

✪ Requests closed • on semi-hiatus

Credits

Dividers from: @cafekitsune @inklore @cursed-carmine @enchanthings

Header from: Pinterest

Tips

Follow this tag #જ⁀➴ by elle to only view my writing instead of other unrelated posts!

Masterlist

🔞 - smut | 🌸 - fluff | 🥀 - angst | 🖤 - dark

✮ - high engagements

Mini-series

🔞 He Feels Everything ✮ | Mirror Me

🔞 Tied in Trust ✮ | Held, Not Bound

🔞 Woven in the Dark ʚɞ Where The Threads Meet ʚɞ Stitched Into Forever

🥀 Five Seconds, Five Years Part I ʚɞ Part II ʚɞ Part III

One-shot

🔞 Pulled Tight Around Him✮ | He Still Smelled Like Home✮ | Filed Under: Inappropriate✮ | Every Time We Almost | Crimson and Craving | Vaulted✮ | Every Inch, Every Corner✮ | eighteen hours.✮ | knife's edge.✮ | suffocate me sweetly | on command.✮ | until we remember | bad desire | wrapped in love ᢉ𐭩 | all mine, baby | sergeant's magic mouth | use me. you're all mine. | you, unblurred. |

🌸 More Than Enough | Second Place | can't help. | like saying yes to home | Snowy Alps: Alpine. | Blooming From Within |

🥀 Autopilot | Night of Fireworks | Fade Into Me, Not Away | The Long Conversation | A Beautiful Way to D*e | Love Me or Leave Me | man in the woods |

🖤 Code Red✮

Drabbles

❓Questionable workout machine

🌸 A Very Bucky Father's Day

Misc

John Walker — 🔞 Dead-End Heat

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 35: Of Dreams and Deliverance

Whelp. It's finally happening folks! Please be kind 🫣😅

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

Warnings: 18+, kissing, oral sex, fingering, forced orgasm if you squint

~A Dangerous Game~

The bright sun of the afternoon, the distant rumble of London traffic, and the grimy brick of the alleyway vanished in a swirl of shimmering sand. One moment, Nora was pressed against Morpheus in a shadowed alcove, her body still humming from his kiss. The next, a stillness enveloped them, soft and warm.

Nora stumbled slightly, her hand still clutched in Morpheus’s, as they materialized within what was undeniably a bedroom. And not just any bedroom. It was vast, with a vaulted ceiling that soared into impossible heights, painted with frescoes of nebulae and swirling galaxies that pulsed with a faint, inner light. Heavy, dark drapes, rich as twilight, hung from tall, arched windows, currently drawn tight against any external view. The bed, an enormous four-poster affair carved from dark, polished wood, dominated the center of the room, draped in layers of deep blue and silver fabrics that shimmered like moonlight on still water. An ornate, silver-backed mirror, impossibly tall, stood in one corner, reflecting the celestial ceiling. Lamps of luminous, crystalline glass cast a soft, ambient glow, making the air feel thick and dreamlike.

“Oh,” Nora breathed, her voice a surprised whisper, her eyes sweeping over the opulent space. “Well, this is certainly… lavish.” Her gaze landed back on the towering bed. “Is this yours?” The question, laced with a familiar teasing disbelief, was more a statement. Of course, it was his. The sheer, overwhelming grandeur of it practically screamed ‘King of Dreams’.

Morpheus simply offered a faint, amused smirk, a silent acknowledgment that she had guessed correctly. His hand, which had been holding hers, tightened almost imperceptibly, and before Nora could fully process the shift in their surroundings, he pulled her in.

The kiss was sudden, fierce, and utterly consuming, a desperate, hungry press of his lips against hers that stole the breath from her lungs. She gasped, a soft, shocked sound that was swallowed by his mouth. Her hands flew up, tangling in the impossibly soft, raven strands of his hair, pulling him closer. The fury that had simmered within her, a delightful retaliation to his unexpected emotional assault in the tavern, mingled now with a raw, desperate desire, exploding into a conflagration.

She kissed him back with equal intensity, her lips parting under his. In between fervent presses, she mumbled against his mouth, “You’re completely…unfair.” Kiss. “Sending me feelings…” Kiss. “So…so rude!” Kiss.

Morpheus chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated against her lips, against her very soul. He pulled back just a millimeter, his breath ragged against her mouth. His dark eyes blazed with an untamed, primal amusement, mirroring the fire in hers. “Why would I not,” he murmured, his voice a silken rasp, a subtle vibration that seemed to penetrate her very core, “use the tools at my disposal, My Star?”

Nora’s eyes, still blazing with a mix of fury and desire, narrowed. A low, throaty purr, thick with challenge and burgeoning want, rumbled from her chest. She leaned in, her voice a husky whisper against his lips, “Oh, you want to play it like that, do you?��� Before he could react, she lightly nipped his bottom lip, a sharp, playful tug, then pulled back just enough to look up into his eyes, her own alight with mischief and retribution. “Fine.”

And then, with a fierce, almost vengeful delight, she unleashed it. Through the invisible, unbreakable thread of their bond, the very same connection he had used to send his overwhelming emotions into her mere moments ago, Nora sent a torrent of her own. She poured every ounce of the burgeoning arousal that pulsed through her body into him—all the swirling heat in her veins, the sudden, delightful clench of her core, the electric awareness of his hard body pressed against hers, and the almost zing she feels from running her fingers through his impossibly soft hair. All of it, every single detail, unfiltered and potent, a wave of sensation slamming into him.

Morpheus stiffened, his entire form rigid beneath her hands. His eyes, already dark with desire, widened fractionally with a flicker of genuine shock. A low, guttural groan erupted from him, a sound ripped from the depths of his being that Nora felt reverberate through her very bones, echoing the very essence of pleasure and overwhelming surrender. He buried his face in the hollow of her neck, his lips hot against her skin, breathing in her scent with a desperate, shuddering intake of air. His hands dropped, landing possessively on her ass, grabbing fistfuls of her flesh, and pulling her hard into him. Nora gasped, a sharp intake of breath as he squeezed.

“That was a dangerous move,” Morpheus mumbled against her neck, his voice a low, rough growl. He didn’t give her time to react, his movements swift and decisive. One hand slipped to her lower back, the other gripping her leg just behind the knee. With a powerful, effortless motion, he lifted her, prompting Nora to wrap her legs around his waist, holding on tightly as he began to move. He didn’t break stride, his grace a predator’s silent glide across the vast room, carrying them swiftly to the grand four-poster bed. With a soft grunt, he tossed her lightly onto the mattress. She bounced once, a soft, yielding give of the expensive bedding, before the undeniable, thrilling weight of Morpheus covered her, pressing her into the plush softness. The air in the opulent room crackled with anticipation, thick with their mingled scents and desires.

Morpheus braced himself above her, his arms on either side of her head, his weight heavy and grounding. His dark hair, mussed from her fingers, framed a face still contorted with a mixture of raw desire and a hint of the surprise she had so deliberately inflicted upon him. His eyes were now burning, molten gold reflecting in their depths.

“You truly are a dangerous creature, My Star,” he rasped, his voice rough with suppressed emotion, his gaze locked onto hers. Nora could feel the hard line of his arousal through their clothing, a taut, insistent pressure against her core that sent a fresh wave of heat through her.

Nora, still breathless but emboldened, allowed a triumphant, mischievous smirk to curve her lips. “And you, my Dream Lord,” she purred, her voice a husky whisper. One hand, which had been in his hair, slid down to trace the sharp, elegant line of his jaw. The other hand, however, was more audacious. It snaked beneath the hem of his shorter black wool coat, then slipped further, beneath the soft fabric of his black shirt, finding the warm, smooth skin of his back. Her nails, just barely, almost imperceptibly, scratched lightly against his skin as her fingers began to trail upwards, sending an electric shock through his powerful frame. “You are far too easy to provoke.”

Morpheus lowered his head, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps that fanned across her face. “You tested the limits of our bond,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, a sound that was both warning and undeniable pleasure. “And I find that… intoxicating.”

“Indeed,” Nora agreed, her own voice trembling now, the playful defiance giving way to an overwhelming tide of desire that swirled and pooled low in her belly. Her hand, which had been trailing up his back, now moved, slowly, deliberately, around to the front of his chest. Her fingers, feather-light, barely grazing the warmth of his skin, began to work their way downwards, tracing a tantalizing path over the firm planes of his abdomen. She watched, mesmerized, as the dark intensity in his eyes deepened, tracking her every movement.

“You started it, you know,” she whispered, her fingers still feather-light against his skin, descending inch by tantalizing inch. She let out a soft, exasperated ‘tsk’ sound, a playful chide, “All those feelings… completely unfair.”

Morpheus raised his gaze just enough, his eyes piercing through her, full of an ancient hunger that made her heart pound a frantic rhythm against her ribs. “Perhaps,” he conceded, his voice a low. “But you are magnificent in your retaliation.”

With that, he lowered his head further. He bypassed her lips, leaving them aching and wanting, and claimed her neck. His mouth, hot and hungry, began placing open, devouring kisses along her jawline, down the sensitive curve of her throat. He sought out that sweet, vulnerable spot just beneath her ear, his lips pressing, his teeth grazing lightly, sending exquisite jolts of sensation through her, making her shiver.

His hand that had been braced by her head moved, slipping down her side to her thigh, just above her knee. With a firm, decisive grip, he hiked her leg up higher onto his hip, pulling her even closer, molding her lower body against his. He shifted his weight, pressing her deeper into the mattress, every curve of her body aligning with his. His hips began to grind, a slow, deliberate, intensely arousing motion that made her arch into him instinctively, a desperate, silent plea. A soft moan, thick with pleasure and surrender, escaped her lips as his mouth found the hollow of her throat, his tongue tracing the pulse there.

“Mine,” Morpheus whispered, a possessive growl rumbling against her skin, a declaration that branded her deeper than any mark. The opulent bedroom, with its celestial ceiling, seemed to spin, becoming a swirling vortex of touch and sensation, of ancient power and vibrant will, both bodies now wholly consumed by the tempest they had unleashed.

Nora’s fingers moved with a renewed purpose to cup his face once more. Her thumbs brushed against the sharp angles of his cheekbones, his skin feeling like warm marble, impossibly smooth and cool beneath her touch.

Morpheus’s mouth moved from the hollow of her throat, trailing a path of fire back up to her jawline, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His earlier declaration of “Mine” still throbbed against her skin, a possessive hum that resonated deep within her, a thrilling affirmation of their undeniable connection. She tilted her head down, a silent invitation he was swift to accept. His mouth descended, finally claiming hers again, but this kiss was different. It was slower, deeper, a deliberate exploration.

Nora responded with equal fervor, her lips parting, allowing his tongue to sweep inside, tangling with hers in a dance that was perfectly synchronized, each movement a mirror of the other’s desire. They kissed for what felt like an eternity, a breathless, consuming exchange of fire and need. Her fingers now ran up over the nape of his neck, gripping the soft, thick strands there. She held his head steady as she pulled back slightly, just a fraction of an inch, her eyes blazing into his. “And you’re mine,” she breathed, her voice low and husky, a challenge and a claim all rolled into one.

Morpheus paused, the slightest hesitation, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly as her words echoed through their bond. Then, as if a dam had broken, he attacked her lips again, his kiss even more savage, more passionate than anything she had known was possible. It was a hungry, consuming force, demanding and all-encompassing, pulling her deeper into the maelstrom of sensation.

Nora felt the wool of his coat between them, a barrier to the skin she craved. Her hands moved, pushing against the thick fabric, her words muffled against his lips as she continued to kiss him. “Get this… damn thing… off,” she mumbled, her voice rough with impatience and building urgency. As if in answer to her unspoken wish, a faint shimmer passed over him, and then, it seemed to simply disintegrate into nothingness, vanishing as if it had never been there at all.

Nora gasped against his mouth, pulling back just enough to look at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and amusement. “Well,” she said, a breathless laugh escaping her, “that’s a handy trick.”

Morpheus’s lips, curved in a dark, satisfied smirk, moved from her mouth, tracing a hot path down her jaw, across her throat, and into the sensitive expanse of her chest. His kisses were open-mouthed, wet, and utterly devastating.

“Can you,” Nora gasped out, her voice ragged and breathless as his mouth worked its magic on her skin, “can you do that with all of our clothes?”

Morpheus chuckled, the sound a low vibration against her skin. “Technically, yes,” he murmured, his voice a dark, sensual rasp that sent shivers through her entire body. He paused, lifting his head just enough for his gaze to meet hers, his eyes smoldering with a possessive fire. “But why would I deny myself the pleasure of unveiling you, piece by exquisite piece?”

A solid, undeniable clench of desire tightened in Nora’s lower stomach, so potent it made her groan. “Oh, God,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed, completely overwhelmed by the raw sensuality of his words and actions.

“Now, My Star,” Morpheus purred, his voice deepening with a playful reprimand, “you know better. I am much more than a mere God.”

Nora huffed out a laugh that quickly turned into a long, drawn-out moan as Morpheus, with a subtle movement she didn’t even register, had now removed her shirt and bra. The cool air of the dream-chamber brushed against her bare skin for a fleeting moment before his head lowered. He began to lick, suck, and nibble on her nipples, alternating between them, ensuring each received equal, fervent attention. While his mouth devoured one, his free hand, warm and firm, rested on the other, his fingers lightly tweaking and rolling the nipple, sending twin currents of pleasure through her.

Nora was completely overcome, her mind dissolving. Her hands, unable to settle, kept switching between gripping the luxurious bedsheets beside her, scrunching the rich fabric in her fists, and then reaching up, tangling in Morpheus’s dark hair. She gripped his head with frantic urgency, pulling him closer, deeper into the intoxicating pleasure he was so expertly inflicting.

With a soft, almost audible pop, Morpheus released her nipple from his torment, leaving it throbbing and wet. “You have no idea,” he whispered, his voice still rough with passion, his gaze burning into hers, “the extent of your power over me, My Star.”

Nora, her chest heaving, her body a trembling mess of exquisite sensation, reached down and pulled at the hem of his black shirt, her fingers fumbling slightly in her urgency. She pulled the shirt up and over his head, exposing the sculpted lines of his chest and abdomen. “Oh, I think I have some idea, My Dream Lord,” she breathed, her voice thick with desire and unyielding determination. “And I intend to explore every single limit.”

A smirk crossed Morpheus’s lips, reflecting the triumphant glint in his eyes. “What a delightful concept,” he whispered. He gave her one last searing kiss before moving down. He placed several open-mouthed kisses on her chest, then trailed a path of fire down her stomach, his breath hot against her skin. Nora gasped, her belly fluttering under his touch.

The slow, deliberate pace of Morpheus’s fingers on her jeans was driving Nora absolutely wild. Each brush, each agonizingly slow movement of the zipper, felt like a deliberate torment designed to push her to the absolute brink. Her hips squirmed, a silent, frantic plea for him to just get on with it, but he seemed to revel in her impatience, his dark eyes watching her every reaction with a smoldering intensity that promised both satisfaction and more delicious frustration.

Finally, with a soft sigh of triumph from him and a frustrated whimper from her, the jeans were fully unzipped. Morpheus’s hands slid inside the waistband, his thumbs brushing against the delicate skin of her hips, sending shivers through her already sensitive body. He tugged, pulling the denim down over her hips, then her thighs, revealing the simple lace of her panties. As the jeans began to bunch around her ankles, Nora felt a faint shimmer of magic, and her boots, which she hadn’t even consciously registered, simply vanished. The jeans were quickly pulled free by Morpheus, tossed to the floor with a soft rustle.

Now, all that remained was the thin barrier of her lace panties, and Morpheus’s eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, traced the curve of her body, lingering on the delicate fabric. He leaned down, his breath warm against her hip, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps across her skin.

“Patience, My Star,” he murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble, his thumb lightly grazing the elastic of her panties, a feather-light touch that promised so much more.

“Patience?” she choked out, her voice ragged. The word felt like a taunt. “No… Morpheus,” she whimpered, arching into his hand. “Just… please. Touch me. We’ve waited. For so long.” The heat in her core intensified, a sudden, delicious clench. “I can’t… I can’t wait anymore.”

Morpheus let out a deep groan against her hip, a guttural sound that echoed the depths of his own barely contained desire. “As you wish,” he rasped, and without a moment’s hesitation, his fingers hooked into the lace. With a single, swift motion, he pulled the delicate fabric down and off, tossing it aside to join the discarded jeans. Nora had no chance to register a flicker of embarrassment or shyness; the burning heat of Morpheus’s touch immediately replaced any fleeting thought as he pushed her legs further up and apart, bearing her completely to him.

He didn't claim her yet, choosing instead to prolong the exquisite torment. He leaned down, his mouth began to tease, placing open kisses up and down the length of one thigh, then moving to the other, exploring the sensitive skin of her inner leg, deliberately avoiding the very area she craved his touch. Nora let out a frustrated whine, a desperate, animalistic sound. “Morpheus!” she pleaded, her voice a ragged gasp.

He chuckled, the sound a low, satisfied vibration against her skin that only fueled her impatience. Then, finally, mercifully, he settled, his mouth finding its mark exactly where Nora had been silently begging him to go. He licked and sucked, a potent, mesmerizing rhythm that sent Nora’s world spiraling into unadulterated sensation. She was having a hard time getting air, her breath coming in short, choked gasps. One hand clenched into the sheets beside her, knuckles white, while the other flew up, her fingers burying themselves in her own hair, gripping it tightly as she arched her back into his ministrations. Her face was buried into the crook of her arm, mumbling incoherent pleas and low moans that were a symphony to Morpheus’s ears.

The deep, rhythmic suckling and the flick of Morpheus’s tongue against her clit sent Nora spiraling. Her hips bucked, an involuntary arch that pulled her impossibly tighter against his mouth. A long, guttural moan tore from her throat, a sound she barely recognized as her own. “Oh, God… Morpheus… yes!” she gasped, the words barely coherent through the haze of pleasure. Her fingers, tangled in her own hair, pulled tighter, her nails digging into her scalp as she tried to anchor herself to something, anything, in the swirling vortex of sensation.

Morpheus subtly shifted, his head moving back to her thigh, where he nipped her leg lightly in reprimand. Nora's only response was a huffed, "Oh, shut it." With firm, decisive pressure, Morpheus pushed her legs further out and apart, subtly ensuring she had no choice but to take the pleasure he was giving. He savored the sounds she made, drawing them in like the most exquisite nectar, each one fueling his own burgeoning desire. His tongue quickened its pace, growing more insistent, more demanding. He licked and sucked and pleasured with a ferocious intensity, his intent clear: to possess every inch of her awareness. He ensured she was utterly consumed, her mind cleared of all but the endless reality of him.

“Please… Morpheus… please!” Nora whimpered, her voice cracking slightly, a raw beg. “Don’t stop… oh, never stop!” Morpheus kept one hand on her thigh, and with his other hand, he slid a single finger into her, gently but deeply, then quickly followed with a second, teasing her for only a moment before searching for that soft, spongy part. He knew he'd found it when Nora squeezed around his fingers and let out a choked moan. The combined assault of his tongue and fingers was overwhelming, sending fire through every nerve ending.

A sudden need to see him, to watch the Dream Lord himself consumed in the act of giving her pleasure, surged through Nora. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her eyes, hazy with desire, looked down.

And there he was. Morpheus, King of Dreams, his face buried between her legs, dark hair fanned out against her thighs. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in a look of concentration and what looked undeniably like bliss. His mouth was still firmly attached to her, his tongue working its magic, his fingers expertly delving within. It was an incredibly intimate, powerful sight.

As if sensing her gaze, his eyes, those dark, fathomless pools, slowly opened. And Nora’s breath caught in her throat. They weren’t just dark. They were swirling galaxies, deep and complex, mirroring the cosmic frescoes above, alive with swirling nebulae and distant starlight. They locked onto hers, an ancient, primal hunger blazing within them, yet softened by an undeniable current of intense pleasure. He wasn’t merely performing; he was feeling it, deeply, drawing satisfaction from her burgeoning climax.

A low, throaty growl, thick with his own pleasure, resonated inside her mind. "Yes, My Star," he thought, his mental voice rough with delight. It was then Nora realized that his pleasure was intertwined with hers, an unending loop of shared sensation.

Seeing him so utterly consumed by her, getting so much pleasure from giving her pleasure, a new demand entered her mind, direct from his: "Now, come for me." That thought, that command, pushed Nora over the edge.

Her body seized, a violent tremor racking her from head to toe as the pleasure culminated in a blinding flash. A cry ripped from her throat, a high, keening sound that was lost in the luxurious bedding. Her hips bucked violently, an uncontrollable spasm as wave after wave of pure ecstasy crashed over her.

Even as her orgasm crested, utterly consuming her, Morpheus did not relent. His tongue continued to flick, to suck, to lap at her clit, and his fingers, still curled inside, continued their relentless rhythm. The intensity was overwhelming, pushing her beyond pleasure into something almost painful, too much, too soon, too deep. Nora whimpered, trying instinctively to move away, to twist her hips, to escape the shattering bliss.

But Morpheus was a force of nature, unwavering. His one arm, which had been braced against her thigh, now wrapped around her leg, pushing down, pressing it firmly against her abdomen. This subtle yet powerful restraint meant she had nowhere to go, no choice but to ride out the relentless storm he was orchestrating. She gasped, fighting for air, her body convulsing, until she was utterly and completely breathless, her muscles trembling, her mind a blank slate of post-orgasmic haze.

Finally, with a soft, satisfied groan that rippled through her still-quivering body, Morpheus delivered one final, lingering lick, drawing out the last vestiges of sensation. He then placed a warm, wet kiss directly onto her clit, a tender, possessive mark that sent a final, exquisite jolt through her.

With a fluid grace, Morpheus pushed off her, rising to sit back on his heels, his black jeans still molding to him. Nora, deliciously heavy and gloriously sated, watched him through half-lidded eyes, the irresistible tableau of him consuming her. His gaze never broke from hers as he brought his glistening, wet fingers—the very ones that had just pleasured her—to his mouth. Slowly, deliberately, he licked them clean, a searing, silent claiming that left no doubt of his intent.

It was an act so primal, so utterly uninhibited, that it struck a chord deep within her. Fuck, that was hot, she thought, the unfiltered sentiment blazing through their shared bond. A knowing smirk, almost predatory, ghosted across Morpheus’s lips, a silent acknowledgment that he’d heard and appreciated her thought.

That flicker imbued Nora with a new wave of energy. She sat up abruptly and reached forward. Her fingers, trembling slightly, looped into the belt loops of his black jeans, and with a decisive tug, she pulled him forward. Morpheus, caught off guard in his seated position, tumbled, falling down over her with a soft grunt of surprise, his dark hair brushing her naked chest.

Before he could fully register the shift, Nora flipped them. One moment he was above her, the next, she was straddling him, her bare hips settling over his clothed ones. She wasted no time in leaning down and kissing him deeply, hungrily, tasting herself on his lips.

Morpheus responded instantly, his hands shooting up to grip her waist tightly, anchoring her against him, his fingers digging into her flesh. Nora balanced herself with one hand planted firmly on his chest, feeling the hard thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm. Her other hand, free and bold, stroked lightly down his chest, then across his abdomen, stopping at the edge of his jeans. There, she ran a finger along the denim, from the middle over to his hip bone and back again, a caress that promised retribution. She pulled back slightly from the kiss, meeting his gaze, and in a low, husky whisper against his mouth, she declared, "My turn."

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 34: Of Dreams and Deliverance

I couldn't choose so I'm using both gifs 😘 Also, the 🌶️ is coming sooooon!!!!

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~By the Arrow’s Decree~

Morpheus and Nora stood together on the cracked, uneven pavement, the gritty urban air carrying faint echoes of distant traffic. Before them loomed the skeletal remains of what was once the “The White Horse,” a beloved, albeit mundane, Tavern. Its façade was a patchwork of exposed brick and splintered timbers, a gaping hole where the main entrance used to be, revealing a cavernous, empty shell within. It was a ghost of a building, a testament to time’s relentless march.

Nora glanced at Morpheus. His usually impassive features were subtly etched with disappointment, almost a weary sorrow. His gaze was fixed on the dilapidated structure, his lips pressed into a thin, troubled line. Nora felt the familiar ache of his unspoken distress through their bond; he truly had no other reliable way to find his centuries-old companion, Hob Gadling. His friend, Nora thought, a small, knowing smile touching her lips, even though Morpheus would, of course, deny such a mortal sentiment.

Her eyes, ever observant, swept across the grimy streetscape. Her gaze snagged on a weather-beaten wooden fence off to the side, its peeling paint barely clinging to the warped planks. There, in bold, hastily applied spray paint, were the words: “The New Inn” followed by a crudely drawn arrow pointing off to the right. The arrow, a streak of bright red, stretched improbably far down the length of the fence, snaking around the distant corner.

A spark of hope ignited within Nora. She nudged Morpheus gently on his side, her touch a silent invitation. “Look,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm, as she pointed towards the sign. Morpheus’s head slowly turned, his dark, ancient eyes following the direction of her finger. As he recognized the familiar name, a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of light seemed to return to their depths, chasing away some of the despair. Without a word, a renewed purpose settling in their steps, they both began to walk down the street, their gazes fixed on the painted arrow, following its improbable path around the corner, a shared journey towards an unknown, hopeful destination.

The arrow, as Nora would later muse, was a testament to sheer, unyielding determination. It led them not just around the immediate corner, but through several bustling streets, across a chaotic construction site echoing with the clang of machinery and the shouts of workers, and then, surprisingly, veered off into what appeared to be an abandoned field. Morpheus, ever stoic, simply followed, his long strides undisturbed by the change in terrain. Nora, however, found herself picking her way carefully, her boots sinking slightly into the soft earth of the overgrown grass field, tall weeds tickling her shins. Beyond the field, a dense copse of trees loomed, their branches interwoven, casting deep shadows. They had to push through the resistant foliage, the leaves brushing against their faces, the earthy scent of damp soil and growing things filling the air. It felt less like a stroll and more like a miniature quest.

