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angelicwolf98 · 2 days ago

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I’ve always felt so bad for Rachel. I’m glad it was Nora who convinced Morpheus to help ease her pain in the end. Really shows the depth of their bond and that he’s willing to listen to her. 😊🥰😍

Chapter 20: 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

~Constantine’s Farewell~

Morpheus and Nora reappeared in a living room, the lingering, ethereal effects of a bright and sunny dream melting away like morning mist. The air, which had moments before shimmered with the golden haze of slumber, grew dim, the mundane reality of the room settling in. Morpheus, his voice a deep, commanding resonance, cut through the fading dreamscape. "Constantine. Wake up."

As Johanna’s vision sharpened, the bright cheer of her dream dissolved, replaced by the shadowed familiarity of her Rachel’s living room. The abrupt transition from sun-drenched tranquility to the present gloom made her eyes sting. "What did you do to me?" she rasped, her voice thick with sleep and confusion.

"It was the sand," Morpheus replied, his form tall and stark against the growing shadows.

Johanna’s eyes, still adjusting, darted around the room, a sudden, desperate thought seizing her. "Where is Rachel?" Before Morpheus could answer, the realization hit her, sharp and cold. "Rach!" she called out, a guttural cry of fear, and bolted towards the bedroom.

Morpheus and Nora followed, stepping into the dim, hushed bedroom. The air felt heavy, stagnant, imbued with a strange, unnatural stillness. Rachel lay in the bed, her body tragically thin and gaunt, her skin a pallid gray as if all life and nourishment had been utterly drained from her. Her breath was shallow, almost imperceptible, and her eyes, though slightly open, held no light. She was barely clinging to existence, a fragile wisp of a person.

As Nora entered, her heart ached at the sight. She heard a faint, struggling whisper, barely audible. "Jo? Jo, is that you?" Rachel's voice was a fragile thread of sound, stretched thin by her suffering.

Johanna was already by the bedside, perched on the edge, her hand gently grasping Rachel’s skeletal fingers. Her face, usually so composed, was contorted with a raw, unprotected grief. "Yes, it's me," she murmured, her voice uncharacteristically soft, filled with a desperate tenderness. "It's Jo."

Morpheus moved to the other side of the bed, his presence a stark, otherworldly contrast to the human sorrow in the room. His gaze fell upon Rachel's other hand, clasped loosely on the crumpled sheets. There, nestled securely in her grasp, was his leather pouch of sand. He reached out slowly, his pale, elegant fingers carefully encircling the worn leather. The silence in the room seemed to stretch, thick and heavy, as he began to pull the pouch away.

As the sand pouch left Rachel's hand, her body seemed to deteriorate further before their eyes. A shiver ran through her, and her already pale skin grew even more ashen. She began to mumble and cry out, a pained, whimpering sound, her fingers weakly clawing at the air where the pouch had been. "No... give it back... it hurts..." The words were slurred, barely coherent, but the agony in them was undeniable.

Morpheus took a few steps away from the bed, turning towards Nora, the reclaimed pouch held firmly in his grasp. But Nora, her hand already raised, stopped him, pressing her palm gently against his chest. "Wait." Her gaze moved from Rachel and Johanna on the bed to Morpheus, then back again, her eyes filled with a desperate plea. Hoping to repay Johanna’s unexpected kindness, if only slightly, and hurting deeply at Rachel's visible suffering, Nora looked up at him through her lashes. "Can you do anything?" she asked softly, almost a plea. "Please. Is there anything, anything at all, that you can do?" She then sent a thought to him, a clear, desperate pulse through their link: She's hurting. This isn’t just about your sand. This is about a life, about someone who deserves peace.

He looked between Nora and the two women on the bed, his ancient gaze briefly shadowed by something akin to discomfort, an unfamiliar ache perhaps, before a resolution hardened his expression. The raw, unprotected suffering of a mortal, so close to him, so clearly linked to his lost tool. Then, a faint, almost imperceptible nod of decision passed over his face. He turned to Johanna. "Wait outside."

Johanna, her face streaked with tears she hadn't bothered to wipe away, her shoulders slumped with a century of accumulated cynicism and recent heartbreak, quickly squeezed Rachel’s hand one last time. "I'll be right outside, Rach," she whispered, her voice cracking. Then, with a visible effort, she stood and briskly walked out of the room.

Morpheus walked to the side of the bed. With a deliberate, almost ritualistic movement, he unfastened the drawstring of the leather pouch. The golden, shimmering sand, the very essence of dreams, spilled out into his palm, catching the faint light from the window. His gaze, usually so distant, was now focused with an intense, ancient purpose. Slowly, carefully, he raised his hand and lightly dusted a sprinkle of the small golden grains over Rachel's head. As soon as the shimmering sand touched her hair, dissolving into her form like mist, the immediate, profound relief was almost palpable in the room. The lines on her face, scrunched up in pain, instantly eased out, softening her features. Her shallow breaths deepened, and she took a long, slow, deep breath out, a soft sigh escaping her lips, before becoming utterly still, a peaceful calm settling over her.

Nora, her heart aching for Rachel’s ordeal, walked up behind Morpheus. Rachel’s shallow breaths were a fragile echo in the dim room, and Nora’s own breath caught, a silent plea for solace. She reached out, taking his free hand—the one not occupied by the sand pouch—and gave it a firm, grounding squeeze, as if to tether him, and perhaps herself, to the undeniable pain unfolding before them. Morpheus, without turning, squeezed her hand back, a rare, almost imperceptible tremor in his touch, a silent acknowledgment of their shared empathy, a brief moment of connection in the somber room.

They then turned and walked out of the apartment building into the brisk London air. Johanna was pacing back and forth outside, her hands tucked into her pockets, her movements sharp, agitated. When she saw them emerge and walk towards her, she stopped pacing abruptly, her shoulders tensing.

As they reached her, Morpheus's voice was quiet, devoid of its usual resonance, carrying a somber finality. "She died in peace, in her sleep."

Johanna swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the pavement, her expression unreadable. "I'll let her dad know," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. After a pause, she looked up, her eyes, though still red, holding a new, unexpected softness. "You know, she's actually a good person. A decent sort. There are a few of them out there, you know."

Morpheus took a second to reflect on her words, his ancient gaze sweeping over the urban landscape, taking in the myriad of lives around them. Then, his voice, still quiet, held a hint of acknowledgment, a subtle shift from his usual aloofness. "I know."

Johanna looked towards Matthew, who landed a few feet away from them on the ground with a soft thud, hopped a few times, then stood still, preening a feather. She nodded towards the raven, her tone gruff but laced with genuine concern. "Look after him," she said to Matthew. "He needs it." Then, she looked towards Nora, her gaze quickly flitting between Nora and Morpheus before locking eyes with Nora again. "You too," she added, her voice softening imperceptibly, and then, with a quick, knowing wink, she began to walk away, her trench coat flapping around her like a protective cloak.

She had taken maybe ten steps when Morpheus called out, his voice a sudden, sharp command that cut through the city's din. "Constantine!"

Johanna paused, then turned around, looking at him with a questioning eyebrow raised, her posture defensive. Morpheus’s eyes met hers, holding a profound, ancient promise. "That nightmare won't bother you anymore."

She looked him over for a second, a flicker of surprise, then understanding, in her eyes, before giving a curt nod. Then, she turned around again and walked away, disappearing around the corner of the building without another word.

When she was gone, Nora turned to Morpheus, a soft, appreciative smile on her face. "That was nice of you."

He grumbled softly, a sound that vibrated through their mental link, almost a purr of discomfort at the compliment, a rare crack in his stoic facade. "I can do nice things... occasionally."

Nora stared up at him, her smile widening into a playful smirk, a hint of teasing in her eyes. “Uh-huh. Occasionally. Like, when you decide to start wearing colors other than black. Or the day you try a new facial expression that isn’t your usual brooding intensity or mild annoyance. I’m holding out for a full-on grin, Sandy. Just one.”

Matthew, who had been perched silently on the ground a few steps away from them, suddenly let out a loud, shocked “Caw!” that was unmistakably a burst of laughter. He flapped his wings frantically, launching himself off the pavement as if physically startled by Nora’s audacity. “Oh, man! You tell ‘em, Nora!” he cawed again, circling once before darting away, a black streak against the grey London sky, clearly making a hasty retreat.

Before Matthew could fly too far away, Nora yelled, her voice cutting through the urban din, “Hold on, Matthew! We still got another stop to make!” The sound of her voice, clear and unyielding, seemed to tug at the very air, pulling him back.

Matthew circled around sharply, his black wings blurring as he executed a surprisingly tight turn that defied avian physics. He landed neatly, if a little dramatically, on Nora’s outstretched arm. The unexpected weight, though light, made her shift slightly, a small huff of breath escaping her. He didn’t say anything, but he tweaked his head slightly to the side, his beady eyes fixed on Nora as if to say, Yes?

Nora looked at Morpheus, a wry half-smile on her face, a glint of shared mischief in her eyes. “You said we had to go to Hell, right?” she asked, her tone almost conversational, as if she were inquiring about the nearest post office.