Finally, after what felt like a small eternity of navigating urban detritus, rural overgrowth, and unexpected detours, the trees parted. Before them stood a pub, and Nora had to admit, it was a very nice-looking one. Its façade was a charming blend of traditional brickwork and polished wood, with flower boxes spilling vibrant blooms from beneath cheerful bay windows. A freshly painted sign swung gently above the entrance, proclaiming its name in elegant script: “The New Inn.”

Nora turned to Morpheus, a warm smile playing on her lips, her eyes twinkling with a gentle, teasing light. “I think your friend really wanted you to find this place,” she said, with just enough emphasis to convey her amusement. Morpheus merely offered her a light glare, a flicker of his usual disdain for such mundane labels. Yet, even as he looked away, Nora could feel the subtle shift in their bond, a silent acknowledgment from him that, despite his outward denial, he agreed with her assessment. His friend, indeed.

Nora lightly tugged Morpheus behind her, a fresh purpose now guiding her steps as she walked into the inviting warmth of the pub. The air inside was a comforting balm after their arduous journey, filled with the mellow glow of warm lighting and the gentle, murmurous chatter of other patrons. This is quite a nice place, Nora thought, though she quickly qualified it internally, though my experience is severely lacking, so I don’t really have much of a say.

She looked to Morpheus, who, despite being physically pulled by her, was already scanning the room, his gaze sweeping over faces and tables, searching for one specific person. Nora could feel the exact moment he found him, a subtle but clear shift in his posture; his shoulders lightened imperceptibly, and a fragile flicker of hope, tinged with a slight undercurrent of guilt, radiated from him through their bond.

Morpheus then turned, a new resolve in his movements, and began to weave through the tables towards a quieter side of the pub, pulling Nora along behind him. Their hands remained intertwined as they navigated the cheerful bustle. He stopped finally, before a small, sturdy table tucked against the far wall. A man sat there, seemingly oblivious to their approach, a scattering of papers spread out before him.

The man, who appeared to be in his middle years, possessed rich brown hair that softly brushed his shoulders, framing a face that was both kind and intelligent. He slowly tilted his head up, his eyes meeting Morpheus’s. A radiant, almost blinding smile broke across his face, and he let out a soft, relieved breath. Nora found herself looking between the two of them, a burgeoning excitement bubbling within her.

Morpheus, with a smug, almost imperceptible upturn of his head, spoke, his voice carrying just a hint of triumph. “It appears I owe you an apology.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air, before continuing. “I’ve always heard it’s impolite to keep one’s friends waiting.”

Nora sent a feeling of pure smug satisfaction through their bond to Morpheus: I was right. He’s your friend.

The man at the table, now undeniably Hob Gadling, let out a large, contented sigh. His radiant smile, however, did not waver as he looked at Morpheus. “You’re late,” he said, his voice laced with deep relief and contentment.

Nora looked at Hob, a bright smile mirroring his own. It was as if he’d seen Morpheus just yesterday, not over a century ago, and the sheer normalcy of their reunion warmed Nora to her core. Her gaze then drifted to the table; there was only one other chair. With a subtle nudge to Morpheus, she said, “Here, you sit and catch up. I’ll go for a walk and come back later.” She began to pull her hand away, intending to give them privacy, but Morpheus, who was apparently in an uncharacteristically mischievous mood—a rare sight that made Nora’s heart skip—didn’t release her. Instead, his grip tightened, and with his free hand, he subtly pulled out the lone chair a fraction of an inch. He then sat down, and with a gentle, almost imperceptible tug, pulled Nora down so she was sitting firmly on one of his legs. Before she could fully register what was happening, his arms wrapped securely around her waist, holding her close. Nora let out a little squeak, a surprised sound caught in her throat. She certainly hadn’t expected Morpheus, the King of Dreams, to pull such a move.

The corners of Hob's eyes crinkled as he watched their silent exchange, his initial shock quickly giving way to a rich, booming laugh that filled their corner of the pub. “Well, it appears we have some catching up to do,” Hob said, his gaze fixed on Morpheus, a lingering smile on his face. “You seem to have changed quite a bit since we last met,” he added, his tone curious, a hint of genuine inquiry in his voice despite the playful accusation. “I mean, I called you a friend and you stormed out!”

Nora, now having fully processed the situation and settled comfortably on Morpheus’s lap, couldn’t resist joining in. She laid her one hand over Morpheus’s and her other hand rested on her own leg. She leaned her head slightly to the side. “I mean, yeah, I could definitely see him doing that. He was quite grouchy back then, wasn’t he?” Nora said conspiratorially to Hob, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Morpheus stirred slightly beneath her, a subtle wave of embarrassment washing over him that Nora felt clearly through their bond. She subtly rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb, a comforting gesture.

Hob chuckled, a sound full of warmth. “Grouchy is an understatement, lass. Proper thundercloud, he was. Always talking in riddles and looking like someone had just told him the sky was falling.”

“And the drama!” Nora added, shaking her head playfully. “Everything was a profound statement, even just ordering a drink.”

“Ah, but that was part of his charm, wasn’t it?” Hob countered, a twinkle in his own eye. “Never a dull moment, even if those moments were mostly him brooding.” He paused, taking a sip from a mug on his table. “So, you finally decided to grace me with your presence. What’s new in… well, whatever it is you do, since I still don’t actually know.” Hob paused again, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow for a moment before his face cleared, a new, mock-accusatory glint entering his eyes. “You know what? On second thought, I still don’t even know your name!”

Nora’s jaw dropped. She stared at Hob, her eyes wide with disbelief, scanning his face for any hint of a jest. But Hob’s smile, while still present, held no trace of humor; he was utterly, genuinely serious. Her head whipped over her shoulder, her gaze fixing on Morpheus, her eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline. “You’re… you’re not serious,” she began, the incredulity thick in her voice, a significant pause hanging in the air. “You haven’t told him your name?” Her voice rose slightly with each word, tinged with a growing exasperation. “You… you’ve been meeting for how many years and you haven't shared anything about yourself?” Another pause, this one heavy with her disbelief. “Anything at all?” The last words were almost a scolding, a silent accusation of his absolute reticence. You can’t be serious, she thought, but the knowledge hit her with a resigned thud: No, she could totally see Morpheus doing that.

She didn’t even wait for him to answer, simply shaking her head in bewildered amusement before turning back to Hob. “Has he told you anything about him at all?”

Hob chuckled, a soft, fond sound, his eyes twinkling as he watched the exchange between the two of them, thoroughly enjoying Morpheus’s discomfort. He slowly shook his head. “Nope. Honestly, every time we’ve met, he just kind of sat there and listened to what I was up to. Only really adding comments here and there, but never really shared much about himself. Bit of a closed book, our friend here.” He winked at Nora. “More like a sealed vault, actually.”

Nora absorbed that, her expression a mix of mock disappointment and affectionate exasperation. She looked back at Morpheus, giving him a knowing, slightly chiding look. “Sandy.”

Morpheus’s lips curved into a genuine smile, full of warmth and affection as he met Nora’s gaze. He then turned his attention back to Hob, his dark eyes sparkling with something akin to tender amusement. “Hello, Hob. I am Morpheus.”

Another couple of seconds of dead silence stretched, thick with unspoken anticipation. Then, Nora’s elbow connected with Morpheus’s stomach, a sharp but not painful jab, a silent cue for him to continue. Morpheus let out a slight “Oof,” a surprised exhale that was more a huff of air than a sound of pain.

He recovered quickly, a new gleam in his eye, and continued, his voice deepening with ancient authority, the air around them seeming to subtly shift, taking on a heavier, more resonant quality. “I am Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares.”

Hob Gadling, who had faced death, plague, and countless historical upheavals with an unshakeable spirit, was utterly gobsmacked. His radiant smile slowly faded, replaced by a look of almost comical shock. His mouth opened and closed a few times, soundlessly. After a long, stunned silence, he finally managed a weak, almost breathless whisper. “You’re what?” It was as if this revelation, more than immortality, was the one thing that truly threatened to shatter his remarkable sanity. "I’ve been alive for over 600 years, I’ve seen empires rise and fall, but that’s what gets me?!” His voice was a disbelieving squeak, eyes wide, staring at Morpheus as if seeing him, truly seeing him, for the very first time.

Nora, her amusement now thoroughly engaged, just watched Hob with a delighted smile, a silent witness to the unfolding chaos. She met Morpheus’s gaze, a shared spark of mischief passing between them. Hob, meanwhile, seemed to finally register the crucial detail he’d let slip in his shock. His eyes darted wildly, first to Nora, then to Morpheus, then back to Nora, a hand clapping over his mouth as if to staunch the flow of damning truths.

“I… I mean, I… I,” he stammered, his words tripping over each other, trying desperately to construct some plausible lie, some mundane explanation for his six centuries of existence. His mind clearly drew a blank, the sudden terror of exposure written plainly on his face.

Nora, seeing his panic, laughed. A soft, clear sound that was both sympathetic and utterly amused, cutting through the tension. “Don’t worry, Hob,” she said, her voice gentle, “I… I know how old you are.”

Pure, unadulterated relief washed over Hob’s face. It was almost physically palpable, like a wave breaking. His shoulders slumped in sudden gratitude. “Well, thank God!” he exhaled, leaning back in his chair, a wry grin returning. “Right. Well, that cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it?” He ran a hand through his rich brown hair, a slightly dazed look in his eyes. He then looked between Morpheus and Nora, his gaze lingering on Nora, still perched comfortably on Morpheus’s lap, before settling on both of them. A new, more contemplative look, laced with a fresh spark of curiosity, came into his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, a playful glint dancing there. “So, then,” he began, his voice dropping to a stage whisper that was entirely too loud for the intimacy he was trying to imply. “How long have you two known each other? You look mighty cozy.” His grin widened, clearly anticipating a good story.

Nora looked at Morpheus, a silent question passing between them, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She sent him her plan mentally: I’m going to sum it all up for him. The highlights. Prepare for a summary of epic proportions. Morpheus took a moment, his gaze deep and unreadable, before a subtle, almost imperceptible nod passed between them. A silent accord, a tiny corner of his lips twitching upward in a private acknowledgment of her impending performance.

Nora turned back to Hob, her smile broadening, her eyes twinkling with pure, unadulterated delight. She leaned forward conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper that somehow carried perfectly in the pub’s gentle hum. “Oh, you know, just a bit of a whirlwind, really. I met him when his captor tried to use me as a bargaining chip, but I just promptly pissed him off. Then we spent a century together in a giant fishbowl, but thankfully, there wasn’t any actual fish.” She paused for comedic effect, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Then we finally escaped and found his fairy dust, went to hell—which, fun fact, isn’t hot, it’s actually quite cold—and then we basically kicked Lucifer’s ass and got his helmet back. After that, I had to yell at an old guy and ate his ice cream, but then Sandy got his jewelry.” She patted Morpheus’s hand affectionately. “Oh, and somewhere in there, I had one too many arguments with a certain bird who has absolutely no sense of timing, got told we were forever linked by some genuinely scary ladies, met his older sister, Death, who is actually quite lively, and then I got surprise immortality.” Another dramatic pause, just long enough to let the monumental nature of her words sink in. She concluded with a shrug, her voice reverting to total casualness. “And then we went looking for you. Just the usual.”

The sheer, audacious casualness of her delivery was a masterpiece of comedic timing. Hob’s jaw went slack again, his eyes wide and unblinking, fixed on Nora as if she’d suddenly started speaking in tongues. The utter stunned silence that followed was a symphony to Nora’s ears, and she enjoyed every single second of his expression. She burst into genuine laughter, a bright, clear sound that filled the small space around their table. Morpheus, who had indeed been thoroughly enjoying the entire spectacle, the subtle flickers of amusement dancing in his dark eyes, removed one hand from her waist and gently placed it over Nora’s hand that rested on her lap, slowly, deliberately interlocking their fingers together.

Hob’s eyes slowly, slowly blinked. A low, almost guttural sound escaped him, somewhere between a groan and a choked laugh. He reached for his pint, which had been left abandoned up until this point, grabbed it, and without a second thought, chugged everything remaining in the glass, letting out a satisfied, albeit bewildered, “Aah!” as he set the empty glass down on the table with a soft thud. He then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands, completely lost in contemplation. He mumbled, the words muffled by his palms, “Hell is cold… scary ladies… you stole someone’s ice cream… a talking bird… there’s jewelry… and Death is lively… wait, wait, also your sister?!” He rubbed his temples vigorously, as if trying to massage the absurdity out of his brain. Then, a bewildered laugh bubbled up, laced with genuine awe and a good deal of amusement. “You guys definitely keep busy, huh? Nora, lass, you’re a force of nature!” He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. “I thought I had a lively existence!” He then straightened up, a sharp, sudden thought striking him. His eyes, still wide with wonder, fixed on Nora. “Wait,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “you said… you got immortality?” His gaze flicked to Morpheus, then back to Nora. “The same thing as me?”

Morpheus gave a slow, deliberate nod, a faint hint of pride in his usually impassive expression. “It was the doing of my elder sister.”

Nora’s face lit up, eyes shining. She practically bounced on Morpheus’s lap. “Oh, Death! She’s amazing, Hob! She’s so funny and kind, and she loves to tease him.” She nudged Morpheus playfully with her head. “She’s absolutely hilarious, just the older sister I never knew I wanted!”

Hob just sat there, trying to absorb this latest piece of information, his mind visibly reeling. He ran his hands over his face again, then down his jaw. “Wow,” he exhaled weakly, shaking his head. “I didn’t think I’d have my entire mind blown today.” He looked at his now empty pint glass with a mournful sigh. “I need another beer for that story.”

Morpheus, meanwhile, was experiencing an internal struggle. From the moment Nora had settled into his lap, a subtle current had begun to hum beneath his usual composure. It started as a faint awareness of her warmth, the gentle pressure of her body, and the way her hair brushed his chin when she looked back at him. But then, as her excitement mounted and she practically bounced and wiggled in his lap, a new, more insistent sensation bloomed. It was a slow, unfamiliar warmth, spreading from where her body pressed against his, a feeling completely at odds with his usually unshakeable demeanor. He concentrated, pouring every ounce of his vast, ancient will into not letting his body react to the escalating pressure and movement. Nora, however, was blissfully oblivious, too caught up in her excited gushing about Death to notice the monumental effort her King of Dreams was making. She just squeezed his interlocked hand, the one resting on her lap. Morpheus could now only think about how his hand was practically sitting on her upper thigh, and how utterly, adorably unaware Nora was of his predicament, and how very, very much he was struggling.

While Nora and Hob continued talking about random things – Hob, now slightly recovered, launching into a tangent about one of his exploits fighting in a long-forgotten war, complete with dramatic gestures and booming sound effects – Nora remained completely engaged, her eyes wide with amusement and fascination. Morpheus, however, was totally unaware of whatever Hob was saying. All he could think about was Nora, the feel of her warm weight in his lap, his arms wrapped securely around her, and the way her every small movement sent an unexpected tremor through him. He was entirely, gloriously distracted by her presence.

Taking a lull in their conversation, as Hob paused dramatically to recount a particularly gruesome detail of historical warfare, Morpheus sent a mental thought to Nora, a subtle current in their shared bond. My Star, you need to be more careful with how much wiggling you do when sitting in one's lap.

Nora, mid-chuckle, furrowed her brow in confusion. Wiggling? What wiggling? she mentally questioned, completely oblivious.

A wave of exasperated amusement, tinged with a very potent and unwelcome physical sensation, emanated from Morpheus. He then sent the feeling he was experiencing – the growing arousal, the frustrating battle to contain it, the sheer discomfort of his current state – directly to Nora's mind. Nora's eyes widened, a hot flush began spreading across her cheeks. Her breath hitched and though she tried to remain still, she found she couldn't prevent her own arousal from building as well, causing her to shift just slightly in Morpheus's lap. This, of course, did absolutely nothing to help his predicament. Morpheus let out a desperate, internal groan. That absolutely did not help, he thought, watching her blush deepen, it actually made it worse. Hob, meanwhile, was completely oblivious, gesturing wildly as he finished his story. "...and then, I swear, the fellow's head just popped off like a champagne cork!"

Nora, now struggling to focus on anything other than the intense sensations Morpheus had just flooded her mind with, and the equally intense embarrassment, managed to pull herself together just enough to address Hob. "Well, Hob," she said, her voice a little breathless, her eyes darting between him and the door, "it was an absolute pleasure meeting you. And we will definitely see you again before another hundred years!" She lightly elbowed Morpheus, who was still subtly rigid beneath her, "I'd love to exchange more stories."

Morpheus squeezed Nora's waist just a bit tighter, his other hand, still interlocked with hers on her lap and blessedly out of Hob's sight beneath the table, unlinked their fingers. With a deliberate, possessive motion, he wrapped his hand firmly around Nora's upper thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Nora jumped slightly, a surprised gasp escaping her lips. "So anyway!" she blurted out, her voice a touch too loud. "We'll be... we'll be leaving now! There's... there's lots of work to do in the Dreaming, you know, building things, and sweeping, and books and things!" Her brain seemed to slowly start to lose a bit of its function, the words tumbling out nonsensically.

Sweet, oblivious Hob was just nodding and agreeing, his face beaming with joy at seeing them again, and the immense satisfaction of finally calling Morpheus a friend without the Lord of Dreams storming out. "Of course, of course!" he boomed, pulling a pen and a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "Mostly spend my time here in the Inn, but if not, you can always reach me." He scribbled his phone number quickly. "Here, whenever – if ever – you two get a phone, here's my number!" He handed it over with a flourish.

Nora snatched the paper, shoved it into her pocket, and then, standing up almost too quickly, gave Hob a swift, somewhat frantic hug. "Bye!" she chirped, before practically dragging Morpheus out of the pub, his cloak swirling behind them. Morpheus, with a faint, amused smirk playing on his lips, managed a low, resonant "Goodbye, Hob," on their way out, his dark eyes still locked on Nora's flushed face.

Once they were both out of the pub, Nora walked briskly, almost power-walking, down the street and around a corner, putting them out of sight. All the while, she was muttering furiously under her breath. "Sending me feelings… distracting me… how utterly mean and rude and presumptuous and just…UGH!”

Morpheus simply smirked at her, his internal struggle still very much present, and certainly not abating. Seeing the fire in Nora’s eyes, the indignation, the vibrant energy, was definitely not reducing his attraction to her. In fact, it was quite the opposite; it only intensified it. When they finally got to a spot completely out of sight, tucked away in a shadowed alcove between two buildings, Morpheus grabbed her, pulled her in close against him, crushing her to his body, and kissed her extremely deeply, a hungry, possessive kiss that left her utterly breathless. When she finally gasped for air, pulling back slightly, her eyes blazing with a mix of fury and desire, she managed, “Bring us back. Now.” Morpheus, for all his ancient power and stoic demeanor, could not help but give in to her demand.

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 33: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~Death’s Gift~

Nora found a patch of soft, sun-dappled grass near the edge of a serene, gently rippling pond. She settled down, leaning back against the rough bark of a sturdy oak tree, its leaves a vibrant green against the brilliant sky. Before her, the scene was idyllic: children and adults alike splashed and shrieked with unbridled glee in the shallow water, their laughter echoing across the expanse. Further back, families spread across picnic tables, their voices a contented murmur as they shared food and stories, the aroma of grilled meat and fresh fruit drifting pleasantly on the breeze. It was a tableau of simple, mortal happiness.

Her gaze drifted lazily over the shimmering surface of the water, a peaceful calm settling over her. Then, her eyes snagged on two figures slowly approaching from the far side, crossing a sturdy wooden bridge that arched gracefully over a narrow stream feeding into the pond. It was Morpheus and Death, their silhouettes distinct against the bright backdrop. As they drew closer, Nora’s lips twitched. Death, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, halted abruptly on the bridge’s edge. With a dramatic flourish, she began to peel off her leather boots, then her brightly striped socks, using Morpheus’s arm as an impromptu, unyielding balance. The King of Dreams, ever the epitome of stoic grace, stood perfectly still, a flicker of something akin to resigned exasperation crossing his face as Death leaned heavily on him, wobbling slightly to remove her footwear.

A soft, delighted giggle escaped Nora, bubbling up from deep within her chest. The image of Morpheus, the Lord of the Dreaming, serving as a human (or rather, Endless) prop for his sister’s impromptu disrobing of foot attire, was simply too amusing. She sent a wave of warm affection his way, a silent chuckle echoing in his mind as well. And then, to her further amusement, she felt a subtle shift, a barely perceptible relaxation in his shoulders in response to her affectionate amusement. She shook her head, a smile playing on her lips, before looking back out at the tranquil water, her heart light.

The sudden, piercing sound of a human scream shattered the peaceful afternoon. It was followed quickly by a chaotic commotion from the water’s edge. Splashing, erratic and desperate, ripped through the air, then shouts for help. Nora’s head snapped up, her senses instantly alert. People rushed forward, their cheerful picnic disrupted. Moments later, a man was being pulled from the water, limp and heavy, his body pale against the vibrant green of the grass. The crowd’s panicked murmurs confirmed her gut feeling: this was worse than just a simple drowning. There was a chilling finality to the scene, a stillness that settled over the crowd even before the paramedics arrived.

A faint, almost ethereal flutter, like the ghost of wings in the background, caught Nora’s attention. Her eyes darted back to where Morpheus and Death had been. Morpheus now stood alone on the bridge, his posture unchanged, but the space beside him was empty. Death was gone.

Nora stood up smoothly, the soft grass barely rustling beneath her. She moved quickly, purposefully, across the short distance separating them, her heart aching with a familiar empathy. As she approached, Morpheus extended a hand to her without looking, a silent invitation, and Nora immediately took it, her fingers intertwining with his cool, slender ones. She leaned slightly against his side, finding a quiet comfort in his solid presence, and tilted her head back towards the receding commotion by the water.

“Your sister,” Nora murmured, her voice soft, a blend of statement and question, acknowledging the swift, silent departure she had witnessed.

Morpheus simply nodded, a confirmation that required no further words.

Nora looked up at him again, a genuine smile curving her lips. “She seems extremely nice,” she said, thinking of Death’s cheerful disposition, her easy laughter, and the gentle way she had teased her brother moments ago.

Morpheus looked down at her, his dark eyes holding a rare, soft light. “She seems quite fond of you,” he responded, a hint of amusement in his deep voice.

Nora chuckled, a mischievous glint in her own eyes. “Well, she is a lot of fun,” she teased, a playful squeeze to his hand. “And she certainly likes to tease you, doesn’t she? I’m starting to think it’s one of her favorite pastimes.” She gave him a sidelong glance, a grin spreading across her face. “Must be exhausting for you, having such a… lively sibling.”

“She is the sibling I tolerate best.” His voice held a faint, dry amusement, a rare inflection that surprised Nora even as she found it endearing.

Nora chuckled, a faint blush rising to her cheeks at his admission. “Well, that says something!” she teased. “Honestly, though, she gives off such strong older sister energy to everyone. It’s like… I just feel more comfortable in her presence, you know? Is that something that has to do with her being… well,” Nora paused, searching for the right word, her gaze drifting towards the empty space where Death had been, then back to Morpheus, “her?”

Morpheus’s gaze softened, a deep, ancient understanding in his eyes. “Indeed. Death is the second eldest of us. Her purview encompasses all that begins and all that ends. Unlike the other Endless, her duty requires a direct, constant interaction with every living thing, at every stage of their existence, and at their final moment. It necessitates a compassion, a gentleness that eases the passage.” He paused, his voice taking on a more reflective tone. “She does not judge. She merely… guides. It is why she often appears as she does: approachable, comforting. It is necessary for her to be so, for all beings, from the most magnificent to the most minuscule, to feel at ease in her presence. She is the final solace.”

Nora listened, her expression thoughtful. The weight of his words settled over her, providing a deeper understanding of the vibrant woman who had just vanished. “It makes sense,” Nora said softly, her gaze returning to the pond where the commotion had been, now thankfully quieting. “Before… before all of this,” she gestured vaguely, encompassing their improbable journey, “when I was… well, stuck in that glass sphere with you.” A wry, self-deprecating smile touched her lips. “I thought about death a lot then. Not in a panicked way, not usually. More like… it was always kind of a background thought, an underlying hum. A quiet question of if, or when, it would happen for me. And what it would be like.” She looked up at Morpheus, her eyes reflecting a newfound peace. “It wasn’t a fear, not really. Just… a contemplation. And now, seeing her, knowing her… it’s less about the fear of the unknown, and more about the acceptance of a gentle hand guiding you home.”

Morpheus looked down at her, his dark eyes holding a tender light. He said nothing, but instead, gently released her hand and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Her back immediately pressed against his chest, the solid warmth of him a comforting anchor. He gave a slight squeeze, a silent acknowledgment of her words, of her vulnerability, and of the bond that had formed between them. Nora leaned back further into his embrace, her head resting against his shoulder, content in the shared silence, a testament to their growing affection.

Death materialized directly in front of them, arms already crossed over her chest, a wide, impish grin stretching her lips. There was no grand entrance, no dramatic swoosh; just her, suddenly present, radiating a mischievous energy.

“Well, well, well,” Death chirped, her voice bright and far too cheerful, her eyes twinkling between them as she took in their intertwined forms. “Look at you two, snuggling! Honestly, brother, you’d think you hadn’t seen each other in a century.” She gave Morpheus a quick, conspiratorial wink, her grin widening. “Anyways, I’m stealing her. Too bad.”