Matthew, still perched on her arm, let out a loud, incredulous “What?!” The single word was laced with profound shock, a dawning horror, and a clear, emphatic declaration that he had definitely not signed up for this. He looked from Nora to Morpheus, then back again, his tiny raven heart seemingly doing frantic somersaults in his feathery chest. “Hell? You mean, like, the actual Hell? With the fire and the brimstone and the paperwork?” He gave a nervous little hop on Nora’s arm, his grip tightening imperceptibly. He looked quickly between Morpheus and Nora, a wave of avian despair washing over him as he realized there was no conceivable way he was getting out of this, or that they were changing their minds. He then let out a low sigh, the avian equivalent of resignation. “Fine. Fuck it! Let’s go to Hell!”

Morpheus looked at Nora, a flicker of something akin to exasperated fondness in his ancient eyes. He realized there was no way he could talk her out of this. With a subtle, almost imperceptible nod to himself, he took out his sand pouch. With a sweeping gesture, he poured the shimmering golden sand around them. The air immediately thickened, swirling with iridescent light, and then, with a soft whoosh, they disappeared in a golden vortex.

Next Chapter

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

#the sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless #dream #morpheus x reader #king of dreams #netflix sandman #lord morpheus #sandman #netflix the sandman

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angelicwolf98 · 2 days ago

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angelicwolf98 · 2 days ago

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angelicwolf98 · 2 days ago

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They’re connection is so stinking cute I can’t get enough of it! 😆🥰😍

Chapter 19: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

~The Unforgettable Tune~

Nora emerged from the bathroom feeling like a brand-new woman. After a few stumbles, some soap in her eye that she furiously scrubbed out while cursing, and getting used to the sensation of a piece of material tucked between her cheeks (a thought that made her privately muse, women these days are absolutely crazy), she felt, dare she say, human. She threw her old dress, which felt thin and dated against the modern fixtures, into the bin she found in the bathroom, its silent fall a punctuation mark on a century of suspended animation, and then made her way back across the hall into the office where she’d left Morpheus.

She found Morpheus standing in the center of the room, in the exact same spot she’d left him. He hadn’t moved an inch, a statue of pale skin and raven hair, looking utterly out of place amidst the mundane clutter of Johanna’s office. Johanna, for her part, was still engrossed in her search, meticulously looking through other artifacts and boxes. The only sounds in the room were her muffled mumbling and the rustle of the items she moved.

When Nora approached Morpheus, she saw his shoulders drop just slightly, an almost imperceptible movement that spoke volumes of his relief that she was back. She dared to do it, feeling a sudden, overwhelming urge for connection. She wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her forehead into the middle of his back, squeezing just slightly, taking a second to connect and breathe. Their emotions, linked as they were, seemed to calm down just slightly, a shared tranquility settling between them.

When she unwrapped her arms, she stepped beside him and, without a moment's hesitation, grabbed his hand, her fingers a warm anchor in his pale, elegant ones. She looked up at him, a very small smile touching her lips, and sent a single thought to him: Hi.

He looked back at her, his ancient eyes filled with a profound fondness that flowed to her through their link. Hello, Nora, he sent back, his mental voice deep and resonant. Do you feel better?

Yes, surprisingly, she thought, a genuine lightness in her tone. Bathrooms nowadays are much nicer. Much more handy. A small, amused hum, a sound more felt than heard, radiated from him, conveying his quiet contentment that she felt better and cleaner. After staring at her for a few more seconds, a faint blush began to rise in Nora’s cheeks, and she had to turn away, the intensity of his gaze too much even after all these years. He just smirked to himself in his head, the amusement palpable in their silent connection.

As Johanna continued her meticulous search around the room, she moved from one stacked box to another, her movements brisk and efficient despite the chaos. Suddenly, she banged her foot against a table leg, letting out a sharp curse. "Are you okay?" Nora asked, her voice soft but clear. Johanna merely grunted in response, already distracted.

But then, Nora’s eyes caught on something: a box shoved haphazardly to the side. Peeking out from beneath a pile of yellowed parchments was a small, familiar item: a photo booth strip, with three sequential pictures. A wave of nostalgia, sharp and unexpected, washed over her. She moved a dusty grimoire out of the way to take a closer look, her fingers tracing the faded images.

“Is this you?” Nora asked, holding up the photo strip, her voice barely a whisper of surprise.

Johanna paused her swearing, her head snapping up to look at what Nora was holding. “Yeah, why?” she asked, a flicker of distant memory in her eyes. “Do I look different?”

Nora took another second, studying the youthful, vibrant face in the photographs before looking at Johanna, staring her in the eye. “No,” Nora said softly, her voice filled with a quiet certainty that transcended the decades. “You look happy.”

Johanna approached Nora, taking the picture from her. She looked at it for a second, a fleeting ghost of a smile touching her lips before vanishing. Then, as if a sudden, stark realization had struck her with the force of a physical blow, her gaze snapped to Morpheus.

“Shit…” she muttered, her eyes widening, the word a sudden, sharp intake of breath. “I know where your sand is.”

The scene shifted, and the trio found themselves walking down a bustling London street, the damp air thick with the scent of exhaust and damp concrete. Rain, having just ceased, left the pavements slick and reflective, mirroring the glow of distant streetlights. They approached a sturdy, red-brick apartment building, its numerous windows, some lit, some dark, reflecting the grey, bruised sky. The rhythmic thrum of city life, a symphony of distant sirens, chatter, and rumbling buses, enveloped them.

As they walked up to the entrance, Nora turned to Johanna, her curiosity piqued. "Who was the woman in the picture?" she asked, the image of the smiling woman still vivid in her mind.

Johanna, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her trench coat, glanced at Nora, a wry smirk touching her lips. "Her name's Rachel. Rachel Moodie."

"Did she do magic as well?" Nora pressed, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.

Johanna scoffed, a short, sharp sound devoid of humor. "God, no. Absolutely not." She paused, then added, a softer, more reflective tone entering her voice, "Actually, she's a decent person. Proper job, nice family. Fucking hated all the magic stuff."

Morpheus cut in, his voice a low, resonant hum in Nora's mind, laced with a subtle undercurrent of ancient judgment. "And yet you left the sand with her?"

Johanna bristled slightly, her shoulders tensing. She pulled one hand from her pocket, gesturing vaguely. "No, I did not leave it with her. I sort of… left it. And her." She finished the sentence with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if the matter was closed.

Nora let out a soft, understanding "Oh," the single syllable filled with a shared melancholy.

"I was staying at her place," Johanna continued, her voice gaining a defensive edge, as if anticipating an argument. "She interpreted that as us living together, which we weren't. We were just... occupying the same space. So one night, I just went on a job and never went back." She shrugged, the movement sharp and decisive.

"Why?" Morpheus asked, his dark gaze unwavering, a hint of ancient curiosity in his expression.

Johanna met his eyes, a world-weariness settling on her features that seemed deeper than her years. "Because it never ends well, does it?"

Morpheus stopped walking, his tall, dark form casting a long shadow on the damp pavement. His gaze fixed on her, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "What?"

Both Nora and Johanna stopped too, the city's background hum suddenly seeming louder in the stillness of their conversation. Johanna looked at Morpheus, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor in her voice. "Love."

Morpheus considered her words for a long second, his eyes shifting to Nora's face, then back to Johanna. "I wouldn't say that." A profound, quiet certainty underpinned his statement, almost a rebuke.

Johanna gave a small huff, a sound of exasperation and perhaps a hint of bitter amusement, before resuming her walk. Nora hung back for just a second, looking at the back of Morpheus's head in slight shock. What? Then, shaking her head slightly, she hurried to catch up.

"I don't think you've noticed, but people tend to get hurt around me," Johanna said, her voice a little softer now, less defensive. "It was safer for her if I left."

"Did you tell her that?" Nora asked, her voice quiet, a touch of empathy for Rachel in her tone.

"No," Johanna replied, a hint of resignation in her tone, her gaze fixed on the building ahead. "I suppose I'll have to now." They had reached the main door to the apartment building. Johanna walked up to the row of buzzers, scanning the names. "It's been six months," she muttered to herself, her finger tracing a name on the list, almost as if willing it to disappear. "She might have moved house. Please have moved house." But then her finger stopped abruptly. She saw Rachel Moodie's name clearly listed on one of the doorbells. "Oh, bollocks."

She pushed the button, a sharp, almost violent jab, and waited, a tense silence stretching between them. "Maybe we'll get lucky and she won't be in," she mumbled, but she was cut off by the faint bzzzz of the door buzzing open, almost immediately after her finger left the button. Johanna looked at the door, a confused frown on her face. "That's weird. She didn't even ask who it was. Maybe she's expecting someone. This could get awkward. More awkward, even." She reached for the handle, pushed the heavy door open slightly, then looked back at Morpheus and Nora. "Wait here."

"I'm coming with you," Morpheus stated, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

"No, you're not," Johanna retorted instantly, her cynical edge back, sharper than before. "Do you have any idea how much she probably hates me right now? All the reasons she has to slam a door in my face? Don't you have any ex-girlfriends?"

Morpheus paused for a second, and a face of what looked like previous trauma and slight horror came over his features – a brief, profound flash of an ancient, unresolved pain that Nora felt acutely through their link. He quickly composed himself, his expression hardening. "I will not wait long."