Before Morpheus could even formulate a thought, let alone a dignified protest, Death reached out with surprising swiftness. Her fingers, cool and light, wrapped around one of Nora’s hands and, with a gentle but firm tug, pulled her cleanly out of Morpheus’s embrace.

Nora stumbled forward a step, a surprised “But—but—” escaping her lips as she was dislodged. Behind her, she could practically feel Morpheus’s perfectly composed façade crumble. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder and stifled another giggle. His jaw was set, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his dark eyes held a distinct, undeniable, truly gigantic pout. The Lord of Dreams, King of Nightmares, was visibly sulking, his arms now hanging loosely at his sides, looking utterly bereft. The sight sent another wave of warm amusement through Nora, and she quickly averted her gaze, lest she break into outright laughter.

Death, oblivious or perhaps deliberately ignoring her brother’s plight, squeezed Nora’s hand playfully. “No, no, it’s our time now,” she declared, already leading Nora a few steps away, leaving Morpheus standing alone on the bridge.

Death then turned to Nora, her bright eyes suddenly piercing, but still warm with genuine curiosity. “So,” she began, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though Morpheus, Nora knew, would hear every syllable, “my brother. What exactly are your intentions with him, hmm? What do you expect from this… arrangement?” She gestured between Nora and the distant, pouting Dream Lord. It was the classic, protective older sister interrogation, thinly veiled by Death’s cheerfulness.

Nora felt a blush creep up her neck, her cheeks warming with unexpected heat. This was truly embarrassing. Being grilled by the personification of Death about her relationship with the personification of Dream? Truly, her life had taken the most bizarre turns. But as she looked at Death’s genuine, caring gaze, the embarrassment receded, replaced by a deep, heartfelt certainty.

“My intentions?” Nora repeated softly, her gaze flicking towards Morpheus, then back to Death. A small, genuine smile touched her lips, mingled with a faint shyness. “Well, I… I don’t think I have ‘intentions’ in the way you might mean. It’s more like… a fundamental shift. I don’t expect anything, really, beyond… well, beyond what we already have.” She took a breath, gathering her thoughts, her voice gaining strength as her conviction solidified. “He was the one who listened to my ridiculous ramblings, who shared his own burdens, who made the unbearable not just bearable, but… meaningful.” Her eyes softened, a deep tenderness shining within them. “He saw me, truly saw me, when no one else ever really had. And now, honestly, with basically everything that I am, everything I feel… it’s his. It’s so entwined with him, there is no ‘me’ without him anymore. And I don’t want there to be.” She finished, her voice thick with emotion, a heartfelt confession laid bare under the afternoon sun.

Behind them, Morpheus, who had slowly followed, his hands now casually tucked into his pockets, heard every word. A subtle smirk, slow and proud, touched his lips. It wasn’t merely pride, but a deep, resonant warmth that settled in the core of his being, fulfilling a need he hadn’t known he harbored. Her words resonated with a truth he had come to understand about himself, too.

Death’s smile, already wide, somehow broadened even further. She gave Nora’s shoulder a warm, approving nudge. “I’ve never seen Morpheus like this,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with genuine happiness. “Not in… oh, in a very, very long time. He’s usually so incredibly… himself. So obviously, this is going well.” She smiled at Nora very warmly, a silent acknowledgment of the rare connection she saw blooming between her brother and this mortal woman.

Nora, feeling a surge of courage and remembering the true purpose of their meeting, cleared her throat. “Well, actually,” she began, glancing over her shoulder at Morpheus, then back to Death, her expression turning serious, “there’s a thing that we wanted to ask you about.” She waited until Morpheus had caught up, now standing just behind her, his hand lightly resting on her back. “When Morpheus asked the Fates for help,” Nora continued, her voice softer now, reflecting the weight of the prophecy, “they also spoke to me.”

Death’s gaze moved between Morpheus and Nora, her cheerful demeanor replaced by a look of contemplation, her curiosity piqued.

Nora continued, choosing her words carefully, “They said that I'm his Anchor, and that Morpheus’s essence is now forever intertwined with mine. That we are linked, in some fundamental way. They said we are ‘irrevocably woven, a tapestry of two,’ and that it will endure.” She remembered the Fates’ chilling, yet strangely comforting, pronouncements.

Death nodded slowly, her eyes distant, as if sifting through countless threads of history. “A resonance between two souls that have faced and overcome impossible odds together. It is very rare, but not unheard of, for such a bond to form. The Fates rarely speak idly.” She looked between Nora and Morpheus, a faint, knowing smile touching her lips. “The connection forged in suffering is often the most unbreakable.”

Nora pressed her lips together, then looked down at the grass, her brow furrowed. “But one thing I don’t understand, though,” she confessed, her voice barely a whisper, a thread of vulnerability weaving through her words. “Now that I’m out of that circle, I… I eat, I drink, I sleep. Everything like that. But now I also age.” Her gaze lifted, meeting Death’s eyes, and the unspoken fear was palpable. “If my soul, my being, is forever intertwined with his, if I'm this ‘anchor’ they spoke of… I don’t understand how. Because I still technically have a shelf life. I… I will die long before Morpheus ever does.” The heartbreak was stark in Nora’s eyes, a raw, undeniable pain. The thought of Morpheus, the one she loved so fiercely, having to endure her eventual departure, seeing him grieve again for another loved one, was a torment she couldn’t bear to inflict upon him. Her very purpose seemed to be to bring him comfort, not further sorrow.

Death gained a deeply contemplative look, an understanding of Nora’s silent plea. She considered Nora for a long moment, then her gaze flickered to Morpheus, a faint, almost imperceptible mirth entering her eyes, a knowing glint only he would recognize.

“That reminds me of ongoing projects,” Death mused, her voice suddenly casual, yet laced with a subtle hint of a challenge for her brother, “How’s he faring after all this time, brother dear? Your… particular wager?”

Morpheus, who had been listening intently, his own expression shadowed, blinked. He seemed momentarily confused, the question seemingly coming from left field. Then, a slow, dawning comprehension spread across his face, a flicker of something akin to surprise, and then, perhaps, a rare spark of… hope.

“Hob Gadling?” Morpheus questioned, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if speaking the name conjured him from the air itself.

Nora looked between them, her head swiveling back and forth, utterly bewildered. “Hob?” she repeated, the single syllable filled with confusion. Who’s Hob? And what does he have to do with any of this? Her mind screamed.

Death turned back to Nora, a warm, reassuring smile blooming on her face. “Hob is a man we met in 1389,” she explained, her voice as smooth as flowing water, effortlessly bridging centuries. “He stated quite adamantly that he wasn’t going to die. That he would just choose not to. So Morpheus and I made a little bet to see how long it would take him to want to die.” She gestured grandly to Morpheus. “They met every hundred years, so Dream could see how he was faring. Unfortunately, they missed their last meeting.”

Nora’s eyes widened, her jaw slacked slightly in disbelief. She looked from Death to Morpheus, then back again. “Wait. This guy’s over 600 years old… and he’s human?” she questioned, her voice incredulous, unable to grasp the enormity of what Death was implying. A human… living that long? That’s impossible. Is she actually serious? This isn’t one of her jokes, is it?

Death just nodded, her smile deepening, then she looked pointedly at Morpheus, a silent message passing between the siblings. “So,” Death said, her gaze returning to Nora, her voice laced with a subtle, yet powerful emphasis on the next word, “that could be an option for the not-dying part of it.” She met Nora’s stunned gaze, her eyes unwavering. “I just won’t ever guide you to the Sunless Lands, Nora.”

Nora stared at her, completely gobsmacked. Her brain short-circuited. Death. The very embodiment of cessation. The one who always comes. Just… offered her immortality. So casually. So simply. Death just really said that? Damn. She just… offered? Like it’s nothing? My God, my mind is completely blown. The unspoken words echoed in her internal monologue, a mixture of shock, a dizzying surge of impossible hope, and an almost absurd sense of gratitude. She found herself speechless, the weight of the offer settling over her like a warm, impossible blanket.

Morpheus, his dark eyes fixed on Nora, watched her processing the impossible truth. He could feel, through their shared bond, the tumultuous storm of emotions within her – the disbelief, the dawning hope, the overwhelming relief. An almost imperceptible curve touched his lips as he looked at his sister. “My dear sister,” he said, his voice carrying a slight, almost teasing mirth, “I do believe you’ve broken her.”

Death’s eyebrows shot up, a surprised smile spreading across her face. “Are you teasing now, Dream?” she asked, a genuine shock in her tone, as if Morpheus’s playful jab was a far more astonishing feat than granting a mortal endless life.

After a moment, Death’s gaze drifted off to the side, a familiar, knowing look entering her eyes, indicating a new appointment, a new life reaching its end. She looked back at them, a bittersweet warmth in her expression. “I have to go,” she said, her voice softer now, tinged with farewell. “But it was so nice to see you again, Dream.”

Nora, slowly snapping out of her stunned immobility, looked towards Death, her eyes still wide with disbelief and gratitude. Death, seeing the shift, stepped towards Nora and enveloped her in a surprisingly warm, firm hug. “And it was an absolute pleasure to meet you, Nora,” she murmured into Nora’s hair. “I look forward to all the future times we meet as well, of which I assume,” she pulled back slightly, her eyes twinkling as they darted quickly between Nora and Morpheus, then settled back on Nora, “that there will be many.” She gave Nora a conspiratorial wink, then, with that familiar, ethereal flutter of wings, she simply vanished, leaving behind only the lingering scent of autumn and a profound silence.

Nora stood there for a moment, still reeling, the ghost of Death’s hug lingering. Then, her gaze snapped back to Morpheus, a spark of indignation lighting her eyes. “You have a 600-year-old friend and you never told me?!” she exclaimed, her voice rising in a mock-admonishment. “Sandy!” she added, her tone laced with playful accusation. “We’ve been talking for how long now? And you never once mentioned a human who just… doesn’t die?” With a light, teasing motion, she playfully slapped his chest.

Morpheus’s lips twitched, a shadow of a smile playing across his mouth. As Nora’s hand made contact with his chest, he reacted with lightning speed, his pale fingers instantly wrapping around her hand, holding it firm against him. With his other arm, he swiftly wrapped it around her waist, pulling her flush against his solid form. Nora’s free hand, finding nowhere else to go, settled naturally on his chest, next to the one he held captive.

“You must have made quite an impression on my sister,” Morpheus said, his deep voice a soft rumble against her ear, ignoring her playful accusation, his eyes holding hers with an unreadable depth. “Death does not offer that gift ever… except once.”

Nora, utterly captivated by his gaze, felt the full weight of the truth truly sinking in now. A giddy rush of emotion, pure and overwhelming, flooded her. More time. So much more time. An eternity. With him. All of the gratitude, the hope, the dizzying joy, and the boundless love she felt for him surged through their bond, a silent torrent of emotion so potent it vibrated through every fiber of her being. She couldn’t help herself. Raising her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears and impossible joy, she pulled him down to her, uncaring of their public setting in the park, and kissed him.

Her lips met his, soft and giving, a touch brimming with all the tenderness and happiness that overflowed within her. She felt the subtle mint of his breath as she deepened the kiss, a whisper of a sigh escaping her.

Morpheus felt the sudden pressure of her lips, a jolt of pure warmth that coursed through him, echoing the tumultuous surge he felt through their bond. He had not anticipated this, not here, not now, but the sheer force of her joy, her love, was an irresistible current. His mind, so meticulously ordered, became a whirlwind. She is so bright, so open, he thought, a sense of wonder blooming in his chest. And this… this is what it feels like to truly be desired, to be loved without expectation. His arms, almost of their own accord, shot around her waist, pulling her fiercely, possessively against him. He couldn’t help himself. It was a kiss that tasted of forever, of promised futures and the boundless relief of shared time, a silent promise exchanged between their souls.

Breathless, with flushed cheeks and tingling lips, Nora finally pulled back. He looked down at her, a soft smile on his lips, his dark eyes blazing with unguarded love.

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice husky, “let me introduce you to Hob.”

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 32: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~Beyond the Mundane~

Left alone by the fountain, Nora continued to feed the pigeons, her fingers scattering crumbs on the worn cobblestones. The fountain, an ancient stone basin adorned with moss-kissed cherubs, whispered with the ceaseless murmur of flowing water, a counterpoint to the distant hum of market chatter. The soft cooing of the birds, their iridescent feathers shimmering like scattered jewels in the golden sunlight, offered a gentle rhythm to her thoughts. But her mind wasn’t truly on the birds, nor the tantalizing scent of fresh bread and blooming jasmine that drifted from nearby stalls; it was on the man who had just disappeared Into the ivy-clad house, and the sister who accompanied him.

A warm wave spread through her chest, a familiar, comforting presence that had become as natural as her own breath. Morpheus. Her Sandy. It felt surreal, this vibrant, ordinary world after a century of glass and gloom, each sensation amplified, almost painfully vivid. But even more surreal was the man who now walked freely within it, his presence a living testament to an impossible freedom.

She remembered their first “meeting”. He, a gaunt statue of pale skin and raven hair, suspended in a glass sphere, radiating a silent, ancient fury. And she, a terrified mortal thrown into his cage, spewing curses and apologies in equal measure. Gods, had she really gone on about badgers and rusty nails to the King of Dreams? A faint, mortified smile touched her lips as a particularly bold pigeon pecked at her shoelaces.

He had been so unreadable then, a being of cosmic power held captive, his eyes twin pools of midnight and starlight, blazing with cold fury. She had seen only his stoicism, his immense, contained grief, a sorrow so vast it seemed to consume the very air around him. But over the long, silent decades, as their minds became interwoven, a delicate, almost imperceptible process like two separate streams merging into one, she had seen so much more.

She recalled the time she had described a particularly chaotic dream involving a flock of sentient teacups demanding to be served Earl Grey by a badger wearing a top hat; she’d felt the distinct flicker of amusement in the depths of his being, a ripple in the calm surface of his endless composure. Or the rare, soft chuckle that echoed not just in her mind, but seemed to vibrate through her very bones, a sound she cherished like a hidden treasure. When the phantom ache in her elbow from the glass sphere became too much, a gentle touch, cool yet comforting, would brush against it in their shared mental space, a wordless balm. He had listened to her fears of forgotten family, her mundane worries about the passage of time, and her deeply personal confessions about her own insignificance, offering insights in return that resonated with a quiet wisdom.

He had shared his own ancient burdens, his regrets, the complex, often fraught relationships with his family, particularly the elusive siblings. He had grown… softer. Not weak, never weak, but capable of a tenderness, an unguarded affection she once would have thought impossible for a being of his stature. He was still the King of Dreams, formidable and ancient, but now, he was her King, and he bore the indelible mark of their shared existence, a brand of warmth she wouldn’t trade for anything.

A plump pigeon landed on the edge of the fountain, cocking its head at her. Nora’s gaze drifted to the house where Death, Morpheus’s sister, had just entered. She remembered Morpheus’s description of her: gentle, not the harbinger of terror mortals imagined. And seeing her just now, amidst the vibrant life of the market, Nora felt a  rightness in his description. Death wore simple black jeans and a tank top, an ankh resting against her collarbone. Her eyes, bright and kind, held a wisdom, but none of the chilling finality Nora had once associated with her name. She was indeed soft, almost radiant in her presence.

And duty bound, Death arrived for Roderick Burgess. But the rune circle, an unyielding void, shielded Nora and Morpheus, creating a blind spot in existence that even Death's gaze couldn't pierce. A genuine sorrow filled Death at her inability to free Morpheus, a regret that mirrored Nora's own heartache.

Now, watching the house they had entered, Nora pictured them inside, not just the King of Dreams and Death, but a brother and sister. There was a quiet understanding between them, a shared history that transcended words. Morpheus, usually so reserved, seemed lighter in Death’s presence. A flicker of something akin to familial comfort, a rare glimpse into a bond that had existed for eons. He had mentioned Death’s insistence on family dinners, a detail that had softened his rigid demeanor even then. Family dinners. Even cosmic beings had those. The notion brought a gentle smile to her face.

A warmth settled over Nora as the pigeons continued to flutter around her feet. This unlikely journey, born of fear and desperation, had led her to a place of belonging, a connection with beings she once could only dream of. And in the quiet understanding that passed between her and Morpheus, and in the gentle presence of his sister, Death, Nora realized she wouldn’t trade this strange, unpredictable life for anything. She smiled, a genuine, unburdened smile, as she scattered the last of the crumbs, waiting patiently for their return.

A few minutes later, Morpheus and Death exited the house, stepping out into the late afternoon light. Death looked no different than when she had entered, her vibrant, cheerful presence unwavering. Morpheus, however, carried a slightly more contemplative look on his face, his gaze distant for a moment, as if still processing the echoes of their conversation inside. His eyes held a flicker of introspection, a quiet storm brewing behind them.

Nora, who had instinctively turned to watch their emergence, offered him a soft, questioning smile, her eyebrows subtly arched. Morpheus met her gaze, and a confirming nod, almost imperceptible to anyone but her, was given. A soft thought, like a gentle caress, brushed against her mind: Yes, I’m okay. The unspoken exchange, a silent reassurance, settled between them. Nora then turned back, continuing on her path, a little ahead, allowing the siblings their private space.

Morpheus walked beside his sister, his usual measured pace matching hers. The bustling market around them seemed to dim slightly as he spoke, his voice a low, resonant murmur, almost lost in the cheerful clamor. “When I was captured,” he began, his gaze fixed straight ahead, “it wasn’t me they were looking for.”

Death slowed her steps imperceptibly, her bright eyes softening, the playful glint replaced by sorrow. She turned her head towards Morpheus, her expression etched with ancient pain. “Yeah, I know,” she breathed, her voice a fragile whisper. “I still regret that I could not reach you then, brother. It haunts me, the thought of your suffering, the years you spent in that wretched cage.” A deep sigh escaped her, a sound heavy with the weight of eons. She reached out, her hand hovering, then gently touched his arm, a gesture of empathy. “But know this, my dear brother,” she continued, her voice gaining a quiet intensity, “if it had been me they sought, if I had been the one ensnared… the consequences for the waking world would have been far, far worse.” Her gaze became distant, as if she were seeing the horrific panorama of what could have been. “Life would have choked on its own un-ending. There would have been no release, only an agonizing, eternal stasis, a horror beyond measure. The tapestry of existence would have unraveled in utter chaos, a slow, torturous decay where nothing truly died and nothing truly lived.”

Morpheus, who had grown emotionally, especially since sharing a mind with Nora and gaining her perspective on a myriad of things, understood where she was coming from. The rigid adherence to cosmic law, the terrible necessity of their functions, resonated with him in a way it never had before. He saw the truth in her words, the grim reality of her burden. He surprised Death, truly surprised her, by saying, “I agree with you.”

A beat of astonished silence passed between them. Death’s eyes, wide with disbelief and then a blossoming wonder, fixed on him. Her hand, still resting on his arm, trembled slightly. Morpheus, a faint, almost imperceptible shift in his dark eyes, continued, his voice softer now, imbued with an unexpected warmth. “My absence caused chaos, yes, and suffering, but humanity is resilient. They would, eventually, find a way to adapt, to recover, even if the dreams shifted and reshaped. But if you were gone, sister… there would be no recovery. Only that endless, suffocating existence you spoke of. The true end of all things, not just life, but the very concept of an ending.” He paused, his gaze meeting hers fully. “And if it wasn’t for that… I wouldn’t have met Nora.”

The words hung in the air, a declaration of quiet gratitude that transcended the pain of his capture. Death’s face, already softened by surprise, suddenly broke into an incandescent, radiant smile. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated joy for her brother. Her eyes, so deep with the understanding of all life, sparkled with an almost childlike delight. With a happy gasp, she reached out, abandoning all decorum, and grabbed his hand. Her fingers laced with his, and then, with an exuberance that belied her ancient power, she began to swing their clasped hands gently, playfully, between them as they continued to walk, a silent testament to a bond renewed and a future brightened by an unexpected love.

A low, resonant chuckle, rumbled in Morpheus’s chest at his sister’s uninhibited delight, a genuine amusement lighting his dark gaze. At the sound, Death’s already radiant smile widened impossibly, her eyes brimming with an almost tearful happiness. This was more than just amusement; this was genuine joy emanating from her brother, a flicker of true, unburdened delight. It was a sound she had longed to hear for eons, a testament to a thawing heart, and in that moment, she knew, with an absolute certainty, that Nora was the architect of this beautiful, impossible change.

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 31: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~A Walk in the Park~

Morpheus and Nora walked side by side along the winding path of the waking world park, their hands casually intertwined. The sun, a warm benediction, dappled through the leaves overhead, painting shifting patterns on the ground. Nora hummed softly, her eyes closed for a moment as she tilted her face to the sky, savoring the gentle warmth on her skin. The air was alive with the cheerful chatter of birds and the distant, rhythmic thud of a soccer ball. Off to their left, a small fountain gurgled, its waters catching the light like scattered jewels. A group of adults, lost in the joyful chaos of their game, chased the ball across a grassy expanse, while other park-goers strolled by, their conversations a soft murmur in the background.

They found an unoccupied bench beneath the generous shade of an old oak tree and settled down, their shoulders brushing. Small, comfortable talk flowed between them, the kind that required little thought but filled the space with shared presence.

“Do you ever wonder what squirrels dream about?” Nora asked, breaking a comfortable silence as she watched a bushy-tailed creature scamper up a nearby tree. “Like, do they just have endless nightmares of dogs, or is it all just nuts and comfy nests?”

Morpheus considered this for a moment, a faint, almost imperceptible curve touching his lips. “Their dreams are often reflections of their waking desires and fears, as are all creatures’ dreams. Though, for a squirrel, a dream of an endless bounty of nuts would likely be quite vivid.”

Nora giggled. “See? I knew you’d have an answer! What about clouds? Do they dream?”

“Clouds are formations of water vapor, Nora. They do not possess consciousness.” His tone was dry, but his gaze remained soft on her.

“Right, right, silly me,” she mused, then leaned her head against his shoulder. “But if they did,” she persisted, “what kind of dreams would they have? Little fluffy sheep jumping over fences? Or maybe dramatic storm dreams with lots of lightning?”

Morpheus’s silence stretched, and Nora thought he might dismiss the thought entirely. Then, he surprised her. “Would you rather,” he began, his voice a low rumble, “be able to understand and speak every language, living and dead, or be able to perfectly replicate any sound or piece of music you have ever heard?”

Nora straightened, genuinely surprised. Her eyes, wide and sparkling, met his. Oh! A ‘would you rather’? From you? She thought, a thrill of delight running through her. It was such a human, whimsical thing for the Lord of Dreams to ask. She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “That’s a tough one. Every language… that’s incredible for understanding people, for history, for secrets. But replicating music… being able to just do that, perfectly, anything at all? That’s pure joy, isn’t it? Like having all the world’s beauty at your fingertips. I think… I think I’d choose the music. Languages are amazing, but music is a language everyone understands anyway, and to be able to just create it like that? Yes, definitely the music.”

She had just finished her answer, a thoughtful pause preceding her playful retort about his choice, when a blur of white flashed directly towards them. Before she could even register the trajectory, Morpheus moved. With a grace that belied his stillness, he extended a hand, and the soccer ball, hurtling straight for Nora’s head, stopped dead in the air, perfectly cradled in his palm. It hung there, suspended and motionless, as if time itself had paused to acknowledge the impossibility of the feat.

Nora’s eyes, wide with surprise, darted from the unmoving ball to Morpheus’s impassive face, then back to the ball. She was stunned silent, her breath caught in her throat. Her mind raced, Did I just see that? Was that… magic? Or just impossibly fast reflexes?

A moment later, a young man, flushed and apologetic, jogged over. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry about that!” he called out, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. “Really good catch, by the way.”

Morpheus offered no reply, his expression unreadable. He simply released the ball when the man tentatively reached for it, and the player, clearly bewildered but grateful, retreated back to his game.

Nora let out a sudden, huffing laugh, as she leaned back against the bench. “Yeah,” she said, her voice laced with a newfound appreciation, her eyes appraising Morpheus, He’s full of surprises, isn’t he? “that was a good catch.”

She continued to stare at him, a soft, admiring smile playing on her lips. Morpheus, who had returned to watching the various people enjoying the park, could feel the steady warmth of her gaze upon him. He slowly turned his head, his dark eyes meeting hers.

“What?” he muttered, his low voice laced with an unusual hint of bewilderment.

Nora slowly shook her head, a small, private smile still gracing her features as she tilted her head to the side. Just… you, she thought. All of you. “Nothing,” she replied, her voice soft.

Morpheus’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, a hint of adorable confusion flickering in his ancient eyes. He was about to press her for more when a presence materialized beside him. A woman in a black t-shirt and jeans, her hair a wild, dark halo, sat down on the bench on his other side. A wide, genuine smile lit up her face, a silver ankh glinting at her throat.

Morpheus turned, his expression softening further. Nora leaned forward, peering around him with curiosity.

“Hello, sister,” Morpheus said, his voice a quiet greeting.

“Dream! Took you long enough to call,” Death replied, her smile widening as she playfully nudged his arm. Her eyes, bright and full of life, then shifted to Nora, who was still leaning forward, an intrigued expression on her face. “And who’s this delightful creature?” Death asked, her voice warm and welcoming, extending a hand to Nora. “I take it this is the one you wanted to introduce me to?”

Nora looked at Death’s outstretched hand, then back to Death’s smiling face, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features. Okay, so this is Death. The actual Death. And she’s… smiling? And offering her hand? Is this a trick? Am I about to spontaneously combust? She lifted her own hand tentatively, a small, half-joking smile playing on her lips. “Uh… if I touch you, that doesn’t mean I die or anything, right? Or, like, get spirited away to the afterlife?”

Death threw her head back and let out a hearty laugh, a sound like wind chimes and sunshine. “No, darling, that’s not how it works! No worries, you’re perfectly safe!”