Johanna huffed out a laugh, a dry, humorless sound that contained a hint of genuine amusement at his discomfort. "You won't have to, mate. She's going to slam the door in my face, just like I'm about to do to you right now." And at that moment, with a swift, deliberate movement, she closed the door with a decisive click, plunging them back into the muted city sounds.

A moment later, a flutter of black wings broke the silence directly above them. Matthew, having apparently circled back, descended with surprising grace and landed gently on top of Nora’s head. His talons, surprisingly light, gripped her hair.

Nora, startled but not alarmed, tilted her head up very slightly, a soft smile touching her lips. “Hello, Matthew,” she murmured, her voice warm.

“Oh, hey, Nora,” Matthew replied, his voice a casual, slightly gravelly chirp, as if perching on a human head was an everyday occurrence.

Morpheus’s deep voice, resonant and carrying an ancient weight, cut through the air. “You’ve returned.”

“Oh, yeah, boss,” Matthew chirped, ruffling his feathers on Nora’s head. “Just checking the perimeter. All’s good. Nothing untoward in this neck of the woods, far as I can tell.”

Nora chuckled softly at the raven’s nonchalant demeanor, a fond, amused sound escaping her lips. She could feel the slight shifting of his weight, a comforting, familiar presence. Morpheus, meanwhile, remained impassive, his gaze fixed on the closed door, no doubt contemplating Johanna’s unusual departure and Matthew’s sudden return. The scent of damp brick and lingering city grit filled the air around them.

Nora shifted slightly, careful not to dislodge Matthew. The air felt heavy with unspoken thoughts, with the weight of Johanna’s abrupt departure and Morpheus’s lingering concentration on the door. She wanted to lighten the mood, to steer their conversation away from the tense unknown.

“So, Sandy,” Nora began, her voice gaining a playful lightness, “quick question, purely hypothetical, of course.” She paused, then tilted her head back just enough to catch his gaze, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “If you had to pick, which would be worse: always having that unbearable itch in the middle of your back that you can’t quite reach, or perpetually feeling like you’ve forgotten something crucially important, but you can never remember what it is?” She waited, a small smile playing on her lips, watching for any flicker of reaction on his usually impassive face.

Morpheus considered her question, his features remaining still for a moment that stretched. Then, a subtle, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed a flicker of amusement. "The latter, by far," he stated, his mental voice dry and deliberate. "An absence of knowledge, a void where understanding should be, is a far more pervasive discomfort than a fleeting physical irritation."

Matthew, perched on Nora’s head, ruffled his feathers, then leaned down to look at Nora with a beady eye. "How many times do you ask the Boss these kinds of things, Nora?" he chirped, a hint of exasperation in his tone. "Honestly, he gets all serious. Me? I'd take the forgotten thing. What you don't know can't haunt you, right? Better a mystery than a permanent itch. Though," he continued, preening a bit, "that reminds me of this one: would I rather constantly have the song 'Never Gonna Give You Up' stuck on a loop in my head, or only be able to communicate through interpretive dance?"

Nora blinked, utterly confused. Her brow furrowed. "What... what's 'Never Gonna Give You Up'?" she asked, looking between Matthew and Morpheus, neither of whom seemed to understand her bewilderment.

Matthew, oblivious to Nora’s cultural gap, just flapped his wings. “Regardless, it seems that girl’s been in there for a while,” he chirped, turning his head towards the apartment door.

At that exact moment, Morpheus seemed to sense something, his head tilting infinitesimally. A flicker of ancient awareness crossed his face. He disappeared with a silent, abrupt movement, taking Nora with him. One moment they were there, the next, the space they occupied was empty. Matthew was left alone, squawking indignantly as his perch had suddenly disappeared from underneath him, sending him flapping wildly in the damp London air. “Hey! Where’d you go, Boss? Nora!” he squawked, circling the now-empty patch of pavement.

Next Chapter

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

#dream #morpheus #king of dreams #the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #netflix the sandman #netflix sandman #lord morpheus #sandman

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angelicwolf98 · 2 days ago

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Johanna’s kindness towards Nora is so sweet! I can only imagine how much better she’ll feel all cleaned up and in new clothes! 😊🥰

Chapter 18: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

~The Call of Nature~

The cool London air remained, but now a steady, insistent drumming announced the arrival of a downpour. Morpheus, Nora, and Matthew moved instinctively, finding shelter under a shallow overhang of the chapel, just at the edge of the steps where the stone remained dry. The rain now poured, sheeting down in thick, cold curtains beyond their small, sheltered space.

Nora looked down at Matthew, who was still perched on the low, crumbling wall, ruffling his damp feathers. “Hey, Matthew,” she said softly, her voice carrying easily in the sheltered quiet. “Would you prefer to stand on my arm or my shoulder? So you’re not on the ground.”