Reassured, Nora didn’t hesitate. She firmly grasped Death’s hand, shaking it with genuine enthusiasm. “It’s really nice to meet you!” she exclaimed, then gestured her head towards Morpheus, who sat silently between them, looking distinctly awkward. Nora turned back to Death with a conspiratorial smile. “Morpheus has said so much about you.”

Death’s eyebrows rose in playful surprise. “Oh, has he now? I can only imagine! He’s usually so tight-lipped about anything remotely personal.” She winked at Nora.

Morpheus cleared his throat, a low, rumbling sound. “My sister,” he began, his voice a touch more formal than usual, “this is Nora.”

Death then turned her head slightly to Nora, her voice brimming with cheerful curiosity. “So,” she began, her gaze sparkling, “how did you two meet? It must have been pretty special to capture his attention like this.” She gestured to Morpheus with a slight tilt of her head, a playful dig aimed squarely at her brother, who, despite his now slightly improved mood, remained impassive, almost imperceptibly sinking deeper into the bench.

Nora’s smile softened, a thoughtful expression replacing her earlier amusement. “Well,” she began, a faint sigh escaping her lips, “it was actually kind of a surprise meeting. I first met him by finding him, I guess, when he was trapped. The man who had trapped him… he locked me in with him as well. We were locked up together for ninety-six years.”

Death’s bright eyes, which had been fixed on Nora, widened almost imperceptibly. A faint, almost imperceptible internal puzzle piece seemed to click into place, her cheerful demeanor giving way to a more focused intensity. Her grip on Nora’s hand tightened slightly. “That man wouldn’t have happened to be Roderick Burgess, would it?” she questioned Nora, her voice low, though it already held the quiet certainty of discovery. Her gaze flickered, a worried glance towards Morpheus, before settling back on Nora.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Nora affirmed, a slight frown creasing her brow. “How did you know?”

Death looked from Nora to Morpheus, then back to Nora, a deeper sigh escaping her lips. The playful air that usually surrounded her had completely dissipated, replaced by a profound gravity. “You were both in that glass sphere, weren’t you? In his manor? In that cellar with the elaborate runic circle?” She paused, her eyes locking with Morpheus’s, a question, a plea for confirmation in their depths.

Morpheus nodded, a grim acknowledgement to his sister, his gaze distant, lost in the bitter memory.

Death’s expression grew somber, a shadow passing over her usually vibrant face. “I was there,” she explained, her voice hushed, the words barely audible above the ambient sounds of the park. “To collect Roderick after he died. I remember the room vividly. I could see the glass sphere, shimmering faintly with residual power, and I could feel the incredible, complex power of the rune circle around it, binding whatever was inside. But…” she paused, her eyes, usually so keen, now seeming to look inward, recalling that impossible moment, “I couldn’t see anything past it. I couldn’t feel him inside.” Her gaze flickered to Morpheus, a profound sadness in their depths. “I couldn’t feel anything inside of that circle. No life, no presence, just… an impenetrable void. It was as if that space simply didn’t exist to me.” She then turned back to Nora, a touch of wonder and relief, tinged with a deep sympathy, now evident in her eyes. “It also makes sense why you’re still here, Nora. I wouldn’t have been able to reach you. My touch wouldn’t have been able to take you, not through that binding. You were as invisible to my function as he was.”

“Yeah,” Nora said, a slight shiver going down her spine at the confirmation of such a terrifying, prolonged isolation. “That’s what Morpheus had figured out. But it’s… it’s nice to have that confirmation from you.”

Death turned her head to Morpheus, her usually bright eyes filled with an unspoken regret. “Dream,” she began, her voice soft, laden with a gentle ache. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get you out.”

Morpheus’s expression remained stoic, but a subtle tension in his shoulders suggested the depth of her words. “It was not your burden, sister,” he stated, his voice a low, steady rumble.

Death suddenly stood up, hands on her hips, her expression firm and unwavering, though still with an undercurrent of deep affection. “Oh, none of that, Dream of the Endless!” she exclaimed, her voice taking on the familiar cadence of an older sister reprimanding a stubborn younger brother. “You are my family, my brother. You are my burden! Let me tell you something, Dream, and I’m only going to say this once so you better pay attention: you are utterly the stupidest, most self-centered, pathetic excuse of an anthropomorphic personification on this or any other plane!”

Nora, sitting back against the bench, had a hand clamped over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. This is incredible! Absolutely priceless! She thought, trying desperately to contain the giggles that threatened to erupt. Watching Morpheus get thoroughly scolded by his older sibling was, for her, pure gold.

Suddenly, they heard a shout of “Heads up!” and another soccer ball came hurtling directly at them, once again aimed for Nora’s head. This time, Death snatched out an arm, catching it with effortless grace before it could make contact. The young man from before jogged over, looking even more apologetic. “Wow,” he said, his eyes wide. “You’re as good as your friend here.” He nodded towards Morpheus.

“He’s not my friend,” Death stated, her voice softening, eyes still on Morpheus . “He’s my brother. And he’s an idiot.”

Just before the guy turned to walk back to his friends, Nora looked at him, a scolding tone in her voice. “You need to work on your damn aim,” she said, her hands on her hips, a genuine exasperation lacing her tone. “Do I have a fucking target on my head?” The young man’s head dropped, and he shuffled away, clearly abashed.

Death laughed with Nora, a bright, chiming sound. They both turned to Morpheus, who was now definitely sulking, elbows on his knees, head down. Oh, poor Dream, Nora thought, a wave of affection washing over her, even as she struggled to suppress another giggle. He really is just like a moody teenager sometimes. Nora gently rubbed his lower back, and Death playfully tapped his knee. “Why don’t we go for a walk, then?” she said, standing up. She reached over and practically lifted Nora out of her seat, interlocking arms with her. “It’s a beautiful day, and unfortunately, I do still have some work to do, but I do have enough time for a chat.” She leaned in conspiratorially to Nora, though loud enough for Morpheus to hear, “Especially with my brother’s new lady.”

Nora’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink at the “new lady” comment, a shy smile playing on her lips. Morpheus, silent and inscrutable, simply rose and stood a few paces behind them, his hands tucked into his pockets, observing the easy, immediate camaraderie between the two women.

“Oh, you don’t have to stay with us,” Nora quickly interjected, already a few steps ahead with Death. She glanced back at Morpheus, a genuinely considerate look on her face. “I mean, if you two have stuff to catch up on, family stuff, I can just walk ahead. Seriously, no issues. You guys haven’t seen each other in ages, right? If your time is short, I can just...” she made a vague gesture down the path, “explore the fountain or something.”

Death, however, wasn’t hearing any of that. Her bright eyes sparkled as she pulled Nora a little closer. “Nonsense, darling! You’re part of this now. Besides, Dream and I have plenty of time, don’t we, little brother?” Without breaking stride, she casually reached back with her free hand, her fingers finding Morpheus’s arm and expertly hooking it into her own.

Morpheus’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. His expression, usually so composed, shifted into one of almost comical, put-out exasperation. He opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it, a deep furrow appearing between his elegant brows. He shot a glance at Death, a silent, long-suffering complaint, but he grudgingly accepted his fate. They began to stroll, a rather unusual trio, along the winding path, the afternoon light softening around them.

Nora couldn’t help but feel a burst of delighted amusement. That’s such an older sister-younger brother thing to do, she thought, a silent chuckle bubbling up inside her at Morpheus’s expense. She imagined Death dragging him to a family picnic, a sulking, immortal goth teen. Morpheus, ever perceptive, sensed her amusement. His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he sent a slight, withering glare her way. Unseen by Death, Nora sent a mental feeling of affection and a playfully ‘blown kiss’ his way. Morpheus’s glare softened, and a noticeable, though subtle, shift in his demeanor occurred. His shoulders seemed to relax, and the corner of his lips tilted upwards, as if some invisible weight had been lifted. He actually looked, to Nora’s secret delight, considerably cheered up.

They had now rounded a bend in the path and found themselves drifting into a more bustling area, a small, vibrant street market. The air filled with the scent of fresh produce, baked goods, and blooming flowers. “But now that we’re out of the rune circle,” Nora clarified, a touch of hesitant concern in her voice, “that means… if I were to, say, get hit by a bus tomorrow, then that’s it? Lights out for me?”

Morpheus, walking on Death’s other side, immediately started to disagree, a low sound of protest rumbling in his chest, a deep furrow appearing between his brows at the very idea.

Death, however, casually interjected, her grip still light on both their arms. “Essentially, yes,” she confirmed, her gaze thoughtful. She paused, letting out a soft hum of consideration, her head tilting briefly as her eyes flickered towards Morpheus, a spark of an idea igniting within them.

“Fresh apples! Sweet plums! Get your fruit here!” the vendor called out, his voice hearty.

Death stopped abruptly, drawing both Nora and Morpheus to a halt with her. Her eyes lit up as she eyed a pyramid of glistening red apples. “Oh, they look delicious!” she exclaimed, turning to the vendor with her usual radiating warmth. “Could we have three, please?”

Morpheus, from Death’s other side, immediately started to disagree, a low sound of protest rumbling in his chest. “None for me, thank you,” he stated, his voice firm, his gaze fixed on the fruit with polite disdain.

His sister looked at him, her smile undeterred. “But it’s good for you, Dream,” she chided playfully. “Vitamin C and all that.”

Morpheus just stared at her, an unspoken argument in his dark eyes that clearly conveyed his disinterest in mortal sustenance.

Death tried again, her patience boundless. “You can just have it later! A little snack for the road.”

Morpheus continued to stare, his silence a formidable barrier. Nora, seeing the familiar stalemate, couldn’t help but giggle, a soft, amused sound that drew a quick, almost imperceptible glance from Morpheus.

Death simply rolled her eyes good-naturedly at her brother. “Two, please,” she amended to the vendor, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

The vendor, captivated by Death’s charm, quickly cleaned off two glossy red apples and handed them over, a wide smile on his face. “Free of charge, ma’am! Enjoy the day!”

Both women offered him warm, genuine smiles. Death took a large, satisfying bite of her apple, and Nora followed suit, the crisp sweetness a burst of flavor. “It’s delicious, thank you very much!” Nora said to the vendor, who nodded, beaming.

The three of them started walking off again, the gentle crunch of apples accompanying them. Nora, remembering her earlier thought, purposely walked a little ahead, giving a subtle nod over her shoulder. “I’ll let you two talk and catch up,” she said, her voice light, and then purposefully shifted her attention, looking everywhere, taking in the vibrant colors of the different market stalls, enjoying the bustling atmosphere of the day. Morpheus and his sister now walked side by side, their arms still linked, the space between them filled with their long, shared history.

Nora continued to walk ahead, a comfortable distance between her and the Endless siblings, her eyes alight with curious wonder as they scanned the vibrant tapestry of the market stalls. The air, thick with the scent of spices, freshly baked bread, and blooming flowers, invigorated her senses. She paused at a baker’s stall, her gaze lingering on a display of intricately braided loaves, their golden-brown crusts glistening invitingly.

“These are absolutely beautiful,” she murmured to the stout, flour-dusted baker, a genuine admiration in her voice. “How long does something like this take to master?” The baker, a kindly man with laughter lines around his eyes, chuckled warmly and launched into a proud explanation of his craft, and Nora listened intently, her head tilted, a soft smile gracing her lips.

Further on, she found herself at a flower vendor’s, where a particularly unruly bouquet of sunflowers seemed to be staging a joyful rebellion against its confines. “They have a mind of their own, don’t they?” she chuckled, reaching out to gently touch a drooping head. The vendor, a woman with earthy hands and a knowing smile, nodded in agreement. “They do, dearie. Just like some of us.” The gentle hum of the market, a symphony of bartering voices, children’s laughter, and the occasional clang of a vendor’s bell, enveloped her, a warm and comforting embrace.

Behind her, Death and Morpheus walked at a languid pace, their arms still linked, a silent testament to their ancient bond.

“You’re good with them,” Morpheus observed, his voice a low, resonant murmur, his gaze fixed on Nora’s receding form.

Death, taking another deliberate bite of her crisp apple, a juicy crunch echoing softly in the bustling air, raised an eyebrow, a playful glint dancing in her perpetually kind eyes. “Apples?” she teased, a hint of mischief in her tone.

Morpheus’s gaze was steady, unwavering, his dark eyes reflecting the lively market scene. “Humans,” he clarified, a faint curve to his lips.

Death hummed, a soft, thoughtful sound that seemed to resonate with the very pulse of life around them. She then held up her half-eaten apple to him, its ruby skin gleaming. “Want a bite, brother mine?”

“No, thank you,” Morpheus replied, his voice even, his gaze still on Nora, who was now examining a collection of brightly colored pottery.

“Have you seen any of the others since you’ve been back?” Death asked, her head tilted slightly, her expression thoughtful.

“Have you?” Morpheus countered, his dark eyes finally meeting hers.

“We did have one family dinner when you were away, you know,” Death said, a small, nostalgic smile playing on her lips. “Quite the affair. The twins were in high spirits, as always, and… well, Desire was, anyways. Despair, less so, but that’s hardly surprising, is it?”

“With me gone, I have no doubt Desire found ample opportunity for… creative engagement,” Morpheus remarked dryly, a flicker of something akin to amusement in his gaze.

“I don’t know,” Death mused, her smile widening into a full, genuine grin. “I think Desire actually missed having their usual sparring partner across the dinner table. There’s only so much fun to be had tormenting Delirium, after all.”

“Any word of the prodigal?” Morpheus inquired, his voice barely a whisper, the question hanging in the vibrant air like a wisp of smoke.

“No. Still missing,” Death replied, her tone softening, a hint of sadness touching her usually bright demeanor. After a second’s pause, her hand tightened almost imperceptibly on his arm, and she added, her voice filled with a quiet sincerity, “You were both missed, Morpheus. More than you know.” Then, a mischievous gleam re-entered her eyes, and she turned her head slightly to address him, mimicking a high-pitched, overly sweet voice, laced with exaggerated concern. “Oh, how are you, sis? How have you been keeping? Oh, I’m well, Dream, thank you ever so much for asking!”

Morpheus, a rare, almost imperceptible tremor of a smile gracing his lips, indulged her theatricality. He lowered his voice, echoing her affected tone, though with a deeper, more resonant timbre. “How are you, my sister? How have you been keeping?”

“I’m worried about my brother, Dream,” Death said, her voice returning to its normal, comforting cadence, a genuine concern clouding her features for a moment. But then, her gaze subtly shifted to Nora, who was now kneeling by a small, overflowing stone fountain, her pockets apparently filled with breadcrumbs, as she was gently feeding tiny pieces to a bustling flock of pigeons. Death’s eyes held a knowing hint, and she continued, a softer, almost teasing note entering her voice, “Although, you seem to be doing rather well, considering everything. A significant improvement, wouldn’t you say?” She then gestured towards Nora with her free hand, a gesture of quiet approval. “She seems really good for you, Morpheus. Look at her. Not shy around you, that’s for sure. And that,” Death added, her voice dropping slightly, becoming more serious, "that's a rare quality. Not to be taken for granted.” Death smiled, a warm, genuine expression that seemed to radiate through the market.

Just then, clear, melancholic strains of a violin, rich with emotion and history, drifted through the bustling market, rising above the cheerful din. Death’s head perked up, her eyes widening in recognition. “Can you hear it, Morpheus?” she whispered, a sense of quiet gravity in her voice. “That melody…”

Morpheus’s head turned, his gaze lifting beyond the market stalls, fixing on the second story of a quaint, ivy-clad home where an open window seemed to exhale the music. “I know this piece,” he murmured, a distant, almost haunted look in his eyes, his voice barely audible above the music. “I haven’t heard it in two hundred years. Not since… not since the last time I walked among the living, in a certain forgotten Parisian alleyway.”

Death tugged gently on his arm, her urgency palpable, a subtle shift in her bright demeanor. Her eyes, though still kind, held a somber reflection of duty. “Come on,” she urged, her voice low and tinged with a quiet necessity, “This is where I’m needed next.” She gestured for him to follow her into the very home from where the ethereal music was emanating.

Morpheus’s gaze lingered for a moment on Nora, utterly absorbed in her task. He knew she would be safe, but a flicker of his ancient protectiveness stirred. “Nora,” he called out, his voice cutting through the market’s noise, clear and commanding yet tinged with a soft affection. “Wait here for us! We will return shortly.” At her quick nod of understanding, a small, reassuring smile on her face, he finally turned and followed Death, the haunting, beautiful melody of the violin growing clearer, drawing them into the silence of the house.

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 30: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~An Interwoven Destiny~

The soft light of the Dreaming’s restored sun filtered through the palace’s newly mended windows, painting the grand library in hues of gentle gold. Nora stretched on the large, comfortable armchair, a soft, involuntary sigh escaping her lips. Even many hours after, a faint blush still dusted her cheeks, a lingering warmth that settled deep in her bones. The memory of Morpheus’s lips on hers, the dizzying intensity of their kiss in this very library, sent a thrilling shiver through her. Soon, My Star. Very soon, you will feel every part of me. His words, still echoing in her mind from last night, made her heart quicken with a dizzying anticipation. He had left shortly after, his duties calling him back to the monumental task of rebuilding the Dreaming. Before he departed, he had looked at her with a tender seriousness, gently encouraging her to stay in the quiet solace of the library for as long as she wished. She had agreed, knowing she needed the peaceful space to process the seismic shift in their relationship.

She shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her, and pushed herself out of the armchair, determined to distract herself.

The library hummed with a quiet energy, the scent of ancient paper and fresh ink filling the air. Lucienne, ever diligent, was gracefully moving between towering shelves, her hands deftly organizing scrolls and leather-bound tomes. Matthew, perched on a newly polished banister, occasionally chirped a comment, his bright eyes taking in the grand scale of the restored archive.

Nora wandered through the endless aisles, her fingers trailing over the spines of books that hummed with forgotten stories. “Morning, Lucienne,” she greeted, her voice soft so as not to disturb the stillness of the knowledge contained within.

Lucienne turned, her spectacles gleaming in the light. “Good morning, Nora. It is indeed a morning of great satisfaction. This archive, fully restored, brings a deep sense of peace.”

“It must,” Nora agreed, moving closer. “It’s truly magnificent, Lucienne. So many stories, so many lives held within these pages. It must be a daunting task to keep it all in order, even without the destruction you faced.” She genuinely wanted to foster a deeper connection with the loyal librarian.

Lucienne’s expression softened, a rare, gentle smile gracing her features. “It is a labor of love, Nora. Each volume, each scroll, a piece of the Dreaming’s soul. And it is in no small part thanks to your courage that it stands whole once more.”

Matthew, ever the dramatic one, swooped down to land on Nora’s shoulder, ruffling his feathers with a flourish. “Don’t let her modesty fool you, Nora! She’s been practically humming with contentment all morning, trying to look all stoic and librarian-like. But I’ve seen the little jig she does when she finds a misplaced book!”

Lucienne let out a small, huffing laugh, a sound of gentle exasperation. “Matthew, must you always be so… vivid in your descriptions?”

“Only telling it like it is, Lucienne! It’s my job to observe, right? Keeps me sharp!” he chirped, bobbing his head. “So, what’s on the agenda today? More fascinating revelations from dusty old books? Or are we finally manifesting that cloud-sofa for Morpheus? I keep telling him, a man of his stature needs a proper cloud-sofa!”

Nora chuckled, patting Matthew’s head. “Hey, I’m working on it, Matthew. Some things take time to manifest properly, you know.”

“See, Lucienne? She’s on my side!” Matthew cawed triumphantly.

“I merely acknowledge Nora’s efforts, Matthew. Your aspirations, while ambitious, must yield to the Lord Morpheus’s current priorities,” Lucienne said, her tone dry but with a hint of amusement.

“Priorities? Right. Because being perpetually broody is a top priority!” Matthew squawked, flapping his wings for emphasis.

“Order is paramount, Matthew. Something you, as a former human, might struggle to comprehend given your predilection for chaos,” Lucienne retorted, adjusting a stack of scrolls with meticulous precision.

“Chaos? It’s called living, Lucienne! You wouldn’t know, stuck in here with your books all day!”

Nora chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, I will leave you two to your, “ she paused, a grin spreading across her face, “bickering. I’m going to go and peruse the shelves a bit.” She gave Matthew’s head a final pat and started to walk away.

As Nora continued to browse, a particular title caught her eye on a low shelf – a slim, unadorned volume bound in dark, smooth leather. The Unforeseen Path. A shiver traced down her spine. The title resonated with a chilling familiarity, pulling her back to that desolate beach, to the moment the Fates had appeared and spoken directly into her mind, their voices echoing prophecies she had yet to fully grasp, prophecies she had, until now, deliberately pushed aside.

She picked up the book, her fingers trembling slightly as the full weight of their words came flooding back. All they had been through since that moment – the journey to Hell, the duel with Lucifer, the perilous search for his tools, and finally, the tender, earth-shattering kiss in this very library. It all pointed to the undeniable truth of the Fates’ pronouncements. Their bond was not merely emotional; it was woven into the very essence of Morpheus, and by extension, hers.

She opened her eyes, a new resolve hardening her gaze. She had kept this from him, knowing they had other, more pressing things to focus on with the restoration of his realm. But now, after everything they had faced, after the depths of vulnerability they had shared, and the promises whispered in kisses, she knew he deserved to know. He needed to know. Things were clearly changing between them, rapidly and irrevocably, and the unforeseen had indeed occurred. It was time for Morpheus, the King of Dreams, to face the reality of their interwoven destiny

With a decisive nod, Nora returned The Unforeseen Path to its shelf. Her heart, which had been aflutter with the recent memory of the kiss, now beat with a different kind of urgency. She needed to find him.

"Lucienne," Nora called, walking back towards the main thoroughfare of the library where the librarian was still meticulously arranging books. Matthew was now preening on a nearby bust of a forgotten Dream. "Do you know where Morpheus might be? I… I need to speak with him."

Lucienne paused, her gaze keen as she assessed Nora’s determined expression. "He is likely in the central spire, overseeing the manifestation of the new districts, or perhaps consulting with Brute and Gloom on the reconstruction of the nightmare realm. He is consumed with the work of rebuilding, Nora." There was an unspoken warning in her tone, a gentle reminder of his Lord's focus.

"I understand," Nora said, her voice firm. "But this is… important."

Matthew, sensing the shift in Nora’s demeanor, flew from the bust and landed on her shoulder. "Ooh, sounds serious! Is it about the cloud-sofa? Did you figure out how to make it float and have back massage settings?"

Nora gave him a fleeting, distracted smile. "Not exactly, Matthew. But thank you for the intel, Lucienne."

Without another word, Nora hurried out of the library, the grand doors swinging shut behind her. The palace corridors, once crumbling and dim, now stretched before her, shining with the Dreaming's vibrant energy. The air thrummed with the sounds of creation – the distant chime of new structures coalescing, the murmur of nascent dreams taking form.

She navigated the familiar, yet subtly altered, pathways of the palace, her steps quick and purposeful. She bypassed the Sunken Grotto, now shimmering with renewed light, and the Whispering Gardens, where new flora unfurled in impossible hues. Her intuition, honed by several days of exploring this impossible realm and by her deepening connection to its ruler, pulled her towards the highest points of the palace.

She ascended a winding staircase, its marble gleaming, leading up towards the central spire that pierced the Dreaming’s sky. As she neared the summit, the sounds of activity grew clearer. The air here was charged with raw creation, the very fabric of reality being woven and rewoven by Morpheus’s will.

She found him on a vast, open platform at the apex of the spire. He stood silhouetted against the brilliant, swirling tapestry of the sky, his back to her, overseeing the rapid emergence of a new city district far below. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture regal and absorbed. The very air around him seemed to hum with his power, a visible aura of concentration and quiet command.

Nora stopped a few paces behind him, hesitant for a moment. He looked in his element, so utterly the King of Dreams. For a fleeting second, the old doubt whispered: Is this truly the right time? But then the weight of the Fates' words, the indelible mark they spoke of, resurfaced, pushing aside her hesitation. He deserved the truth. He needed the truth.

Taking a steadying breath, Nora finally spoke, her voice cutting through the soft hum of creation, "Morpheus?"

His shoulders remained still. He simply turned, a slow, deliberate movement that commanded attention. His eyes, dark as the deepest night, had been fixed on the immense task of overseeing his realm's rebirth, immersed in that cosmic work. But as they locked onto Nora, the distant focus softened, centering entirely on her, on his immediate surroundings, rather than the unfolding landscape of the Dreaming below.

"Nora," he acknowledged, his voice a low, resonant rumble. As he spoke her name, he slowly extended a hand towards her, his palm open, a silent, powerful will for her to join him.

Nora crossed the remaining distance of the platform, her steps quickening, and placed her hand in his. His touch was cool and smooth, yet firm, an anchor in the vastness of the Dreaming. For a moment, she didn't speak, her gaze sweeping over the breathtaking vista below them. From this height, the entire Dreaming sprawled out like an intricate, living tapestry, constantly shifting and remaking itself under his silent command. It was overwhelming, magnificent.

After a moment, she looked back at Morpheus. He had been watching her the entire time, his dark eyes observing her reaction, patiently waiting for her to find her words. There was no impatience in his gaze, only a profound, silent expectation.

"I... I need to tell you s-something," Nora began, a slight stutter in her voice, her thoughts still racing. She paused, searching for the right words, for a way to untangle the knot of information she held. "Something that happened... that at the time... it didn't seem as important to speak of. But now... now I really want to tell you."

He simply nodded, a subtle tilt of his head, an encouraging gesture that silently urged her to continue.

Taking a deeper breath, Nora pressed on, "Remember... when you spoke to the Fates?"

Morpheus's dark eyes held hers. He gave a slow, deliberate nod.

"Remember when the Fates spoke to me?" Nora clarified, her voice gaining a little more strength, "But you couldn't hear what they said?"