Matthew cocked his head, considering, then hopped nervously. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice a little muffled. “That’d be quite nice and thoughtful, actually. Thank you.”

A small smile touched Nora’s lips, a genuine warmth spreading through her at his earnest response. She gently extended her arm, bending it at the elbow to create a comfortable, level perch. With a flutter of black wings, Matthew launched himself, stumbling slightly as he landed, his talons scrabbling for purchase before finally gripping her sleeve lightly. Nora then slowly straightened up, adjusting to the unexpected, yet strangely comforting, weight. Matthew, a steady, warm presence, was now perched securely on her arm, occasionally ruffling his feathers to shed the last bits of dampness.

Morpheus’s neutral voice broke the quiet. “Who sent you, Matthew?”

“Lucienne did,” Matthew chirped, settling his weight.

“Do you know who I am?” Morpheus asked, his gaze fixed on the raven.

Matthew let out a big sigh, a surprisingly human sound for a bird. "Not entirely, no. I don't even know who I am anymore. A couple hours ago, I died in my sleep and now I'm a bird. Like, I used to have thumbs, now I have these things." He flapped his wings for emphasis, and accidentally smacked Nora lightly in the face with a damp wing. "Oh, God, sorry!" he squawked, flinching back, his beak nudging her cheek apologetically. "Still getting used to... all of this. These things are really unwieldy."

Nora chuckled softly, a gentle sound that seemed to absorb his agitation. "Oh, it's okay, Matthew," she murmured, her voice warm and reassuring. She lifted her free hand, slowly, carefully, and lightly stroked the smooth, damp feathers on his head. Matthew tensed for a moment, then leaned almost imperceptibly into the touch, a strange, comforting peace settling over him as her fingers gently ruffled his new plumage.

“Yes,” Morpheus replied, his voice as unyielding as stone. “And you must use them to fly back to The Dreaming. This world isn’t safe.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Matthew squawked, agitated. “I lived my whole life here! That’s why Lucienne sent me—to help you guys.”

“My last raven came here to help me,” Morpheus stated, his eyes distant.

“Yeah? And where is he now?” Matthew challenged, his voice sharp with defiance.

Morpheus looked down, a pause stretching between them, thick with unspoken history. “Her name was Jessamy,” he said, the name spoken with a quiet fondness that softened the hard edge of his voice. He looked back up at Matthew, his expression turning somber. “She died trying to help me.”

Matthew let out a soft, mournful caw. “I’m sorry. Look, at least let me help you find this woman. If she’s asleep, then we probably got five or six hours before she’s on the move again.”

Morpheus looked at Matthew, a flicker of something akin to surprise, as if the raven had finally uttered something useful. “If she’s asleep, I know exactly where to find her.”

The scene snapped. Johanna Constantine sat bolt upright in her apartment bed, her chest heaving, slick with sweat. Her eyes, wide with the lingering terror of a fresh nightmare, darted around the room. “For fuck’s sake,” she gasped, her voice raw. “How did you find me?”

Morpheus stood in her living room, impossibly tall and clad in his dark coat, looking utterly out of place amidst the mundane clutter of her life. Nora stood beside him, a silent, comforting presence. Matthew was nowhere in sight, likely flying outside.

“You were dreaming,” Morpheus said, a slight tilt of his head, his voice neutral. “But it wasn’t only a dream, was it? It was a memory. No wonder you do not sleep.”

Johanna stayed silent for a long moment, her eyes fixed on him. Then, she lowered her head, her gaze falling to the floor. “Maybe I don’t deserve to.”

“Perhaps not,” Morpheus conceded. “But I could make it go away.”

Johanna’s head snapped up, a glint in her eyes. “Only if I help you find your sand, though.”

Morpheus’s lips thinned, a hint of his ancient disdain showing. “Locating anything in this place may require more magic than even you can muster.”

Nora lightly tapped his arm, her expression chiding. “Hey,” she whispered, “don’t be rude.”

Johanna chuckled slightly at Nora’s intervention, a rough, dry sound. “I’ll look in my office.” As she walked away, heading towards a closed door, she called over her shoulder, “Try not to clean up while I’m gone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Morpheus cut in, his voice firm, following her. “You have a gift for disappearing.”

Johanna laughed again, a sharper sound this time. “Alright, but if the mess in here offends you, wait till you see my office.” She chuckled slightly, disappearing through the doorway.

Nora followed Morpheus, stepping into Johanna’s office, and immediately felt a profound sense of organized chaos. It was less an office and more a meticulously curated, yet overflowing, repository of the bizarre and arcane. Boxes, some ancient and leather-bound, others modern cardboard, were stacked precariously high, threatening to topple with every heavy step. They spilled forth a chaotic assortment of knick-knacks, arcane artifacts, and strange, unidentifiable tokens that shimmered faintly in the dim light filtering through a grimy window. Piles of yellowed parchment vied for space with dusty grimoires, their covers cracked and brittle, while bizarre, unsettling objects lay half-buried beneath layers of forgotten clutter – a dried, shrunken head next to a pristine porcelain doll, a tangle of rusty chains draped over a shimmering crystal ball. It was a space where, if you knew exactly what you were looking for, you might, with great effort, find it, but if you didn’t, you were utterly, hopelessly lost.

Nora took a quick glance over the overwhelming collection, then gravitated towards a dusty shelf crammed with what looked like antique scientific instruments. She absently picked up a small, brass astrolabe, turning its delicate gears and plates with her fingers, a quiet tinkering amidst the clamor of the office.

Johanna grunted, straining as she moved a weird metal crossbow thing from one teetering pile to another. Dust motes danced in the sparse shafts of light. “You seem pretty attached to your sand,” she commented, glancing at Morpheus, her voice a little breathy with effort.

“It’s not just an object,” Morpheus replied, his voice level, his gaze sweeping over the chaotic room with an expression of mild distaste. “It’s a part of me.”

“If that’s true, how’d you happen to lose it?” she retorted, adjusting her grip on the crossbow.

“It was stolen,” Morpheus stated, his voice tight with ancient displeasure. “By another magic user called Burgess.”

Johanna’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with surprise. “Oh, the old Demon King himself, eh? Everyone used to say he was a fake. Said he had the Devil locked up in his basement. How the fuck did you—” She cut herself off mid-sentence, her mouth hanging slightly open as a slow, dawning realization spread across her face, draining the color from it like a tide. Her gaze, fixed on Morpheus, became intensely focused. “Shit. Wasn’t the Devil he had locked up in his basement, was it? Were you down there… all this time?” Her questions came out in a slow, disbelieving whisper, her gaze searching his features with an intensity that bordered on genuine fear. Morpheus’s face, usually impassive, seemed to fill with a profound sorrow, and his heart, a place Nora felt deeply through their link, seemed to drop like a stone. Nora, feeling the cold weight of his pain like a physical ache in her own chest, stepped up beside him and wrapped a hand around Morpheus’s arm, squeezing gently in a silent show of support.

Johanna’s eyes then shifted to Nora, the second part of the truth hitting her with the force of a physical blow. Her gaze narrowed, a flicker of suspicion mixing with the shock. “And you?” she demanded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nora looked back at Johanna, a somberness settling over her features, a century of silent captivity etched into her expression. “I was trapped with him too. Ten years after he was.”

Johanna’s jaw dropped almost imperceptibly, a silent gasp. She knew Nora was mortal, yet she looked to be in her early twenties, certainly not over a hundred years old. But as Johanna took another, more scrutinizing look over Nora, her eyes scanned the familiar but dramatically outdated dress, its material thin and well-worn from a century of suspended wear. A flicker of disbelief, then a grim, almost reluctant acceptance, crossed Johanna’s face. Holy shit, she thought, a rare flicker of genuine understanding in her eyes. Yeah. She was stuck with him for that time. The sheer, impossible reality of it settled over her, chilling her more than the damp London air.

A slight amount of empathy, alien to her usual demeanor, touched Johanna. She scratched her temple, trying to appear nonchalant, as if merely making a practical suggestion. “Nora,” she said, her voice a little gruff, “I’ve got some clothes in here that would fit you if you wanted a change. You look like you’ve been… well, stuck in time.”

Nora’s face broke into a soft, genuine smile, touched by the unexpected kindness. “Actually, yeah, that would be very sweet, thank you.”

As she spoke, an unfamiliar, yet also strangely familiar, feeling began to build in her lower stomach. It had been a subtle pressure for several hours now, a quiet urging she had ignored as a phantom limb of a forgotten existence. But now, with startling realization, it clicked. Oh. Oh, yeah. This is a thing that humans have to deal with. It was her bladder, demanding attention, something she hadn’t had to do in almost a century. She blushed faintly, the sheer mortification of the moment almost overwhelming.

She shyly turned to Johanna, her voice a nervous, almost unheard whisper. “Johanna? If you wouldn’t mind… could I possibly use your bathroom?”

Johanna, who had been about to delve back into a stack of arcane texts, paused, her movements halted by Nora’s quiet request. She straightened up, her gaze flicking from Nora’s earnest, flushed face to her surprisingly well-preserved but clearly ancient dress, its fabric hanging in graceful, if dated, folds. With a curt nod, almost impatient in its brevity, she stepped out of the office and gestured down the cluttered hall. “Yeah, this way. Come on.” She left Morpheus to stand amidst the chaos of the office, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the jumbled artifacts, an ancient lord in a modern mess.