At that, something shifted in Morpheus's expression. His entire being seemed to sharpen, his gaze no longer merely patient but utterly, intensely focused. He had, in truth, almost forgotten that moment, internally dismissing it as a private encounter, respecting Nora’s earlier unspoken desire not to delve into it. But now, with her direct question, a deep, consuming curiosity bloomed within him. His grip on her hand tightened almost imperceptibly, his silent question resounding: What did they say?

Nora met his gaze, her heart pounding with the weight of the revelation. “The Fates… they spoke of a bond,” Nora began, her voice gaining a quiet intensity as she recalled the ancient voices. “I can’t recall every single word, but the message, the core of it, is seared into me. They called me your ‘Anchor’.”

Morpheus’s expression remained carefully neutral, but his eyes, fixed on hers, deepened in an unreadable way.

“They said…” Nora continued, choosing her words carefully. “They said it wasn’t something either of us planned, but that it was forged during your captivity. That it happened over the decades, while we were in that glass prison. That my presence, my thoughts, became a sort of constant, a connection that deepened. They said it was born of shared hardship, and… and unguarded hearts.” She paused, remembering the chilling certainty in the Fates’ voices. “They were very clear, Morpheus, that this bond isn’t easily broken. They said we are ‘irrevocably woven, a tapestry of two,’ and that it will endure.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the Dreaming's ongoing creation. Morpheus’s gaze had not left hers, but his eyes were wide, betraying a shock that was rarely seen on his visage. His grip on her hand was now unyielding, as if she were indeed the anchor they spoke of.

“And then,” Nora whispered, “all three in unison, they said something about ‘the unforeseen’ happening. That ‘your very essence now bears the indelible mark of your interwoven spirit, a testament to a destiny unplanned, yet absolute.’”

Morpheus’s breath hitched, a sound so faint Nora almost missed it. His eyes flickered down to their joined hands, then back to her face, a complex storm of emotions swirling within their dark depths: disbelief, understanding, and an almost primal realization. The very air around them seemed to vibrate with the force of his internal turmoil.

“They also… warned me,” Nora added, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze drifting over the sprawling, reforming landscape of the Dreaming below them, her eyes glazing over slightly as if recalling words burned into her very essence. “They said, ‘But heed us, mortal. The King of Dreams bears a history as ancient as time itself, and not all his tales are spun of gentle starlight. His pride is vast, his judgments can be terrible, and his realm is not for the faint of heart. Be aware of who stands beside you. And prepare yourself, Nora. For the road ahead will not be without its trials. A mortal heart, after all, is not impervious to the harsh winds of his world, or the shadows that still cling to him.’”

He said nothing for a long moment, his gaze fixed on her, absorbing the full weight of the revelation. The cosmic hum of the Dreaming faded into the background, all attention drawn to the silence between them. This was not a dream he could shape, but a truth that had woven itself into the very fabric of his existence.

Morpheus slowly lifted their joined hands, turning her palm over with a deliberate movement. His thumb traced the faint lines on her skin, as if searching for the invisible threads the Fates had spoken of. The unreadable depths of his eyes were now clouded, not with confusion, but with an intense, inward reflection. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant sounds of the Dreaming reforming. He was not merely hearing her words; he was feeling them, processing them on a cosmic scale, the implications rippling through his very being.

Finally, he looked up, his gaze locking onto hers, intense and searching. “An indelible mark,” he murmured, his voice deeper than usual, tinged with a raw wonder. “Woven into my very essence. You speak of a connection… that transcends choice.” He squeezed her hand gently, bringing his attention back to her, a hint of concern entering his dark eyes. “Why did you keep this from me, Nora? You said it did not seem important then. Did you believe it would not affect me?”

“No, of course not!” Nora insisted immediately, her voice soft but firm, a quick shake of her head. “I knew you needed to know, Morpheus. But at the time, other things were more important. You and the Dreaming were both so weak, so broken. You needed to get your strength back, to stabilize your realm. That was the priority.” She paused, letting her conviction sink in. “What the Fates had said… that was still going to be there afterwards. It could wait.”

Her gaze met his, unwavering. "No matter what they said to me, no matter the warnings they spoke of, I’m not going anywhere. I made you that promise, Morpheus, and I meant it.” She paused, a small, knowing smirk touching her lips, and then added, her voice low and confident, “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, Sandy.”

He tightened his grip on her hand, a gesture of silent acknowledgment that was more eloquent than any spoken vow. For a long moment, he simply stared, processing her words not just with his mind, but with the very essence of his being. The weight of the Fates’ pronouncements, which had echoed like a distant, unsettling hum in his thoughts, now resonated with a sharper clarity. His very essence now bears the indelible mark of her interwoven spirit. Her presence, her unwavering loyalty, her startling insights – they were not merely pleasant diversions; they were, as the Fates had revealed, irrevocably woven into him. He felt the terrifying vulnerability of that truth, and yet, paradoxically, a strange sense of peace.

Finally, a shadow of his usual solemnity returned, though softened around the edges by the tender exchange. His gaze drifted from Nora’s defiant eyes to some unseen point in the restored, shimmering expanse of his realm. “I believe,” Morpheus’s voice resonated, deeper than usual, tinged with a raw wonder that belied his ancient gravity, “I need to speak with my sister.”

Nora, her heart still thrumming from the intensity of their connection and his unspoken reaction, tilted her head, her voice carrying a light inflection of surprise. “Which one?” she asked aloud, a faint curiosity mingling with the lingering emotion.

Morpheus looked back at her, his expression settling into a familiar, quiet resolve, though a sliver of rare vulnerability shimmered in the depths of his eyes. “Death,” he stated, the name a soft, solemn pronouncement. “She might have some insight into this… into what the Fates foretold, and how it pertains to you. And,” he added, a flicker of something akin to a hopeful smile touching his lips, “I think she will like you, Nora.”

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 29: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

Warnings: 18+, kissing, groping

~No Thought Unheard~

A hot, undeniable flush spread from Nora’s neck, crawling up her cheeks and setting her ears aflame. She could feel it, a betraying heat, as the full, mortifying realization slammed into her. Every single one. The absurd, nonsensical ones she’d bravely recounted to break the silence, and the intensely private ones she’d only ever dared to glimpse in the deepest recesses of her own subconscious. The ones that involved longing glances, secret touches, and desires she hadn’t even consciously admitted to herself. They were all here. Cataloged. Available. Potentially accessible by the very subject of those dreams.

Her brain, in a desperate attempt to short-circuit the utter humiliation, tried to conjure a mental image of Lucienne, spectacles perched on her nose, meticulously shelving a dream where Nora was attempting to teach Morpheus to tap dance, or a particularly vivid one involving him dramatically rescuing her from a mundane grocery store armed with only a baguette. And then, the other kind of dreams. The genuinely heated ones. The thought sent a fresh wave of agony through her.

Nora squeezed her eyes shut, a tiny, strangled groan escaping her lips. She wanted the polished obsidian floor to open up and swallow her whole. The humiliation was absolute, cosmic in its scale. “Oh, that’s nice.” she muttered, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over her. She began to subtly walk further into the library, putting more space between herself and Morpheus, as if she could outrun the mortification.

Morpheus, his features still a mask of careful neutrality but his eyes glinting with barely suppressed amusement, watched her retreat. “Why the sudden interest in the finer details of the Dreaming’s cataloging system, Nora?” he asked, his voice a low, resonant murmur, casual yet undeniably knowing. “A moment ago, your inquiries were of ancient playwrights. Now, this… specific fascination with the inner workings of dream storage?”

Nora stumbled slightly over an invisible seam in the floor, her cheeks burning hotter. “Oh, no reason!” she chirped, trying to sound nonchalant, her voice a frantic scramble. “Just… curious. You know, general intellectual curiosity about vast, cosmic libraries and their contents! Nothing specific at all!” She quickened her pace, her black boots silent on the gleaming floor, making a beeline for a distant shelf filled with particularly ornate, glowing volumes. I just needed to be anywhere else.

Morpheus’s amusement intensified, a deep, silent chuckle that vibrated through the air, though only Nora truly heard its subtle nuance. He let her gain a few more paces, enjoying her flustered retreat. Then, with a speed that defied the elegance of his movements, he was suddenly in front of her, his dark form blocking her path. He reached out, his pale hands gently, but firmly, taking her shoulders, stopping her escape.

Nora gasped, startled, her gaze immediately dropping from his starlit eyes to his hands. His hands. Even in her current state of utter mortification, her focus was drawn to them. She’d always found them impossibly beautiful, and her mind, unbidden, replayed fleeting images of them—the way they’d held her cardigan, the gentle, repetitive motion through her hair, the feather-light touch when he’d first reached for her elbow, the firm, grounding squeeze in London. Her thoughts, a chaotic mix of embarrassment and an utterly inconvenient admiration, tumbled over each other. His hands are so elegant. The way he holds things. They just look so… strong but soft.

Morpheus’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk, that familiar glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. He slowly, deliberately, lowered his hands from her shoulders, his pale fingers lightly brushing hers as they came to rest. “It seems,” he began, his voice a silken thread of teasing that was utterly, devastatingly effective, “that my library is not the only thing that holds your… interest. You appear to have a rather particular fascination with my hands, My Star.”

Nora’s eyes snapped up to his, her face now a vibrant, furious crimson. “I… I do not!” she stammered, her voice weak and entirely unconvincing.

Morpheus’s smirk deepened. “Indeed?” he challenged, his voice warm with quiet laughter. “And yet, your attention seems to gravitate towards them with remarkable consistency. A most curious focus, given the myriad wonders of the Dreaming now laid before you. Perhaps a volume on the esoteric aesthetics of anatomical structures is in order for your next read?”

Nora wanted to scream. Or perhaps melt into the polished floor. She closed her eyes for a fleeting second, willing the universe to un-exist her. When she opened them again, Morpheus was still there, his dark eyes brimming with that infuriating, affectionate amusement, his perfect, pale hands still tantalizingly close.

“In fact,” Morpheus continued, his voice dropping to a low, silken purr that made Nora’s stomach do a nervous flutter, “if my memory recalls, you seem to…” He paused, his gaze sweeping over her face as if searching for the precise word, drawing out the exquisite torture. “…think about them quite a bit too.”

Nora’s breath hitched. Oh God. Please no…

“Let’s see,” he mused, a phantom smile playing on his lips, his voice perfectly even, betraying no hint of the utter mortification he was about to inflict. “There was the time you thought, The way he moves… it’s like watching a statue come to life.” He took a deliberate step closer, narrowing the distance between them. “And, more recently, His hands are so elegant. The way he holds things. They just look so strong but soft.”

A wave of fresh, scalding heat washed over Nora, her face burning. Those were her internal thoughts, the ones she’d had in the quiet, isolated confines of their glass prison, the ones she’d dismissed as fleeting, private observations. He’d heard every single one. The realization struck her with the force of a physical blow, stunning her into silence. The century of shared imprisonment, the seemingly unbreakable mental link, had meant nothing was truly private.

Morpheus took another step, closing the distance entirely until they were almost chest to chest. He raised a pale hand, his elegant fingers gently cupping her chin, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. His eyes, dark as the void and swirling with starlight, held hers captive.

“You are quite correct, My Star,” he murmured, his voice a low, intimate resonance that bypassed her ears and settled deep in her core. “They are strong. They are soft. And they are, quite deliberately, for you.”

His thumb, still resting on her chin, began a slow, tender stroke, sending shivers down her spine that had nothing to do with fear. His gaze, unyielding and intense, held hers as he slowly lowered his head, his dark hair brushing her forehead. The air between them thrummed, thick with unspoken possibilities, with a century of silent longing finally given voice.

Nora’s breath hitched, every nerve ending alive. His words, his presence, the sheer raw honesty of his gaze… it was everything she had secretly longed for, amplified beyond any mortal measure. Her own hand, almost unconsciously, reached up to cup his jaw, her thumb tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone. The soft brush of his hair against her forehead, the faint scent of rain and starlight that clung to him, filled her senses. It felt impossibly real, more solid and true than anything in the waking world.

“For… for me?” she whispered, her voice barely a breath, filled with an awe that bordered on disbelief. The words, the feeling that resonated from him, were so utterly consuming, so beautifully overwhelming.

Morpheus’s eyes, those endless pools of starlight, deepened, reflecting a tenderness she had only glimpsed in moments of crisis or shared vulnerability. “For you, My Star,” he affirmed, his voice a low, intimate murmur that seemed to wrap around her soul. “It always has been. Even when I could not, would not, acknowledge it.” His thumb continued its gentle stroke on her chin, an anchor in the dizzying intensity of the moment. “You brought light to my silence, color to my gloom. You saw me, not merely as a king, but as a being worthy of… something more.”

He leaned in further, his dark eyes never leaving hers, the distance between their lips now agonizingly small. The air thrummed with unspoken desire, with a century of yearning finally on the precipice of release. This was it. The moment she had never dared to dream of, yet had lived for.

Morpheus leaned closer, the last sliver of space between them dissolving. Nora's breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed as his lips finally met hers. It was not a gentle brush, but a kiss of deep, overwhelming intensity, a century of unspoken longing and unacknowledged desire finally erupting. It tasted of starlight and ozone, of ancient dreams and newly formed hope, a taste utterly unique to him. His hands, which had cupped her chin, now moved to cradle her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as the kiss deepened, pulling her into a vortex of sensation.

Nora responded with equal fervor, her fingers tightening on his jaw, pulling him impossibly closer. The world, the vast library with its infinite stories, the very fabric of The Dreaming, seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in a singular, timeless moment. It was a kiss that promised forever, that healed old wounds, and ignited new, thrilling possibilities.

When they finally broke apart, it was only for air, their foreheads resting against each other, breaths ragged and uneven. Morpheus's eyes, usually so composed, were alight with a raw, almost fierce emotion she had rarely seen. His lips, still close to hers, were parted slightly, a soft, satisfied sigh escaping him.

Nora's own heart hammered against her ribs, a wild drumbeat of euphoria. Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips tingling. "Oh Morpheus," she breathed, the name a soft exhalation of wonder and disbelief.

He tightened his grip on her face, his gaze searching hers. "Nora," he murmured, his voice husky, laden with a tenderness that stole her breath away. "My Nora." The way he spoke her name, imbued with such possessive warmth, sent a fresh wave of shivers through her.

He pulled back just enough to look at her fully, his thumb still tracing the line of her cheekbone. "It seems," he said, a faint, contented smile gracing his lips, "my library is not the only place where dreams are given form." His eyes dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes, a silent promise in their depths. "And I find, My Star, that your dreams... are quite beautiful."

Nora didn’t need further prompting. The lingering warmth of his words, the heady intimacy of his gaze, propelled her. With a soft gasp, she tightened her grip on his jaw, pulling him back in. Her fingers threaded into the impossibly soft, raven black strands of his hair, a rebellious act that thrilled her to her core. She tugged, gently but insistently, drawing his head down as her lips met his once more.

This kiss was a conflagration, an unleashing of all the restrained passion and desperate affection that had simmered between them for decades. Her fingers tangled deeper in his hair, pulling him closer still, and she felt a low, guttural groan vibrate from deep within his chest, a sound that sent a jolt of raw pleasure through her. Morpheus responded with equal, unbridled intensity, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist, crushing her against his form, the familiar, comforting weight of his usual long wool coat pressing against her. The world, the vast library with its infinite stories, the very fabric of the Dreaming, seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in a singular, timeless moment. It was a kiss that promised forever, that healed old wounds, and ignited new, thrilling possibilities.

Suddenly, Morpheus shifted, his hands leaving her waist to cup her thighs. With a surge of unexpected strength, he hoisted her up effortlessly, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as she found herself pressed against a towering bookshelf. The faint scent of aged paper and dream-dust filled her nostrils, a surreal backdrop to the escalating passion. His body, hard and warm, pressed against hers, the movement itself an intimate dance.

Nora’s head fell back against the shelf with a soft thud, a breathless gasp escaping her lips. His lips, wet and demanding, left hers, trailing a burning path down her jawline to her throat. The sharp nip of his teeth, a light, teasing bite, sent shivers convulsing through her.

Her fingers, still woven into his hair, tightened, pulling his head fractionally closer. “All this time,” she gasped out, the words catching in her throat as his kisses ignited a trail of fire down her neck, “all my thoughts… you’ve heard.”

Morpheus gave her another soft, teasing nip, drawing a sharp intake of breath from her. Then, a low, rich chuckle rumbled up from his chest, and Nora felt his smile spread against the sensitive skin of her throat.

“You never thought to share that?” she whispered, a desperate plea tinged with humor and lingering embarrassment.

His voice, a low, utterly devilish murmur against her pulse point, sent goosebumps across her skin. “Why, My Star,” he purred, his smile deepening, “why would I not want to keep such delightful thoughts to myself? They were, after all, some of my most cherished entertainments during our… confinement.” He chuckled again, the sound vibrating through her, before resuming his slow, devastating exploration of her throat, each kiss a silent testament to the wealth of information he possessed, and his utterly charming, infuriating refusal to let her forget it. The library hummed around them, a silent, knowing witness to the newest story being written within its ancient walls.

Nora’s mind, reeling from the sudden, delightful chaos, tried to find something, anything, to latch onto that wasn’t the sheer, overwhelming intimacy of the moment. Her brain, true to form, defaulted to frantic over-analysis.

“You know,” she began, her voice a little breathless, her fingers still tangled in his hair, “this is a lot. Like, a lot a lot. First, the whole ‘you heard my thoughts’ thing, which, by the way, is a huge invasion of privacy, just saying. And now, you’re just, like, confirming you find my internal monologues about your hands ‘delightful’ and, honestly, that’s both incredibly flattering and also supremely terrifying because what else have you heard?” Oh God, what else? That time I thought he looked like a gothic statue carved by a Greek god when he was just sitting there, all pale skin and raven hair? Or when I wondered if his thighs were as impossibly firm as they looked, considering he never moved?

Morpheus gave her pulse point a little nip, a teasing spark that flared against her skin, and then began to lightly suck on that sweet, vulnerable spot just under her ear. Nora sucked in a sharp, involuntary breath, her head tilting back further, offering him more access. Okay, what about that time he was just unclothed and… and… oh, words… fumble… brain no work…

Morpheus, who had been listening to her delightful, rambling internal panic with a growing, tender amusement that shimmered in the starlight of his eyes, decided she had rambled quite enough. Her verbal deluge, while undeniably endearing, was a distraction from the far more interesting, unspoken conversation their bodies were having. Without a word, without breaking the intoxicating rhythm of his kisses on her neck, he raised his head, cutting off her stream of anxious chatter with a deep, silencing kiss on her lips.

It was fierce, possessive, and utterly effective. His mouth claimed hers, a hunger that brooked no argument. When Nora tightened her grip on his hair, her fingers tingling deeper in the dark strands, she felt the unmistakable tremor of his body, and Morpheus groaned into her mouth, a primal sound that dissolved into her, sending a jolt of pleasure through her that made her own body hum in response, vibrating with an almost painful urgency.

Morpheus, whose hands were already on her thighs, gripped tighter, his fingers digging in just enough to anchor her. With a surge of raw, effortless strength, he lifted her slightly more against the towering bookshelf, their bodies aligning with a seamless precision that left no sliver of space between them. Her body was flush against his long, lean frame, the comforting, yet suddenly maddening, weight of his wool coat pressing between them. Then, with a fluid grace that was uniquely his, he moved one hand, trailing it up the side of her body, leaving a path of tingles and warmth in its wake. He then grasped the nape of her neck, his fingers strong and demanding, tangling in the hair at the base of her skull, and forcibly tilted her head to deepen the kiss further. Nora moaned deeply into his mouth, a raw, yearning sound of pure surrender that was both heard and felt, a guttural sound that thrilled him in return.

One of Nora’s hands slipped from his hair, letting it slide down Morpheus’s back, over the smooth, rich wool of his long coat. The thick fabric, while luxurious, was a frustrating barrier, and an almost desperate need surged through her. Fuck, she just wanted to feel his skin. To feel the tautness of his muscles beneath her palm. Why did he have so many damn layers on? It was ridiculously, cruelly unfair. Her nails, almost unconsciously, scraped lightly against the wool, a silent plea for less cloth, more contact.

Morpheus subtly ground his hips into hers, a slow, deliberate movement that made Nora gasp against his lips, her body arching involuntarily into his, a sudden, sharp ache blooming deep within her. He took advantage of her sharp intake of breath, deepening the kiss even more, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, caressing hers with a possessive, exquisite rhythm that stole what remained of her coherence. Every nerve ending screamed, every thought evaporated into a glorious, formless haze.

After Morpheus had decided that Nora was thoroughly wrecked with that kiss, her brain a delightful, steaming pile of mush, he finally broke the contact of their lips. He leaned his forehead against hers, his breath coming in ragged whispers that mingled with her own, his dark eyes still closed for a moment.

He then slowly, slowly lowered her legs back to the ground, her feet finding purchase on the polished floor, the slight tremble in her limbs a testament to the intensity of their embrace. He kept one hand wrapped firmly around her waist, keeping her stable, his touch a warm anchor.

Soon, My Star, his thought resonated, a warm, overwhelming wave of passion, arousal, and deep, possessive affection flooding through their bond. As the initial thought settled, Morpheus opened his eyes, leaning back just slightly to appreciate Nora, her flushed face, her swollen lips, her eyes still hazy with lingering desire. He could almost see Nora’s brain kick-start, the words making their way through the blissful haze of the kiss’s aftermath, finally processing in her head. When the full weight of his words truly kicked in, Nora’s eyes fluttered open, looking up at him. She saw that Morpheus’s eyes were super dark, almost black, overcome with an undeniable, raw arousal.

Then, his voice, deeper and more rumbly than she had ever heard it, echoed in her mind: Very soon, you will feel every part of me.

Nora, who completely got the double meaning—the promise of his full presence, physically and emotionally—couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excited eagerness surge through her. Her own body, still pressed flush against his, throbbed in eager anticipation, every fiber of her being humming with a silent, fervent “Yes.”

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 28: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~The Infinite Archive~

The air in the Dreaming, once thick with the dust of despair and ruin, now hummed with a quiet, persistent energy. Morpheus, fully restored with his sand, helm, and ruby, moved through his shattered kingdom with a grim, yet hopeful, purpose. He was a force of gentle creation, his presence a steadying balm on the wounded realm.

The rebuilding was not a swift, dramatic act, but a slow, meticulous weaving, like mending a frayed tapestry thread by delicate thread. Where once the sky had been a flat, oppressive gray, now faint streaks of lavender and rose began to bleed into the horizon, hinting at the vibrant dawns that would once again paint the Dreaming. The desiccated riverbeds, which had long been nothing more than parched dust, gradually darkened, then glistened with the promise of returning water. First, a trickle, then a meandering stream, eventually swelling into the impossibly clear blue river Nora remembered from her childhood dream. Broken pillars and crumbling spires, remnants of his magnificent palace, slowly, agonizingly, knit themselves back together, not with a sudden flash, but with the quiet resilience of time-lapse photography.

Nora was almost always nearby, a grounding presence in the often-shifting landscape of his restoration. Sometimes, she would perch on a newly mended archway, or sit cross-legged amidst the nascent greenery, watching Morpheus with a contemplative gaze. Matthew, ever the garrulous companion, would frequently join her, hopping from her shoulder to her knee, offering a running commentary that was a delightful blend of observation and mild complaints.

“He’s certainly putting his back into it, isn’t he, Nora?” Matthew chirped one afternoon, tilting his head towards Morpheus, who was currently coaxing a section of a dilapidated wall to reform. “Bit of a perfectionist, Boss. You’d think after a century off, he’d be more for the ‘good enough’ approach.”

Nora chuckled softly, the sound a warm ripple in the air. “He built this realm, Matthew. It’s a part of him. They’re sort of one and the same.” She paused, a faint smirk playing on her lips, a shared joke only she and Morpheus understood. “So knowing who Morpheus is, then absolutely yes, the realm must be perfect.”

“Still,” Matthew grumbled, ruffling his feathers, “all this focused intensity. It’s exhausting just watching him. Doesn’t he ever just want to kick back and, I don’t know, manifest a giant, comfortable sofa made entirely of clouds and binge-watch some particularly absurd human nightmares?”

Morpheus paused in his work, the reforming stone shimmering slightly. A low, dry chuckle, a sound that only Nora could truly distinguish as amusement, echoed in her mind. One must attend to one’s duties, My Star. The Dreaming requires order.

Nora tilted her head, giving Matthew a wry look. “He’s attending to his ‘duty’,” she said, making finger quotation marks around the last word.

“See?” Matthew squawked, nudging Nora’s ear. “Always with the ‘duty.’ Doesn’t he know about self-care? Honestly, a giant cloud-sofa would probably do wonders for dream-production. More comfortable dreamers, better dreams. It’s basic economics, Boss!”

Nora reached up and gently stroked Matthew’s head. “He’s getting there. Baby steps, Matthew.”

Other times, Nora would be resting, curled up on a patch of emerald grass that had just sprung from the once-barren ground. She loved to encourage Morpheus to join her.

“Sandy,” she’d project, her mental voice a soft, insistent coaxing, when she noticed him looking particularly strained, a fine sheen of cosmic effort on his brow. “Come on. Just for a bit. The palace isn’t going to disappear if you take five minutes.”

He would sigh, a long, drawn-out sound in their shared mental space, one that conveyed millennia of obligation. There is much to be done, Nora. The absence was long. The damage is extensive.

“Which is precisely why you need to rest!” she’d counter, already making room beside her, patting the soft grass. “You’re no good to anyone, especially your realm, if you collapse from sheer stubbornness.” Besides, she’d add, a playful note entering her thoughts, I miss being your human pillow.

This last comment, delivered with her characteristic blend of affectionate teasing and undeniable truth, would usually do the trick. A reluctant, yet deeply felt, warmth would emanate from Morpheus. He would, with fluid grace, settle beside her, sometimes resting his head on her lap, sometimes simply lying close, allowing her warmth and presence to seep into his ancient being. The gentle rhythm of her fingers carding through his impossibly soft hair was, as he had once discovered, “quite delightful”.

The rebuilding of the Dreaming continued, a testament to a king’s unwavering will and the quiet, comforting presence of his Star. The laughter of restored dream-creatures began to echo through the nascent forests, the scent of impossibly fragrant flowers filled the air, and slowly, surely, the myriad wonders of Morpheus’s realm began to unfurl anew, each vibrant detail a silent promise of brighter days.

It had been a couple of days since Nora had successfully coaxed Morpheus into a much-needed respite, a small victory in the face of his tireless efforts. Now, refreshed, though still burdened by the sheer scale of his work, Morpheus was deeply immersed in the meticulous restoration of a grand antechamber within his palace, a room once opulent but now a skeletal ruin of crumbling stone and phantom tapestries. Nora was with him, quietly sketching in a small notebook, while Matthew flitted about, inspecting newly formed architectural details with a critical eye.

Morpheus, with a focused intensity that bordered on the ethereal, was coaxing intricate patterns to reform on a vast, cracked ceiling. The air around them thrummed with the soft energy of creation, the subtle hum of ancient magic slowly reasserting itself.

It was into this atmosphere of quiet, concentrated work that Lucienne, the librarian of the Dreaming, entered the antechamber. Her footsteps were light, almost imperceptible on the newly solid floor, but her presence, a beacon of meticulous order and intellectual vigor, was instantly felt by Morpheus. She held herself with her usual scholarly precision, her spectacles gleaming, a hint of unusual excitement in her otherwise composed demeanor.

“My Lord,” she began, her voice crisp and clear, as Morpheus paused his work, his gaze shifting to her. Nora looked up from her sketching, and Matthew settled onto her shoulder, curious.

Lucienne executed a small, deferential bow. “I bring news, My Lord,” she continued, her voice gaining a touch of barely contained triumph, a rare display from the usually reserved librarian. “It is… it is as we hoped. The disruption is receding further. And with it…” She paused, as if savoring the moment, allowing the full import of her words to settle in the air. “…the library has returned.”

An Immense stillness fell over Morpheus. His gaze, usually so unreadable, softened, and a faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through his form. The Library. The repository of every story, every dream, every unwritten tale. Its loss had been a wound as deep as any sustained by his own imprisonment. To have it back, complete and vibrant, was a monumental step in the Dreaming’s full recovery.

“Entirely?” he asked, the single word laden with centuries of longing.

Lucienne nodded, a small, delighted smile gracing her lips. “Entirely, My Lord. Every volume, every scroll, every whispered thought of every living being, past, present, and future, accounted for. It stands as it always has. A little dusty, perhaps, after its… unscheduled departure, but whole.”

At Lucienne’s words, Nora jumped up from her spot, Matthew wobbling slightly on her shoulder before deftly adjusting his balance—his aerial maneuvers had much improved since he’d decided Nora’s shoulder was his primary perch. Nora hurriedly walked over to them, reaching out to grasp Morpheus’s hand, her fingers intertwining with his.

“Lucienne, that’s fantastic news!” Nora exclaimed, her voice bright with genuine joy. “I’m so incredibly happy for both of you!”

Lucienne’s smile broadened, a rare and truly luminous expression that she shared directly with Nora. Their interactions since returning to the Dreaming had been cordial but brief, always revolving around Morpheus. Yet, Nora knew how vital Lucienne was to him, not just as a librarian but as a trusted friend and advisor, perhaps his closest. Nora hoped that in the quieter days to come, they might forge a deeper bond of friendship themselves.

“Excellent,” Morpheus said, the single word resonating with an unshakeable power that spoke volumes. He turned his gaze, which had been fixed on Lucienne, now to Nora, a shared sense of immense relief passing between them. The Dreaming was truly coming home.

Nora’s grip on Morpheus’s hand tightened, her eyes, wide and sparkling with a childlike eagerness, turned to him. “Sandy,” she began, her voice a soft, almost breathless plea, “can I see it? The library? Can we go see it, please, please, please, pretty please?” Her eyes, usually so calm, now shimmered with an irrepressible excitement, mirroring the youthful wonder of a child on the cusp of a grand adventure.

From behind them, Lucienne let out a quiet huff of a laugh, a rare, almost imperceptible sound of amusement that spoke volumes. She couldn’t help but appreciate Nora’s unbridled enthusiasm for something she, Lucienne, held in such great pride and reverence. It was a stark contrast to the often stoic and reserved demeanor of her lord. As Nora practically vibrated with anticipation, Lucienne’s sharp gaze caught the incredibly fond, almost tender, look that Morpheus sent Nora’s way. It was a look rarely seen on the face of the Lord of Dreams, a softening of his ancient features that spoke of deep affection and a quiet joy.

Morpheus’s lips, which seldom curved into a full smile, quirked upwards ever so slightly. The corners of his eyes crinkled with a hint of what, for him, was deep amusement. “Very well, My Star,” he conceded, the depth of his voice a warm rumble that resonated through Nora’s hand. “We can see the library.”

Nora let out a little squeal, a sound of pure, unadulterated delight that was entirely human and entirely charming. She bounced on the balls of her feet, a quick, uncoordinated little happy dance, her face alight with joy. Releasing Morpheus’s hand for a moment, she spun around, her bright gaze landing on Lucienne.

“Well, lead the way, please!” Nora urged, gesturing grandly towards the entrance of the antechamber, her enthusiasm utterly infectious.

Lucienne’s smile widened, a genuine, warm expression that momentarily erased her usual scholarly gravity. She dipped her head in a small, elegant nod. “Of course, Nora,” she replied, her voice tinged with her own quiet delight. Turning on her heel, the meticulous librarian led them out of the antechamber and deeper into the labyrinthine corridors of the palace, towards the very heart of reclaimed knowledge and dreams. Morpheus followed, a silent, powerful presence, but his steps seemed lighter, imbued with a quiet happiness he hadn’t known in centuries. Nora, still buzzing with excitement, walked beside him, her hand instinctively finding his once more, ready to explore the endless wonders of the returned Dreaming Library.

Lucienne led them through corridors that seemed to mend and reform with every step, the Dreaming itself shifting to accommodate its returning heart. Walls that had been dust-choked rubble now solidified into polished obsidian, reflecting faint, ethereal light. The air grew richer, thick with the scent of aged paper, leather, and something else—something distinctly of forgotten knowledge and potential, a fragrance unique to the boundless archive. Matthew, perched comfortably on Nora’s shoulder, occasionally ruffled his feathers, his head cocked as If listening to the silent whispers of a million untold stories.

Nora’s excitement grew with every turn. She squeezed Morpheus’s hand, feeling the subtle tremor of anticipation that ran through him. Even for the Lord of Dreams, the return of his library was an event of great significance. It wasn’t just a collection of books; it was the accumulated consciousness of all dreaming, the very fabric of human and indeed, all sentient, thought.

Finally, Lucienne stopped before a colossal archway, one that had been a gaping, impossible void only days before. Now, it stood proud and magnificent, carved with intricate symbols that seemed to writhe and shift in the dim light. Beyond it, through the massive, open doors, Nora could discern the vast, endless expanse of the library. It was even more magnificent than she had imagined from Morpheus’s descriptions or her own fleeting dreams of it.

Rows upon rows of shelves stretched into infinity, reaching heights that defied mortal architecture. Books, scrolls, and unbound pages floated gently in the air, waiting to be retrieved by the discerning touch of a Dream-librarian. Globes of soft, ambient light drifted lazily between the stacks, illuminating pathways and hidden alcoves. The air here was alive, not with the bustling energy of a human library, but with the quiet, potent hum of countless narratives held in suspension, each breath a silent story.

“It is… spectacular, Lucienne,” Nora breathed, her voice filled with awe. She let go of Morpheus’s hand, taking a hesitant step forward, as if entering a sacred space. Matthew flew off her shoulder, circling above the endless shelves with a chirrup of pure delight.

Lucienne’s expression softened into one of deep satisfaction. “It always is, Nora,” she replied, her gaze sweeping over the vast halls with great affection. “Every dream, every nightmare, every half-forgotten thought, every story ever told, or never told, resides within these walls.”

Morpheus stepped past them, a silent monarch reclaiming his throne. He didn’t speak, but his presence filled the space, absorbing the vastness of the library into himself. Nora watched him, feeling the deep connection he had to this place, understanding that this was more than just his realm; it was his very essence.

Then, he turned, his dark eyes falling on Nora, a flicker of something akin to pride, or perhaps a shared sense of wonder, passing between them. He offered her a hand, an unspoken invitation.

“Come,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual amidst the hushed grandeur. “There are tales to be found.”

Nora stepped through the colossal archway, her initial awe quickly morphing into a delightful frenzy. Her eyes darted from one towering shelf to the next, trying to take in the endless rows of volumes. The sheer scale was dizzying, a true testament to the infinite nature of dreams and stories.

“Oh my goodness,” she breathed, her voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might disrupt the quiet symphony of knowledge around them. She looked at Morpheus, her eyes wide. “Sandy, do you have… do you have, like, Austen? And the Brontës? Oh, and what about that obscure poet from the 17th century I could never find a complete collection of? Do they have all the different versions of Frankenstein? The really rare ones? What about ancient Sumerian epics? Or even, like, the lost plays of Aeschylus? The ones no one’s ever found?”

Morpheus watched her, a rare, soft smile playing on his lips. His dark eyes, usually so solemn, held an unmistakable glint of amusement. Her boundless, almost frantic, enthusiasm was utterly charming, and he found a quiet pleasure in witnessing her delightful struggle to comprehend the true scope of his realm. It was as if her human mind, accustomed to the finite nature of earthly collections, simply couldn't process the concept of 'everything.'

"My Star," he murmured, a low, melodic sound, his grip gentle as he guided her deeper into the labyrinth of books, "every story ever dreamed, every word ever written or imagined, every narrative conceived across all existence, resides here. There are no lost plays, no obscure poets whose complete works are beyond these shelves. If a tale has ever taken root in any mind, it is preserved within the Dreaming Library."

Nora stopped, her mouth slightly agape. She looked around, then back at him, a sudden, sheepish grin spreading across her face. "Right," she said, a little laugh escaping her. "Everything. Of course. Silly me." She shook her head, still trying to wrap her mind around it. "It's just... it's a lot of everything."

Lucienne, having acknowledged the importance of the moment for her Lord and Nora, had quietly excused herself to begin the immense task of re-cataloging and organizing the returned volumes, leaving them to explore.

Nora, however, was already moving again, her initial shock giving way to renewed curiosity. She reached out, her fingers hovering over a shelf filled with books bound in what looked like solidified starlight. “So,” she began, a new question bubbling up, “if someone has a dream, does it just… appear here? Like, automatically cataloged?”

Morpheus nodded, his gaze distant as he considered the vastness of his realm. “Indeed, My Star. Every dream, every nightmare, every fleeting image born in a sleeping mind, is a part of this place. It is not merely a record; it is the very fabric of The Dreaming. They are all accounted for, from the grandest epic to the most fleeting, half-remembered image.”

Nora’s eyes widened, a slow, dawning horror spreading across her face. Her hand, previously hovering with curiosity, dropped to her side. Every dream. Even the ones she barely recalled upon waking, the ones that dissolved like mist but left a lingering warmth. The ones that, with growing frequency over the last century in that glass sphere, had featured a certain tall, brooding, impossibly elegant King of Dreams. Oh, God.

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 27: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~Shattered Illusion~

With Nora safely outside with Matthew, the diner, previously a scene of chaotic horror, now felt eerily still, save for the low chatter from the television, the hum of the old refrigerator and the faint, unsettling drip of something on the floor. Morpheus turned, his silhouette stark against the flickering neon glow from the street. His gaze, devoid of the earlier warmth he had shown Nora, settled on the hunched figure of John Burgess at the bar, the stolen Ruby clutched loosely in his hand.

“You hold what is mine, mortal.” Morpheus’s voice, though quiet, resonated with an authority that seemed to vibrate through the very air of the diner. John, still perched on his stool, slowly turned. A small, unsettling smile played on his lips, a chilling contrast to the dim, mundane surroundings.

“Oh, you’re the Sandman,” John drawled, his eyes gleaming with a strange, possessive light. “My mother was right. She said you’d be coming for it.” He held up the Ruby, its fragmented facets catching the faint diner light, each shard a tiny, malevolent eye.

“You must return it to me so I can repair the damage you’ve done,” Morpheus commanded, his gaze fixed on the pulsating jewel.

John's smile widened, a mockery of genuine amusement. “Return it? No, I don’t think so. It found me. It chose me. And it showed me the truth. The truth of all of them.” He paused, gesturing dismissively towards the door through which Nora had just exited. “I even tried to show that woman the truth. The Ruby… it didn’t work on her. No matter, she was quite rude anyway.”

“You dare,” Morpheus seethed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that promised retribution. The thought of John’s tainted influence reaching for Nora, his Nora, was an unpardonable transgression. “You have abused its power. You have inflicted your twisted reality upon others, and for that, there will be consequences.” His voice rose slightly, the air around him growing taut with suppressed power. “The Ruby is a sigil of my realm. It carries the very essence of dreams and nightmares. It was never meant for mortal hands to wield with such reckless abandon.”

“Well, maybe there needs to be a new King of Dreams,” John countered, his voice rising with a dangerous crescendo of delusion. He held the Ruby aloft, its crimson glow intensifying, casting grotesque shadows across his face. “I can steal the rest of your powers!”

Before the words had fully left his lips, Morpheus responded, his voice low and firm. “If you rob a Dream Lord of his power, you shall do so in his realm. In dreams.”

In that instant, the greasy diner floor beneath them dissolved. The flickering fluorescent lights warped into a swirling vortex of stardust and nebulae, a vast, cosmic canvas. Yet, oddly, beneath their feet, a stark, concrete floor remained, its edges crumbling away into an infinite abyss. Dust and debris, like fragments of forgotten realities, swirled around them in the boundless expanse.

John spun, his gaze darting around the impossible landscape, a mixture of awe and manic glee distorting his features. He still clutched the Ruby, its light now a beacon in the galactic maelstrom. “Is this your palace, Dream Lord? Is this your throne, King of Lies?” He laughed, a high, strained sound that echoed eerily in the vast emptiness. “Well, it’s mine now. Are you watching me? Can you see me, using your own powers to burn away your lies?”

Morpheus swayed, a faint tremor passing through his tall, slender frame. He felt himself weakening, his essence, his very being, being pulled from him, siphoned by the grotesque parody of his own power in John's hand. “You must stop,” he rasped, his voice strained. “It’s not too late to save yourself.”

“You think it’s me that needs saving?” John shouted, his voice cracking with intensity, his eyes blazing with a deranged triumph.

“Your father stole the Ruby from me and cursed you with it,” Morpheus persisted, a desperate plea in his tone.

“You mean he blessed me with it!” John retorted, his grip tightening on the Ruby. “Your reign ended when my father captured you. Your kingdom is my birthright!” He emphasized with a venomous snarl. “Your power now resides within me. How does it feel to know I hold your life in my hands?”

Even as his own strength faltered, Morpheus’s thoughts turned to those suffering under John’s cruel distortions. “You’re hurting the dreamers,” he murmured, the words heavy with concern. He could only imagine what Nora, so sensitive to the currents of the Dreaming, must be enduring if he, Dream himself, felt so incredibly weak, his essence being torn away.

John’s face contorted in a sneer. “Well, maybe it’s time they woke up. Your life, and your lies, ends now!” With a final, triumphant yell, he crushed the Ruby in his hand. The crystalline structure, already fragmented, exploded inward. Instead of a simple shattering, the very air around them ignited, not with fire, but with pure, raw power. A blinding, searing white light erupted from John’s clenched fist, a silent scream of energy that consumed the swirling abyss, the crumbling floor, and even the cosmic dust. It was an instant of absolute void, everything washed away in the incandescent brilliance, leaving only the ringing silence of its passing.

Then, silence. And stillness.

As the light faded, John found himself standing, intact, in the same unsettling cosmic void. He looked around, a bewildered triumph blooming on his face. “I killed him! I won!” he crowed, a manic laugh bubbling up.

But as he looked down, his laughter died in his throat. He wasn't standing on the concrete floor, or stardust, or even the abyss. He was standing in the palm of a colossal hand, a hand impossibly vast, crafted from the very fabric of dreams. Morpheus, now towering over him like a benevolent, yet stern, titan, held John aloft, inspecting him with an expression that was a curious blend of amusement and weariness. It was the look one might give a child who had attempted a remarkably foolish, yet ultimately harmless, prank.

“Thank you, John,” Morpheus said, his voice now rich and resonant, echoing through the boundless space.

John was utterly baffled. “But… I killed you!”

“You destroyed the Ruby and released the power inside it,” Morpheus explained, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. “I never would have thought of that.” His gaze drifted to some unseen point beyond John, a flicker of distant memory in his eyes. “I’d forgotten just how much of myself I’d placed in the jewel.”

A fresh wave of terror washed over John, the manic triumph replaced by desperate fear. “Are you going to kill me?” he whispered, his voice trembling.

Morpheus considered him, his gaze piercing. “I could. Perhaps I will.” A moment stretched, hanging heavy in the infinite silence. Then, Morpheus shook his head, a gesture of dismissal. “But the Dreamstone was not made for mortals, and it came to you through no fault of your own. So no, John. I will not kill you.”

With a gentle, invisible force, Morpheus willed John to fall asleep. John’s eyes fluttered, then rolled back, his body collapsing into unconsciousness as Morpheus lowered him.

In a blink, the cosmic realm dissolved, replaced by the sterile, familiar confines of the mental hospital. Morpheus gently laid John back into his bed, arranging the thin blanket over him. “Sleep well, John,” he murmured, his voice laced with a lingering sorrow. Once certain that John was secure, and would cause no more harm, Morpheus vanished.

He reappeared just outside the diner, the mundane world stark and silent after the fantastical realm. Nora was there, a figure of distress, huddled on the ground with her back pressed against the diner’s grimy wall. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, elbows resting on them, and her hands were clamped over her forehead, as if to contain a fracturing mind or block out an unbearable memory. Matthew, ever loyal, hopped nervously beside her, his soft caws a concerned murmur. “Are you feeling better now? You… you went down pretty fast there. What happened, Nora?”

Matthew’s head suddenly snapped up, his small, black eyes fixing on Morpheus’s silent arrival. He hopped out of the way, making room. Morpheus knelt before Nora, his pale hands gently, almost reverently, wrapping around her wrists. He pulled them away from her face, revealing eyes wide and bewildered, still clouded with residual trauma.

“Nora, are you… ” Morpheus began, his voice low and laced with a fragility that was rare for him. He paused, his face now drawn with worry, his gaze searching hers, knowing the deep, empathetic connection they shared. The air between them grew heavy, thick with the suspense of her revelation. He hesitantly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, “What did you feel?” He knew she must have felt his agony, the terrifying sensation of his essence being stripped away, and the not knowing, that agonizing uncertainty of his fate, must have been its own unique torment for her.

Nora shook her head slowly, a soft, shaky breath escaping her lips. Her eyes, still swimming with unspoken experience, met his. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, her voice thick with raw relief, a relief that dwarfed any personal pain she might have endured. It did matter, of course. It had hurt. A deep, tearing ache, a sudden, terrifying emptiness where he usually resided in her periphery. But the fear, the agonizing uncertainty of what was happening to him, of whether he would return, had been far worse than the pain itself. The not knowing had been the real agony.

“You’re here. You’re okay,” she continued, the words a desperate litany of comfort for herself as much as for him. With a small, desperate cry, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close, burying her face against his shoulder. He returned the embrace, holding her tightly, his grip a silent promise of his presence. Both breathed out, a long, ragged sigh that spoke of shared relief, of horrors averted. They were okay now. He had all of his tools. They were both safe. It was over. Soft reassurances, indistinguishable murmurs of comfort, passed between them as the diner’s dim lights cast long, weary shadows.

After a moment, Nora mumbled against his neck, her voice muffled but clear, “Can we go home now?”

Morpheus felt a warmth bloom in his chest, an unfamiliar sensation that spread through him like sunlight. Home. She considered the Dreaming her home. His realm, her haven. He held her a little tighter, a whisper of a smile touching his lips. “Yes, absolutely, My Star,” he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. “Yes, we can go home.”

-

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Next Chapter

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 26: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~Crimson Reckoning~

Morpheus poured the golden sand with a practiced flourish, and the familiar shimmer enveloped them. In the next breath, the crumbling palace vanished, replaced by the damp, cool air of a London night. They materialized in a swirl of dissipating golden light, standing outside what appeared to be a nondescript storage unit. The night was absolute, thick with shadows that clung to every corrugated steel wall.

Matthew, with a faint, surprised "Caw!" that was more a muffled squawk, found himself perched on Nora’s shoulder, his claws digging gently into the unfamiliar fabric. Nora, meanwhile, took a quick look around, her gaze sweeping over the rows of identical units, the only sound the distant hum of the city. Then, her eyes drifted downwards, and she blinked. The well-worn jeans and long-sleeved shirt Johanna had given her were gone. In their place, she wore a pair of sturdy black boots, black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a short, fitted black coat that mirrored Morpheus’s own dark attire, albeit with a distinctly feminine cut.

She looked up at Morpheus, one eyebrow raised in a silent, amused question. He met her gaze, and then, slowly, his eyes drifted down, taking in her new attire with an almost imperceptible, lingering appreciation before returning to her eyes.

"Something you'd like to say, Sandy?" Nora asked, a hint of playful humor in her voice.

He simply locked eyes with her, a subtle smirk playing on his lips, and a deep, undeniable satisfaction gleamed in the depths of his dark gaze. Then, as if the moment had stretched just long enough, he turned his attention to the door of the nearest storage unit.

He walked towards it, his movements fluid and silent. With a mere touch, the heavy padlock on the unit door seemed to click open, the metal groaning softly as he pushed it inward.

Morpheus stepped inside, pausing just past the threshold, his head tilted slightly, his eyes closed as if sifting through unseen currents. Nora waited, the air thick with anticipation, until his gaze snapped open, locking onto a single, unremarkable black box, almost like a jewelry box, sitting on a dusty table in the very back of the unit. He moved with swift, purposeful strides, and gently, reverently, lifted the lid. It creaked silently. Lying there, nestled on a bed of faded velvet, was the ruby, glowing with a soft, ethereal light, a vibrant pulse in the surrounding gloom.

Matthew, unable to contain his curiosity, hopped off Nora’s shoulder with a soft flutter of wings. He flew the short distance to the table, landing neatly in a small patch clear of clutter, his black feathers ruffling. He stretched his neck, raising his head just enough to peer over the edge of the open box Morpheus now held in his hands. “So, that’s the ruby, huh?” he chirped, his beady eyes fixed on the rich red glow emanating from it, a glow that seemed to be growing ever so slightly brighter.

Morpheus looked at the ruby for a second longer, his expression unreadable, before a faint furrow appeared between his brows. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured, his voice a low, resonant tone that seemed to vibrate in the air. As he spoke, the ruby pulsed again, its red light intensifying, almost throbbing. “Someone’s altered it,” he added, his voice gaining an edge of grim certainty.

At that exact moment, the ruby’s energy exploded outwards, a violent wave of intense red light and raw power that burst from the box. Matthew, caught completely off guard, was blasted off the table, sent tumbling through the air with an indignant squawk. Morpheus was thrown backward by the concussive force, slamming against the opposite wall with a dull thud before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

Nora, who had been leaning against the open door of the unit, was violently blasted outward. She didn’t hit the damp pavement outside the storage facility. Instead, her vision spun, a kaleidoscopic blur of colors and shapes, until the world re-formed around her. She hit the ground with a jarring impact, not on concrete, but on cracked asphalt, the faint scent of stale oil and frying food assaulting her senses. Above her, a garish neon sign, half-broken, flickered erratically: ‘DIN_ _’. Her head swam, the spinning world refused to settle, and then, mercifully, she lost consciousness.

~

A loud crash of thunder ripped through the oppressive silence, jolting Nora awake. Her eyes snapped open, a throbbing ache behind them, and she found herself still sprawled on the cold, cracked asphalt in front of the diner. Rain, light at first, had begun to fall, each drop a chilling pinprick against her skin. She pushed herself up slowly, groaning, onto her hands and knees, her muscles protesting with every movement. What happened? Where am I? her mind screamed, the questions echoing in the dull throb behind her eyes.

Her gaze swept around, disoriented, trying to piece together where she was and what had happened. The half-working diner sign still flickered erratically above her, casting a ghostly blue-red glow on the wet ground. Inside, most of the diner’s lights were off, save for a few lingering, flickering bulbs and the eerie blue glow of a small television screen. Morpheus? Matthew? She desperately tried to recall the moments before the darkness, but it was all a blur of red light and impact. With a weary sigh, Nora slowly, painfully, got back onto her feet, her black boots squelching slightly in a puddle. She took a tentative step, then another, moving forward, drawn by the dim, distant light, towards the door of the diner, a strange, unsettling quietness in the air, broken only by the patter of rain and the distant rumble of thunder.

As Nora pushed open the diner door, a gust of cold, rain-laden air swept past her, carrying with it the sickeningly sweet scent of blood. The flickering neon light from outside cast grotesque, dancing shadows across the scene within. Her breath hitched in her throat, caught by the sheer horror that unfolded before her.

The diner was a macabre tableau. Bodies lay scattered across the checkered floor in impossible, twisted positions, each surrounded by a dark, glistening pool. Near the entrance, a woman in a floral dress lay on her back, her throat a gaping, crimson wound, a blood-slicked knife still clutched in her stiff hand. Beside her, a man mirrored her, his fingers still desperately clamped to his own severed windpipe, his eyes wide and vacant. Further in, near the empty, overturned stools, a young woman knelt, slumped forward, her delicate wrist deeply sliced, staining the floor around her. And then, the waitress. Nora’s stomach churned as she saw her, slumped over the counter, her face a mask of agony, two screwdrivers protruding from where her eyes had been, stark and horrifying against her pale skin.

Nora had never seen so much blood in one place, not even in her most terrifying nightmares. It was a visceral, overwhelming sight that rooted her to the spot, just a few steps past the entryway, her gaze wide with a mixture of shock and revulsion.

“Hello there,” a voice rumbled, surprisingly calm, even welcoming, from the end of the diner bar.

The unexpected sound snapped Nora out of her horrified trance. Her head whipped around, eyes locking onto the hunched back of an older man, seemingly oblivious to the carnage surrounding him. He sat calmly at the bar, a massive tub of ice cream before him, its contents slowly melting.

“What… what is going on here?” Nora’s voice was a shaky whisper, barely audible above the insistent drumming of rain on the roof and the distant crackle of static from the TV. “What happened to these people?”

The old man sighed, a sound of weary satisfaction. He didn’t turn, his gaze fixed on the flickering blue glow of a small television screen above the bar, which displayed an emergency news channel. A harried weather person gestured frantically at a map, describing power grid failures, explosions, and widespread fires engulfing the country.

“I offered them a world where they could be themselves,” he began, his voice surprisingly gentle amidst the horror, “without having to suffer for it. I took away the lies they hid behind.” He paused, his gaze drifting lazily over the lifeless bodies strewn across the floor beside him, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “But it seems,” he continued, a faint, almost amused inflection in his tone, “they enjoyed their suffering. And so, their suffering set them free.”

Nora stared at him, baffled, then frustrated. How could he speak of freedom while surrounded by such devastation? Her jaw tightened, a slow burn of anger replacing her initial shock.

“The truth,” he pontificated, reaching for a spoonful of ice cream, “is a cleansing fire. It burns away the lies we’ve told each other, and the lies we’ve told ourselves.”

Nora scoffed, a sharp, disbelieving sound that cut through his detached rhetoric. “A cleansing fire?” Her voice was raised now, tinged with disbelief and a rising frustration, as if explaining a basic moral concept to someone utterly alien to human thought. “You didn’t ‘cleanse’ anything! You didn’t ‘set them free’!” She took a step closer, her voice growing in intensity. “You didn’t give them truth! You gave them absolute despair and called it revelation! You ripped away the very fabric of their reality, simply because you, in your infinite arrogance, decided their ‘lies’ were somehow less valid than your so-called ‘truth’!”

The old man finally stirred, turning his head slightly, just enough for Nora to glimpse a pale, detached profile. At that moment, a pulsing red glow erupted from the bar top in front of him, drawing Nora’s gaze downward. There, sitting amidst scattered crumbs and melted ice cream, was the ruby. It pulsed with an internal light, growing steadily brighter. The old man’s hand instinctively cupped around it, as if trying to harness its power, and the ruby’s glow intensified, casting a crimson sheen across his face.

Nora stared at him, eyes wide, a silent “What the hell are you doing?” written on her face. The old man, in turn, looked back at her, a confused frown creasing his brow, clearly baffled as to why the ruby’s intense energy seemed to have no effect on her.

“They chose their fate, young woman,” he interjected, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, still watching her with that bewildered expression. “The truth simply made it manifest. They were already broken.”

“Oh my God! Would you just shut up?” Nora exclaimed. “Of course, they were broken! We all are, in some way! But people don’t always hide behind lies, old man. Sometimes, those ‘lies’ are hope for the future, or the dreams that keep them going. They’re the stories we tell ourselves to survive the grim reality, to build something beautiful and meaningful beyond the pain! You can’t just rip that away from someone and call it freedom. You left them with nothing but raw, unfiltered despair, and they turned it on themselves! Do you even understand the most basic concept of human empathy? Of shared existence?” She ended, a wave of disappointment washing over her.

He remained impassive, his eyes, though still holding that flicker of confusion regarding her, seemed untouched by her words. The utter lack of comprehension on his face, the vacant detachment, finally broke Nora’s already frayed patience. She was utterly fed up.

With a decisive stride, Nora started moving, picking a careful, slightly winding path around the small, glistening pools of blood on the floor, making her way towards the counter. Her boots made soft squelching sounds with each step. She rounded the end of the bar, her hand shooting out to grab a spare spoon from a cluttered tray behind the counter. Then, without hesitation, she snatched the giant tub of melting ice cream directly from in front of him.

“You don’t get no damn ice cream,” Nora declared, her voice tight with indignation, holding the tub possessively. She spun on her heel, already walking away from him towards one of the only free, clean booths left at the far side of the diner. As she walked, a low mutter escaped her lips, “Been transported who knows where, knocked unconscious for who knows how long, and now I gotta deal with your cynical ass…”

She reached the booth, slamming the ice cream tub down onto the table with a thud that echoed in the eerie silence. Nora slid into the red vinyl seat, pulling the tub close. “This ice cream is mine, damn it!”

The old man, for the first time since Nora had walked in, wore a distinct emotion: a deep frown, a mix of confusion at the ruby’s ineffectiveness and annoyance at his ice cream being commandeered. He watched her, his expression a tight knot of disbelief and petty outrage.

Nora ignored him, digging her spoon aggressively into the cold, sweet concoction. She shoveled a giant spoonful into her mouth, chewing with a fierce determination. Seriously, Morpheus, where in the ever-loving Dreaming are you? She thought, the cold sweetness doing little to soothe her frayed nerves. Because if I have to endure this guy’s ignorance for much longer, someone’s getting an ice cream facial, and it won’t be me.

~

Nora had been sitting in the booth, the ice cream tub now abandoned and pushed away from her, a sizable dent taken out of what remained. The only sound was the muffled television the old man still watched. Nora didn’t know how much time had passed, but the chill in the air and the lingering scent of blood were starting to permeate her newfound composure. Just as she was contemplating several particularly inventive curses for the oblivious man at the bar, the doors to the diner slammed open with a violent crash, rattling the remaining glass in the windows.

Morpheus stood framed in the doorway, his dark coat billowing slightly in the draft, his face a grim, serious mask. His gaze swept around the horrific scene within the diner, taking in the scattered bodies and crimson pools. Then, his eyes locked onto Nora. Through their bond, a potent wave of emotion washed over her: the sharp anxiety from waking up alone in the storage unit, the piercing worry of not finding her anywhere, to the overwhelming comfort and immense relief of seeing her safe and unharmed.

“Well, it’s about time you made an appearance, Sandy,” Nora quipped, a slight touch of humor in her voice, attempting to mask the lingering unease of the situation. Without a second thought, she pushed herself out of the booth, the red vinyl sighing in protest, and began to weave her way around the scattered chairs and tables, navigating the grotesque landscape of bodies and blood. Her pace quickened as she approached him, until she practically collided with his solid form, her arms snaking around his body underneath his coat. She tucked her head beneath his chin, her ear pressed against his chest. Morpheus didn’t hesitate, his arms immediately encircling her, pulling her as close as humanly (or un-humanly) as possible. He squeezed her, and Morpheus could feel some of the stress simply drain from her body, such was her incredible relief at his presence. He tucked his nose into her hair, breathing in her familiar scent—a mix of rain, a faint trace of Johanna’s soap, and her own unique essence—grounding him amidst the chaos. One hand pressed gently into the small of her back, the other cradling the back of her head, holding her steady. He simply basked in the quiet intimacy of the moment they could share.

I’m not sure if you can help him, though, Nora thought to him, her internal voice tinged with skepticism. She shifted her head slightly, making a subtle gesture with her chin towards the old man still at the bar.

How did you get here? Are you alright? Morpheus asked, his mental voice laced with concern, the words echoing clearly in her mind.

Nora looked off to the side, her brow furrowed in concentration, trying to recall anything. I don’t know, she responded, giving a little shake of her head, the memory a blur of red light and impact. One second, I was with you both at the storage unit, and the next I was on the ground outside the diner. It was just… sudden. She looked back up at him, her gaze clear. I’m fine. He didn’t do anything to me, not really. I’ve just been waiting for you.

Morpheus eased his embrace just enough to perform a quick, thorough once-over of Nora, his eyes scanning her new attire, searching for any physical sign of harm. While he did so, he kept one hand still cupping the side of her head, stroking gently along her jawline and cheekbone in a soft caress. Nora gently turned her head into his palm. When he found no physical harm, a visible easing of tension flowed through him. His gaze then shifted inward, conducting an ‘emotional’ once-over, confirming her spirit remained intact, though clearly rattled. He nodded once to himself, then to her, a silent acknowledgment of her resilience. “Wait outside with Matthew,” he conveyed, his voice calm and resolute. “I will handle this.”

Nora raised a quick eyebrow at him, a silent question in her eyes, a faint doubt flickering within her. When he nodded again, his gaze unwavering and firm, she let out a soft, almost imperceptible “Okay.” Almost reluctantly, she pulled her hands out from around him, letting them drag lightly along his torso, a lingering touch. Then, rising onto her toes, she cupped one side of his face and pressed a soft kiss onto his cheek, just slightly  closer to his mouth, before moving around him and walking towards the diner doors, her gaze briefly sweeping over the devastation one last time.

Morpheus did not move from his spot, frozen for a beat after her lips left his cheek. When he heard the doors close with a soft thud behind him, sealing away the outside world, he slowly raised a single hand. His fingers, pale and elegant, delicately touched the spot she had kissed, almost in reverence, as if to preserve the fading warmth. Then, with a visible shift in his demeanor, his expression became cold and utterly resolute. He lowered his hand, his eyes darkening, and steeled himself to face the man who dared to hold his stolen ruby.

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[nerdydaydreamer]

TOM STURRIDGE as Dream of the Endless in The Sandman: Season 2 | Official Trailer

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 25: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~The Theory of Entanglement~

Matthew, completely oblivious to the silent, murderous intent now emanating from his Boss, ruffled his feathers and preened, seemingly pleased with his successful intervention. He hopped down from the crumbling pillar, strutting a few steps closer. “So, what’s the plan, Boss? We got the Helm, Nora’s back… what next? More adventures? Maybe somewhere with less brimstone and more, you know, biscuits?”

Nora, catching the full, crushing weight of Morpheus’s internal fury directed at Matthew, bit back a laugh that threatened to bubble up. She gently squeezed Morpheus’s arm, her fingers a silent, desperate plea for him to rein in his cosmic wrath. He needed his raven, even if the raven had the timing of a broken clock.

Morpheus slowly turned his head, his gaze, sharp as obsidian, sweeping over Matthew with an intensity that would have withered a lesser being into dust. The murderous gleam in his eyes, however, subtly shifted, morphing into something that bordered on long-suffering exasperation. He let out a silent, aggrieved sigh that rippled through their shared link, a sound Nora felt deep in her own chest, a familiar echo of his weary soul.

“The next step,” Morpheus stated, his voice now deep and resonant, a velvet rumble that vibrated through the desolate air, “is to recover my ruby.” He looked towards the distant, hazy horizon of The Dreaming, his gaze already piercing through the desolation, fixing on an unseen point beyond. “I will retrieve it alone.”

Nora looked at him, her eyes, still shadowed with lingering exhaustion, searched his face. She sought to discern the layers of his resolve, the hidden currents beneath his stoic exterior. She saw a flicker of understanding there, a hint that he knew what she might be about to say, what argument was already forming on the tip of her tongue.

But Morpheus cut her off, his voice firm and unwavering, a decree carved from ancient stone. “No. You will remain here. You require rest and time to recover. The void took a significant toll upon you, Nora. I will not have you burn out.”

Matthew tilted his head, a flicker of genuine concern in his beady, intelligent eyes. “Alone, Boss? You sure about that? Things get a bit… tricky out there. Real tricky.”

“Yes, I can handle it,” Morpheus replied, his voice gaining a cold, ancient certainty that brooked no argument. “I have my Helm and my sand back. I am not as weak as I was.”

Nora, still kneeling in front of him, her hands gently pressed against his chest, started to speak, her voice soft but firm, a quiet challenge in its tone. “Morpheus,” she began, the name a soft invocation.

“Nora, you are in no condition,” Morpheus cut in, an uncharacteristic, almost desperate plea entering his dark gaze. “You have endured days within the Garden of Perpetual Silence. Your mind, although demonstrably resilient, has been stretched to its very limits. You need time to recover, to mend. I cannot, and will not, ask you to endure more.”

Nora’s gaze held his, unwavering, her voice dropping to a raw, whispered confession, laced with a tremor of genuine, deep-seated exhaustion. “You need rest too, Morpheus. I… I know what you went through.”

Morpheus froze. A flicker of shock, then dawning horror, spread across his face, a raw emotion rarely seen upon the countenance of the Endless. His eyes widened as he stared at her, a silent, almost begging question in their depths, demanding: Explain.

Nora sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of aeons. She shifted her weight, a palpable reluctance in her posture, but then met his stunned gaze. “Yeah. I felt it. Everything.” Her voice was a low murmur, a secret shared between them. “I was in there, and yeah, I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t feel any breeze, no heat, no cold, no touch… but I felt exactly what you felt when you were dueling Lucifer.” She paused, her eyes clouded with the remembered torment. “The burning through your veins, feeling your insides and flesh get eaten away, the searing heat, the sensation of being burnt alive, unmade molecule by molecule.” A shudder ran through her, but her gaze remained firm. “It was… it was enough. It was enough to know you were still fighting. It was enough to know you were still alive.”

A silent, devastating wave of realization washed over Morpheus. He had poured his emotions into her, a vessel for his despair, but he had never conceived that the raw, agonizing reality of his duel, the literal unmaking and remaking of his form, had been mirrored in her experience within the void. His greatest fear, that she had been shattered by the sensory deprivation, now took on a horrifying new dimension. He hadn’t been able to shield her, even when he believed she was merely in a state of suspended animation. The thought that she had endured his torment, alone and untouchable in that desolate space, ripped through him, a fresh wound in his ancient soul. He was supposed to protect her.

Nora, sensing his distress, the invisible agony that gripped him, softened her gaze. She reached up, her fingers lightly caressing his jaw. “And besides,” she continued, a faint, teasing smirk touching her pale, tired face, “if I’m stuck here resting, then we’re all stuck here resting. We’ve all been through a lot, you included.” She gestured to him with a slight incline of her head, a gentle, knowing accusation. “A little rest won’t kill us. In fact,” her smile widened, “it might just be exactly what we need.”

-

Morpheus, with Nora held carefully in his arms, strode from the ruined throne room into one of the few remaining, albeit still damaged, chambers of his palace. He was still clad in his sleek, dark leather attire, which seemed to accentuate his lean, elegant frame. The air in this room, unlike the dust-choked hall they had just left, felt surprisingly still, almost hushed. Dust motes still danced in the faint, ethereal light filtering through what remained of a grimy, arched window, painting shifting patterns on the stone floor. He walked with his customary, almost supernatural grace to the bed, its ancient frame, though stripped of its former grandeur, still conveyed a sense of deep history.

He gently, with a care that transcended his ancient reserve, laid Nora down upon it. The weight of her body settling caused a soft sigh of protest from the old mattress, a sound almost swallowed by the silence of the room. The bed itself was adorned with a very deep blue comforter and blanket set, once undoubtedly vibrant, but now dull and muted, as if the magic that permeated the Dreaming had been sucked from its very fibers during his long absence. It hung heavily over the sides, a stark visual representation of the realm’s decay.

“You may rest here,” Morpheus said, his voice a low, resonant murmur that seemed to vibrate through the very air around them, a steady current of reassurance.

Nora’s body, already aching with an intense weariness, now felt the true, heavy weight of exhaustion settle deep into her bones. Her eyelids fluttered, and she looked up at him through a haze of fatigue as he started to silently turn and walk away from the bedside, his dark leather attire a silent silhouette against the dimness of the room. A wave of alarm, sharp and unwelcome, cut through her stupor. “Where are you going?” she asked quietly, her voice a fragile whisper, laced with a plea he could not ignore.

Morpheus paused, his steps halting. He turned his head slightly, looking back at her over his shoulder, his ancient eyes, usually unreadable, holding a silent question, a flicker of surprise at her interjection.

Nora’s lips curved into a soft, teasing smirk, a faint echo of the irreverent humor that had sustained them through a century of confinement. “Don’t make me drag you down to this bed, Sandy,” she whispered, her eyes glinting with a challenge he understood far too well.

A long-suffering sigh, one that seemed to carry the weight of ages and countless instances of her stubbornness, echoed in Nora’s mind. But Morpheus acquiesced to her unspoken demand. He walked slowly, his movements still impossibly fluid, to the other side of the bed. As he did, his sleek leather attire shimmered and softened, transforming back into his usual long wool coat and black pants, the familiar fabrics settling around him. He removed his coat and draped it carefully over the back of a lone, wooden chair beside them. With a soft rustle, he settled himself beside Nora, his dark form a stark contrast to the dull blue of the comforter, yet radiating a quiet, unwavering presence that filled the small space with an unexpected sense of peace.

A few moments later, Nora, her movement’s languid and guided by a deep, unconscious exhaustion, turned onto her side and cuddled into Morpheus. Her one hand came to rest gently on his chest, her fingers idly, softly running over the extremely soft black t-shirt he wore. Morpheus, who had instinctually raised his arm as Nora turned into him, held it frozen above her. His ancient eyes, unblinking in the dimness, watched her, a new sensation blossoming within him. She seeks comfort, even in slumber, he mused, a flicker of something akin to wonder stirring in his endless soul. Nora, with her boundless spirit and unwavering loyalty… this closeness she offers, so freely given, so utterly trusting. Slowly, with infinite care, he lowered his arm and wrapped it around Nora’s upper back, his hand gently cupping her shoulder. Nora, operating on instinct and utter depletion, was almost immediately lost to the depths of sleep, her breathing evening out into a soft, steady rhythm, a testament to her utter exhaustion.

This was a very new scenario for Morpheus. To have Nora, so utterly fragile yet so incredibly resilient, nestled so close, utterly trusting in her unconsciousness. Her warmth, her very presence… it is a solace I never wish to be without again. He found his heart warmed by the intimate contact, a surprising and intensely enjoyable sensation that spread through him, quiet and persistent, unlike any dream or nightmare he had ever woven. It was a feeling specifically tied to her, to the unique bond they shared. He lightly gripped Nora’s shoulder with his hand, a gentle squeeze of pure contentment, a silent acknowledgment of the overwhelming joy this moment brought. Perhaps… perhaps rest is not entirely without its merits after all, especially when shared with her. Before finally, carefully, falling into a meditative, light sleep beside her, his presence a dark, protective anchor in the quiet room.

-

As the stillness of Morpheus’s meditative rest settled over the ruined palace, the passage of time became a gentle current rather than a grinding measure. When Nora finally stirred from the deepest sleep she had known in over a century, it was not with a jolt, but a slow, unfolding awareness. Her limbs, accustomed to the hard, unyielding glass, now luxuriated in a softness that felt alien and impossibly comforting. The dull ache that had become a constant companion was gone, replaced by a deep sense of ease.

A soft, contented sigh escaped her lips, and she instinctively burrowed deeper Into the source of warmth beside her. Her leg, in its search for a more comfortable position, hooked around something firm and solid, her knee tucking neatly behind what felt like a remarkably unyielding thigh. Her arm, reaching out in unconscious embrace, splayed across a broad, shallow rising chest. Her head, nestled into a surprisingly comfortable curve, could faintly feel a rhythmic thrumming she recognized, even in her sleepy haze, as a heartbeat. She was, to put it mildly, a human pretzel, thoroughly entwined with Morpheus.

The last tendrils of sleep clung to her, soft and warm, but as her mind began to fully surface, a horrifying clarity descended. This was not a dream. This was Morpheus. And she was currently draped across him like a particularly clingy houseplant.

Her eyes snapped open. The dim light of the room filtered through the tattered window, illuminating the familiar, pale curve of his jaw, only inches from her face. His raven hair, impossibly soft, brushed against her cheek. Oh, God.

A mortified blush, hot and undeniable, spread from her neck to the tips of her ears. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand, the warmth radiating from him. Every inch of her body was pressed against his, a silent, undeniable testament to her unconscious cuddle. The sheer, utter embarrassment was a physical wave, threatening to drown her.

Slowly, carefully, as if a sudden movement might cause the entire universe to unravel, she tried to disentangle herself. Her leg, however, seemed to have developed a will of its own, remaining stubbornly hooked around his. Her hand, plastered to his chest, felt impossibly large and clumsy. She managed to lift her head a fraction, her eyes darting to his face. He was utterly still, his eyes closed, his breathing even and deep. He was still asleep. Thank the Endless Night.

A tiny, hopeful sliver of a thought, desperate and fleeting, whispered in her mind: Maybe he didn’t notice.

At that exact moment, a low, resonant hum, a sound more felt than heard, rippled through their mental link. It was Morpheus. And it was pure, unadulterated amusement. He was not only awake, but he had clearly been awake for some time, silently enjoying her predicament.

Nora’s cheeks burned even hotter. You absolute, smug, infuriating…! Her mental retort was a scramble of indignant, colorful expletives. She could practically feel his silent smirk, a wave of ancient satisfaction radiating from him.

His eyes, those endless pools of starlight, slowly, deliberately, opened. They were filled not with annoyance, or even mere amusement, but with a vast, tender, and deeply, overwhelmingly fluffy fondness. A tiny crinkle formed at the corners of his eyes, a subtle betrayer of his otherwise impassive face.

Good morning, My Star, his thought resonated in her mind, the words drenched in affection, tinged with that silent, knowing mirth. Did you sleep well?

Nora groaned, a tiny, strangled sound that barely disturbed the quiet, even as her cheeks heated with a furious blush at his new nickname for her. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing, for the briefest moment, that the ground would open up and swallow her whole. The humiliation was exquisite. She could feel the gentle, rhythmic stroke of his fingers at the back of her head, where his arm was still wrapped around her.

I… I seem to have… she fumbled for words, both spoken and thought, her mind a chaotic mess of mortification. I seem to have… tangled myself.

A soft, almost imperceptible chuckle vibrated through him, echoing in her mind like warm honey. Indeed, he thought, his mental voice swirling with suppressed laughter. A most… enthusiastic slumber.

He didn’t move. He simply lay there, holding her, his presence a comforting, if currently embarrassing, anchor. The hand at her back stroked her hair again, a slow, tender motion that sent shivers, not of cold or fear, but of pure, dizzying affection down her spine.

Are you… comfortable? She thought, venturing a tiny, hopeful question. It was her only defense. If she was going down, he was coming with her.

His internal response was immediate, overflowing with a earnest, almost aching contentment. More comfortable than I have been in millennia, Nora. Your warmth… it is a rare and precious thing.

He adjusted his grip slightly, pulling her just a fraction closer, a movement so subtle she almost imagined it. His thumb, resting on the soft skin of her upper arm where her hand was still pressed to his chest, began to trace slow, lazy circles, a silent, rhythmic lullaby.

Nora finally opened her eyes again, meeting his gaze. His eyes, usually so serious, were alight with a tender warmth that made her heart ache with a joyful sweetness. The faint, almost imperceptible crinkle at the corner of his eyes deepened, a silent, loving smile.

You know, she thought, a spark of her usual sass returning, emboldened by his overwhelming softness, you could have moved. When I first started… pretzel-ing.

Another silent chuckle, deeper this time, resonated through their link. Perhaps. But then, I would have deprived myself of this… unique experience. And such a rare display of unburdened comfort from you. It is… quite delightful.

The word ‘delightful,’ used by the King of Nightmares to describe her clingy sleeping habits, sent a fresh wave of warm, fuzzy embarrassment through her. But this time, it was mingled with an almost unbearable swell of tenderness. He truly didn’t mind. He liked it. He liked being her human pillow, her tangle of comfort.

She let out a soft, defeated sigh, but a genuine smile touched her lips. She tightened her grip on his coat, burrowing just a little bit closer, abandoning all attempts at disentanglement. If she was a pretzel, she might as well be a happy, comfortable pretzel.

You are truly ridiculous, Sandy, she thought, the affection in her mind boundless and pure.

He simply hummed again, a low, resonant vibration that filled her very being. Perhaps, he conceded, his voice soft and vast, brimming with an unspoken promise of endless comfort. Only for you My Star. And I would not have it any other way.

The silence that settled around them was not empty, but filled with the quiet hum of contentment that emanated from Morpheus. Nora, nestled securely against him, felt the deep, bone-weary exhaustion of her ordeal finally giving way to a heartfelt peace. His rhythmic breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath her head, became a new kind of lullaby, more potent and comforting than any she had ever known. She felt the warmth of his presence seep into her, dispelling the last lingering chill of Hell and the emptiness of the Garden of Perpetual Silence.

A few moments later, a small, black form landed silently on the edge of the bed with a soft thud. Matthew, ever the vigilant, if occasionally awkward, companion, hopped closer, his beady eyes peering at the entangled pair. He cocked his head, a silent question in his gaze, before letting out a soft, almost imperceptible “Caw,” a sound that was more a gentle inquiry than a complaint.

Morpheus, without opening his eyes, simply tightened his arm around Nora, a clear, unspoken message to his raven. All is well, Matthew. We are merely… resting.

Matthew, however, was not easily deterred by silent pronouncements. He hopped a bit closer to Nora’s head, his beady eyes fixed on her. “Well, well, well,” he chirped, his voice a low, teasing rasp. “Look at you, all tangled up like a kitten in a ball of yarn. Someone looks awfully cozy.”

Nora groaned, a tiny, strangled sound that barely disturbed the quiet. She could feel a fresh wave of heat creeping up her neck, staining her cheeks a vibrant crimson.

“And who knew the Boss was such a good cuddle buddy, eh?” Matthew continued, oblivious or simply uncaring of Nora’s mortification, hopping another inch closer. “Usually, he’s more of the ‘brooding in a corner, contemplating the existential dread of a universe without coffee’ type. But here he is, a big, dark, fluffy pillow.”

“Matthew,” Morpheus grumbled, a low, sharp warning that vibrated through the air.

Matthew, though unconcerned, took a very distinct hop back, away from Morpheus, his black feathers ruffling with a theatrical shrug. “Just stating facts, Boss!” he chirped. “No judgment here! Just your ever faithful Raven.”

Nora, her face still warm with embarrassment, felt a chuckle bubble up from deep in her chest. It started as a small, suppressed sound, then blossomed into a full-body, breathless chuckle that shook her frame with silent mirth. She raised her head, looking at Matthew with a fond, exasperated smile that pulled at the corners of her lips. “Oh, Matthew,” she said, her voice soft but clear, carrying a playful chiding, “we really need to work on your timing. It’s simply atrocious.”

Matthew ruffled his feathers, seemingly pleased with his ability to provoke a reaction. “Hey, I’m just here to help!” he chirped, puffing out his small chest.

Morpheus, his eyes now open, looked from Nora to Matthew. “As Matthew so helpfully reminded us with his presence,” he said out loud, his deep voice carrying a dry, almost imperceptible undertone of exasperation, and then he paused, glaring ever so slightly at Matthew, his starlit eyes holding a silent threat, “we still have one more task before the Dreaming can truly begin to mend.”

Nora’s chuckles settled, replaced by a more serious expression as she considered his words. “The ruby,” she said, nodding, her gaze meeting his with understanding.

“Indeed,” Morpheus confirmed, his voice regaining its customary gravitas. “My Helm is recovered. My sand is restored. The ruby remains.”

Matthew hopped onto Nora’s calf, his tiny talons gripping her jeans lightly. “So, what’s the plan, Boss?” he chirped, his tone more serious now, his beady eyes fixed on Morpheus. “Where’s this ruby hiding out?”

Morpheus stared at the crumbling ceiling of the ruined palace, his gaze distant, as if sifting through the very fabric of fate. “The Fates said it was passed from a mother to a son.” After a slight pause, Morpheus continued, his voice a low, resonant hum, “The ruby, though seemingly a simple item, is imbued with immense power. It will be more difficult to reclaim than the sand.”

“So, no kicking down doors and demanding its return?” Matthew asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice, a slight slump to his feathered shoulders.

Morpheus’s lips thinned into a faint, tiny smirk, a fleeting shadow of amusement on his pale face. “Not in this instance, Matthew. We currently have no idea who holds the ruby, and so we cannot anticipate what they will do.”

Nora cut in, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow, “Well, so I guess we can’t just… ask nicely?”

“Unfortunately, not,” Morpheus stated, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “And we must tread with caution. We cannot disrupt the balance of the waking world any more than it has already been done.”

Nora turned her head to face Morpheus fully, her eyes reflecting the dim light of the room. “How do you plan on finding where the ruby is?”

“With my Helm,” Morpheus responded, his voice filled with quiet certainty, “I should be able to find it.”

Matthew hopped in place a little bit on Nora’s calf, a surge of renewed energy seeming to pulse through him. Then, with a frantic flutter of black wings, he took flight. “CAW! Alright, alright, you two! Enough with the lovey-dovey staring! Time is wasting, the realm is literally crumbling, and I, your most indispensable companion, am ready for action! Let’s go! Chops-chops, people! No more lounging around like pampered housecats! We got a ruby to find, and I’m not getting any younger out here, you know!” before darting through the shattered window and vanishing into the twilight sky of The Dreaming.

Nora and Morpheus shared a single, long look. A silent acknowledgment of their chaotic but utterly endearing companion.

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 24: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~From Void to Vow~

The ominous creak of the dark archway door dragged on, a tortured groan of old iron and protesting wood that seemed to stretch the very fabric of Hell’s perpetual twilight. Footsteps, loud and heavy, crunched on the obsidian floor, echoing through the vast atrium, and then they appeared. The same two hulking demons, their skin like cracked earth and eyes like embers, emerged from the oppressive blackness, dragging Nora back into the flickering crimson light of the fire pit.

She was barely on her own two feet, her worn shoes slipping precariously on the polished surface, as if her legs had forgotten the very concept of solid ground. Her head was bowed, a curtain of hair obscuring her face, and her arms hung limp and lifeless beside her, devoid of any tension or will. She looked utterly, frightfully empty – a vessel drained of its spirit, her essence diffused into the suffocating silence of the Garden of Perpetual Silence.

In the span of a single, agonizing heartbeat, Morpheus was there. He moved with a speed that defied his long imprisonment, a dark blur against the gleaming floor. Just as the demons, with a grunt of release, let go of her arms, he caught her, his pale hands firm and steady against her wavering form. He gently lowered her to be kneeling on the ground in front of him, his recently reclaimed helm, a symbol of his restored power, placed down beside them, completely forgotten for the moment. All that mattered was Nora.

Morpheus’s hands, pale and elegant, ran up and down her arms, a frantic search for any warmth, any sign of life. He felt the pervasive chill that clung to her skin, an icy touch that seeped into his very being, a stark contrast to the infernal heat of the coals. His fingers then moved, with an almost desperate tenderness, to either side of her head, his thumbs sweeping upwards to cup the delicate curve of her jawline. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Nora,” he pleaded, his voice a low, resonant murmur that seemed to crack with uncharacteristic desperation, “Nora, please… are you there? Can you hear me? Can you feel me?” He was begging, his ancient eyes, usually pools of starlight and fury, now wide with a raw, pleading vulnerability. Please, respond. Just a flicker.

Matthew, a flurry of black feathers and worried caws, hopped over, his tiny body trembling. He bumped his head, once, then twice, against her thigh, a silent gesture of desperate inquiry. “Nora!” he begged, his voice high with fear, bumping his head against her again. “Nora, come on!”

And then, ever so slowly, Nora’s eyelids, heavy with unseen burdens, fluttered open. Her eyes, clouded and distant at first, found Morpheus’s face, a beacon in the dim, red-lit expanse. A soft, bare whisper, barely audible above the distant clamor of Hell, escaped her lips: “Morpheus.” The word was a fragile thread, but it was there, a spark of recognition in the overwhelming void. And then, with an explosive sigh that seemed to release a century of suspended agony, she collapsed forward into his chest.

She didn’t have the strength to lift her arms, no matter how desperately she yearned to grasp him, to cling to his familiar presence. Her forehead came to rest in the hollow of his shoulder, the smooth fabric of his new leather attire a sudden, grounding reality against her skin. All Morpheus could do was wrap his arms around her, holding her close, her stillness a terrifying weight against him. Please, let her be okay. She has to be okay. He squeezed his eyes shut, a silent, fervent plea echoing in the depths of his ancient mind.

He held her for several tense seconds, the frantic thrum of his own heart mirroring the terrifying silence on her side of their bond. The air, thick with the cloying scent of death and brimstone, seemed to press in on them, amplifying the dreadful sense of vulnerability. Then, a cold, steely rage, ancient and unyielding, began to unfurl within him, pushing back the edges of his fear. Without breaking his protective hold on Nora, he turned his head just slightly, his eyes, burning like twin abyssal stars, fixing on Lucifer.

“I will not forget this,” Morpheus practically growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the atrium, “nor will I ever forgive you. Any future interaction between Hell and The Dreaming, Lightbringer, you will tread with extreme caution.” The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken threats, the underlying power in his tone a stark contrast to his earlier weakness.

With his free hand, he pulled out his familiar leather pouch of shimmering sand. He poured a small pile onto the polished obsidian floor beside them. The golden grains immediately began to undulate, a shimmering, golden curtain rising and coiling around them in a wide, luminous spiral. The ethereal light of the sand pulsed, casting dancing shadows that momentarily softened the dim, infernal illumination of the vast chamber.

Lucifer, who had been watching the scene with an almost terrifyingly cheerful expression, reveling in the cruel irony of Nora’s broken state and the pain it caused Morpheus, suddenly found her sadistic amusement evaporate. Just as the shimmering light began to encompass them, pulling them away from the infernal realm, Morpheus’s voice, now sharp with ancient authority, cut through the air, directed solely at Lucifer. “And one last thing, Morningstar.” He paused, letting the words hang, letting the full weight of his impending declaration sink in. His gaze, cold and unwavering, locked onto Lucifer’s. “Nada is free to go.”

The pronouncement struck Lucifer like a physical blow, though she showed no outward sign beyond a sudden, almost imperceptible stiffening of her perfect posture. It was a final, exquisitely precise thrust of the knife, aimed at the very heart of her perverse pleasure. For ten thousand years, Nada’s continued imprisonment had been a small, private triumph for Lucifer. A living testament to Dream’s past rigidity and a constant, visible thorn in his side. To have that prize, that source of enduring satisfaction, snatched away so effortlessly, declared null and void by the very being she had sought to humble – it was an unbearable insult. The air around Lucifer seemed to crackle with suppressed fury, a silent, burning resentment. With Morpheus’s declaration, echoing with his newly reclaimed authority, Lucifer had absolutely no legal or magical grounds to keep Nada imprisoned and was compelled, by the ancient laws she herself so meticulously upheld, to release her.

~

In the next blink, the infernal atrium, with its burning coals and tormented air, vanished as if it had never been. Morpheus, Nora, and Matthew simply were elsewhere. One moment they were in Hell, and in the next, they were in the ruined throne room of Morpheus’s palace, still kneeling on the ground, just as they had been a moment before. Morpheus still held Nora, her head resting against his shoulder, and Matthew continued to hop anxiously beside them, his small body a bundle of worry. The spot they had seemed to land upon, where shattered marble and crumbling stone should have been, was miraculously clear of any debris, as if the swirling vortex of golden sand had meticulously swept it away for them before dissolving into nothingness around them.

"Nora," Morpheus murmured softly, his voice a low, insistent hum, one hand rubbing up and down her back in slow, soothing sweeps. His touch was light, almost a caress, designed to gentle her back to awareness. He desperately needed a response, any sign that the harrowing experience in Hell's void hadn't irrevocably shattered her. Through the deep, enduring connection of their bond, he began to pour a torrent of emotions directly into her mind, a desperate, targeted effort to reignite the spark within her.

He sent her the pure, unadulterated joy he felt from her very presence, a feeling so ferocious it had bloomed within him during his long solitude. He projected the sharp, unexpected amusement from her whimsical comments, the bizarre questions about giraffes in trousers or rainbow-furred capybaras that had brought light to his long imprisonment. He replayed the keen understanding that had blossomed when she offered her unique perspective on his past trauma with Nada, the incisive, compassionate logic that had begun to mend his ancient pride. He flooded her with the warmth of her own kindness, the selfless empathy she had shown him even when facing her own slow, agonizing demise. He sent the echoes of her laughter, particularly the breathless, joyous sound she made when recounting her absurd dreams, a sound that had been a fleeting connection to his lost kingdom. Every emotion he had gleaned from their shared century, every nuance of her vibrant spirit, he now poured into her, a frantic, desperate offering, as if feeding a starving flame.

Gradually, almost painfully slowly, her arms, heavy and unresponsive moments before, began to stir. They came up, with immense effort, her fingers seeking purchase on the sides of Morpheus's new leather coat. Her touch was so light he could barely feel it, a mere whisper against the dark fabric, yet it was there – a fragile, almost imperceptible thread of contact that pierced through his overwhelming dread. "Nora," he called out again, his voice raw with renewed hope, a desperate plea for more, for confirmation. And he felt it more than heard it, a soft, almost imperceptible breath against his neck: "Sandy?" The word was a fragile question, laced with disbelief, as if she were testing the reality of his presence.

"Yes, Nora. It's me," Morpheus responded instantly, his voice thick with overwhelming relief, a dam almost breaking within him. "You're here with me. You're in The Dreaming. We are safe." His voice, though quiet, was resolute, carrying the weight of ancient power newly re-asserted. She is here. Oh thank the endless night.

For Nora, those last three words, "We are safe," resonated like a hammer blow to glass, shattering the fragile composure she had maintained. He's here. He's safe. He's alive. Matthew's also here. He's safe. He's alive. The thoughts began to loop in her mind, faster and faster, a desperate mantra: Safe. Safe. Safe. They're okay. We're okay. She had focused solely on their survival, on his well-being, on Matthew’s, ignoring her own suffering in the crushing void.

Lucifer, in her twisted cruelty, had sought to inflict the worst agony a mortal could endure: absolute sensory deprivation in the Garden of Perpetual Silence, a void of nothingness designed to break the mind. What the Morningstar could not have anticipated was the nature of the deep, internal anchor bond between Morpheus and Nora. Lucifer was aware of some bonds throughout the universe, but the true depth and unique connection of theirs was beyond her comprehension. And so, while Morpheus had felt nothing from Nora's side, as she had absolutely nothing to project, Nora had felt everything from his.

In that terrible, crushing darkness, where she could see nothing, hear nothing, feel no breeze, no heat, no cold, she had still felt him. The searing pain of the venom burning through Morpheus's veins, the insidious gnawing of the butcher bacterium eating away at his insides and flesh, the terrifying conflagration of the nova, the sensation of being burnt alive. These were not pleasant feelings, far from it. They were agony, pure and unadulterated. And they were stretched out over what felt like endless, agonizing periods, from one wave of torment to the next, a constant, pervasive torment that felt as if it would never end. Yet, they were feelings. They were enough to ground her, anchors in the terrifying, formless void, proof that he was still out there, fighting, living, connected to her. She had clung to every spike of pain, every wave of exhaustion from him, knowing that if he still felt, he still lived. She had held onto that thread, that agonizing awareness, for every endless second she had been trapped.

Now, with Morpheus's voice confirming their shared reality, the dam inside Nora broke completely. The overwhelming wave of joy, of absolute, pure, soul-deep relief that he and Matthew were alive, that they had survived Hell, washed over her. Tears, hot and seemingly endless, streamed from her eyes, soaking into the fabric of his coat against his neck. A choked sob tore from her, her breath catching in her throat as she gasped for air. She was happy, so deliriously, utterly happy, it was almost painful. But beneath that joy, an acute weariness, bone-deep and crushing, asserted itself. She was utterly, completely exhausted. Her weak grip tightened on his coat, an almost desperate clawing, trying to ground herself, to pull him impossibly closer, to ensure he was truly there, truly safe. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest, but her spirit, alight with fierce relief, refused to let go.

Morpheus felt the sudden, desperate clench of her fingers, the warm, wet deluge against his neck. A fierce, aching tenderness bloomed in his chest as her sobs shook her frame, a feeling so vast it threatened to overwhelm his ancient stoicism. Her gasps for breath tore at him, a raw sound of distress that pierced through his victory. He knew the ordeal she had faced in the Garden of Perpetual Silence was designed to break her, and seeing her now, shattered and clinging, confirmed the depth of the torment. His only thought was to offer what comfort he could.

He stopped the slow, soothing sweeps of his hand on her back, instead wrapping one arm firmly around her waist, pulling her even tighter against him. His other hand moved upward, past her shoulder, to cup the back of her neck, fingers splaying against her hair. With a decisive, tender motion, he pressed her head deeper into his shoulder, holding her fast, trying to absorb her tremors. He mumbled into her ear, his voice a low, continuous vibration of reassurance, "I'm here. I'm here with you. You're safe. I'm safe. I'm here. I'm not letting go. I'm never letting you go." The words were for her, but they were also a promise to himself, a vow whispered into the ethereal air of his restored realm.

They stayed like that for what seemed like very long moments, suspended in the quiet solace of their reunion. The air of The Dreaming, usually filled with the gentle hum of creation, felt muted around them, respecting the sheer intimacy of the moment. Gradually, Nora’s breath calmed, evening out from ragged gasps to soft, steady sighs, and the flow of tears against his neck subsided to a gentle dampness. The tremors that had wracked her body slowly, slowly receded, leaving her feeling hollowed out but undeniably present. She pushed ever so slightly against his sides, a faint signal of returning strength, a tentative movement to re-engage with the world. Then, slowly, she raised her head.

Morpheus didn’t remove his hand from the back of her head; instead, he lightly gave a comforting squeeze, his thumb tracing the delicate curve where her neck met her skull. His eyes, usually deep pools of starlight, softened further, filled with a raw, almost painful empathy. His heart, an ancient, cosmic thing that had endured eons of stoicism, now ached with a searing tenderness when he saw her face. Her cheeks were still stained with tear tracks, etched like painful rivers on her pale skin, and her eyes, though no longer vacant, were red and swollen from the intensity of her release. He had never wanted to see her like this, marked by such oppressive distress, her vulnerability laid bare before him, and it cut him deeply that she had experienced such agony. Every tear seemed to burn him, a testament to the suffering she had endured because of him, because of Hell.

Nora, with an unstable hand that still trembled minutely, raised it towards Morpheus’s face. Her fingers, cool and hesitant, gently cupped his jaw, feeling the sharp line of his bone, the smooth, cool texture of his skin. Her thumb began to rub along his cheekbone, a tender, feather-light stroke, a gesture of reassurance for both of them. A soft, but happy-filled, “Hi, Sandy,” escaped her lips, barely a whisper, yet resonating with all the warmth and irreverence he had come to cherish. The familiar nickname, a secret comfort between them, brought a jolt of relief through Morpheus.

He was momentarily static, stunned that even in this raw, vulnerable state, a small portion of the fire, the unique spark of personality that made Nora Nora, shone through, bright and unextinguished. He couldn’t help but let out a very soft grin; it just suddenly appeared on his face, there was no fighting it back. The warmth that bloomed in his chest from her very presence, the sheer joy that his Nora was still with him, spread upward, making his entire face glow almost imperceptibly with that happiness. Nora, seeing that rare grin, after a brief moment of shock, let out a light chuckle. “Oh, now you smile, huh?” she whispered, the words a soft, shared secret between the two of them, as she returned his gaze with a soft smile of her own.

Hearing that familiar sass, the playful irreverence he had come to cherish from Nora, Morpheus couldn’t help but let out a slight chuckle, a low, resonant sound that vibrated against her. It was a sound few had ever heard from him, a genuine expression of mirth. Nora’s eyes widened fractionally, a new glint of mischief shining through the lingering exhaustion. “Oh my,” she murmured, her voice still weak but laced with an undeniable, mock horror. “And the laugh too? Well, the world really is coming to an end.” She managed a faint, teasing smirk.

Morpheus adjusted his grip around her waist, pulling her just ever so slightly closer, tightening the protective circle he had formed around her. His gaze, now filled with an open, unshielded tenderness, met hers. “Oh no, My Star,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur, unable to hide the feeling from her any longer. “The world is most definitely not coming to an end. I would rearrange the cosmos itself, unravel the very threads of creation, if it would keep that smile on your face and allow me to hear your laughter.” His thumb, still at the back of her neck, stroked gently. “Your joy is a melody I would traverse endless nights to hear, your presence a beacon that guides the very flow of my realm.”

As he continued speaking, his voice dropped even further, becoming a barely audible, intensely private murmur, meant only for her ears, for her soul. “You are My Star, Nora. You were the improbable light during my imprisonment, a small, absurd spark in my oppressive gloom that became the blinding, brilliant relief of a possible dawn. You are the light to my darkness, the unexpected constellation in my often shadowed skies. Stars are unique, are they not? They are singular points of radiant warmth, and they serve as navigational guides. You, My Star, help me navigate my own conflicts, the internal wars that have raged within me for millennia. You are the fixed point in my shifting reality, the constant against the chaos. To see you smile, to hear your mirth… it is something I have come to cherish more deeply than any dream, any realm, for it speaks of a future I once thought impossible.” He leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping further, “You are a light, Nora, that has pierced through eons of my quiet darkness. And I would defy any entity, any law, any consequence, to ensure that light never dims. Never.”

Nora was utterly struck speechless. The hand that was cupping his jaw, her thumb, previously stroking his cheekbone, was now frozen in movement, paralyzed by the sheer, overwhelming weight of his words. He… he said all that. All that, to me? He really said all that to me. Her mind, still reeling from the ordeal in Hell, struggled to process the magnitude of his raw, unfiltered proclamation. Rearrange the cosmos? A light to his darkness? A navigational guide? She knew he felt things deeply, knew there was a magnified connection, but to hear it articulated with such dreamlike intensity, with such utter devotion from a being as ancient and formidable as Dream of the Endless… it was almost too much. Her gaze, wide and unwavering, remained locked on his, trying to decipher if this was real, if she was truly worthy of such a universe-altering sentiment. It felt both impossible and undeniably, wonderfully real, a perfect dream woven just for her.

She couldn't find the words to respond. Her jaw worked, her mouth opening and closing, opening and closing, a silent struggle to articulate the tempest of emotions swirling within her. Anything she tried to form, any phrase that came to mind, felt utterly inadequate, too small, too mortal to encompass the vastness of what he had just bestowed upon her.

Internally, Nora reached, searching for the link in their minds, the bond that connected them. It felt almost dormant on her side, quieted by the oppressive emptiness of the Garden of Perpetual Silence, only stirred by the agony of Morpheus's struggle. She had to look for it, stretching her awareness, almost forcing it to open back up again.

The bond, which until this moment had been empty from Nora's side – a silent void where Morpheus had received no projected feelings – suddenly seemed to spark. Morpheus felt it, a faint, almost imperceptible warmth, a flicker like a distant, dying ember suddenly rekindling. Then, with astonishing, breathtaking intensity, it flared to life, a rush of sensation that felt like floodgates opening. Morpheus had to physically stop himself from gasping aloud at the sheer force of the sudden emotions Nora was sending him. It was a torrent, raw and vibrant, that surged through their link, an explosion of feeling that threatened to overwhelm his senses, a stark contrast to the quiet empathy he had carefully projected to her for decades.

Nora, with fierce concentration, focused on sending what she was feeling through the bond to Morpheus. You make me happy. So utterly, completely happy. The words were less words and more pure emotional waves, painting vivid landscapes in his mind. You make me feel whole. Like I have finally found where I belong, where every scattered piece of my soul converges. She projected her absolute conviction: I don't for one second regret anything. Not getting locked up with you, not spending all that time in the glass. I would go through every single moment of it again, every fear, every agonizing second, if it brought us back to this exact place, to this moment, with you. I couldn't imagine being with anyone else, anywhere else, in the entire, vast expanse of the universe. Her feelings were a boundless ocean of devotion, gratitude, and a love so absolute it was almost terrifying in its purity.

This… this is what she feels? Morpheus's ancient mind reeled, bombarded by the sheer, overwhelming beauty of her transmitted emotions. He had known her compassion, her wit, her defiance, but this... this unburdened outpouring of unconditional affection, directed entirely at him, was a revelation that shook him to his core. The warmth in his chest intensified, spreading through his entire being, solidifying the delicate joy that had blossomed. It was a deep, almost dizzying vindication of his quiet affection for her, a fulfillment he hadn't known he desperately craved.

Yet, even after pouring out the depths of her soul through their bond, Nora didn't think it was enough. The intensity of her feelings, the sheer boundless love, still felt too vast to be contained by mere thought. She couldn't not show him physically as well. After just a brief, almost imperceptible moment of hesitation, her eyes, now shining bright with unshed tears and a burgeoning hope, flickered from his cosmic gaze down to his lips. They were slightly full, with a light rosy tinge, a subtle contrast to his pale skin. Then, her gaze snapped back up to his eyes, a silent question, a daring challenge, a world of affection in their depths. She leaned forward, slowly, deliberately, bridging the last few inches between them.

Morpheus's breath hitched, a faint, unheard sound. His starlit eyes, which had been locked on hers, dropped to her lips, watching their approach, a dizzying anticipation blooming in his ancient heart. He too, with agonizing slowness, began to lean in, his pale face drawing closer, closer, until their breaths mingled, a soft, ethereal sigh in the quiet of the ruined throne room. They were only a few millimeters apart, the air shimmering with unspoken desire, with a century of shared solitude and a lifetime of burgeoning, impossible connection. This was it. The moment, vast and fragile, hung suspended in the very fabric of The Dreaming, a universe waiting for two souls to finally meet.

Then, a loud, piercing "CAW!" ripped through the sacred stillness, shattering the exquisite tension like a thrown stone.

Nora, startled, recoiled instantly, leaning back from Morpheus with a sharp gasp. Her head whipped to her right, her eyes wide as she found Matthew a few feet away, perched awkwardly on a crumbled pillar. He shuffled one clawed foot, his black feathers ruffling with feigned nonchalance, as if he hadn't just deliberately interrupted something cosmically important. He let out another, slightly more sheepish, squawk before proclaiming, "Hey, Nora! Glad to have you back!" It was quintessential Matthew: the perpetually anxious, occasionally brilliant, and unfailingly awkward third wheel. He had been a silent, suffering witness to their tender reunion, trapped between the desire to give them space and the undeniable, catastrophic awkwardness of what was about to happen directly in front of him. Clearly, his self-preservation instinct (or perhaps just his internal monologue screaming at him) had won the day.

Nora huffed out a laugh, a breathless sound that bordered on a groan, and shook her head. "Hello, Matthew," she said in a placating, almost chiding tone, as if speaking to a mischievous toddler. Her gaze, still soft with lingering emotion, flickered back to Morpheus.

He was frozen, statue-still, his face a mask of carefully controlled fury. Through their bond, Nora caught a tiny, almost imperceptible hint of pure murder and incandescent rage radiating from him. It might be time for a new Raven, Morpheus thought, the sentiment laced with dangerous ice, directed with chilling clarity at the cawing figure.

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

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