Nora followed Johanna, who led her across the hall, navigating around leaning towers of books and strange, forgotten implements. Johanna then slipped inside a bedroom door, rummaging for a moment before reappearing with a small, neatly folded bundle of clothes tucked under her arm. She gestured vaguely towards a door on the other side of the hall. “It’s on the other side. And look,” she continued, her voice a little gruffer than before, “you’ve probably been, uh, ‘out of commission’ for a bit. There’s a shower. You’ll probably feel a lot better if you actually, you know, clean up.” The offer, delivered with a casual brusqueness that was almost disarming, was punctuated by a slight, almost imperceptible upward twitch of Johanna’s eyebrow, as if she were surprised by her own thoughtfulness.

Nora blinked, genuinely surprised by the unexpected kindness. The thought of true cleanliness, after a century of simply not decaying, hit her with the force of a revelation. She realized that even in a dustless glass fishbowl, and then traveling through the raw fabric of The Dreaming, getting properly cleaned up would feel utterly amazing. Her skin, which had always simply existed, now tingled with the imagined sensation of warm water and soap. But the word “shower” hung oddly in the air. They weren’t exactly commonplace back when she was locked up. Her confusion, a slight furrow of her brow and a questioning tilt of her head, must have been evident.

In a rare, almost imperceptible show of kindness and empathy, a side of her rarely seen, Johanna quickly stepped into the bathroom. With swift, efficient movements, her hands moving with practiced ease, she demonstrated how to operate the mixer tap for the shower, showing Nora how to adjust the temperature and flow. “Hot’s that way, cold’s this,” she mumbled, gesturing. She pointed to a few plastic bottles. “This one’s shampoo for your hair, this is soap for your body. Lather, rinse, repeat, you get the drill.” She gave a quick, no-nonsense overview of how to use them, her eyes occasionally flicking to Nora’s bewildered face. She then presented the bundle of clothes: a simple pair of well-worn jeans, a spare, unopened pack of underwear, a light sports bra, and a long-sleeved shirt. “Thought you’d be more comfortable with longer layers,” Johanna mumbled, almost to herself, scratching the back of her neck as if the act of being thoughtful was physically uncomfortable, a foreign sensation. “Not something revealing, not used to this day’s fashion.”

Just as Johanna was about to leave the bathroom, stepping into the doorway to give Nora privacy, she paused, her hand on the frame. She turned back, her voice dropping to a quiet, almost curious tone, devoid of its usual brashness. “Hey. What happened? How’d you get locked up? You’re just… human. You weren’t summoned, not magically trapped like a demon or something. What happened?” There was a genuine note of inquiry in her voice, a rare glimpse into her fascination with the strange and unusual, even when it involved human suffering.

Nora looked at her, then down at her old dress, the fabric suddenly feeling thinner, more fragile than ever. The memory, though distant, brought a fresh sting. “Roderick,” she began, her voice low, a tremor of old anger in it. “He couldn’t bear to have anyone show even an inch of compassion to Morpheus. As soon as I fought for his freedom, he decided to lock me up with him. Didn’t even care if I lived or died.”

Johanna’s expression shifted, a curious intensity in her eyes, a strange mix of morbid fascination and something akin to respect for Nora’s ordeal. “But… how did you not die? No food, no water, for a hundred years? Humans don’t just… not die.” Her voice was soft, almost for once without cynicism.

Nora shrugged slightly, the explanation still feeling bizarre even to her. “Morpheus’s theory was the magic rune circle, the one that was keeping him contained, it cut me off from the rest of the Endless. So, Death couldn’t take me.”

Johanna nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on her face, as if that bizarre explanation made perfect, horrifying sense in her world. “Huh. Right. Well, hurry up and clean up. We’ll be in the office when you’re done.” With a final, lingering glance at Nora, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, she stepped out, closing the door behind her, leaving Nora alone with the silence and the promise of a hot shower.

Next Chapter

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

#morpheus x reader #king of dreams #dream of the endless #dream #the sandman #morpheus #netflix the sandman #netflix sandman #lord morpheus #sandman

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angelicwolf98 · 2 days ago

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reblog this and put in the tags something you watched that terrified you as a child. i was so scared of the hot sauce in spongebob that i refused to be in the room when it was on

#goosebumps episode cry of the cat #watched it at my bff’s slumber party #was so scared I woke up her mom #her mom had to lay on the couch with me until I fell asleep

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angelicwolf98 · 3 days ago

Photo

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angelicwolf98 · 3 days ago

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#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 screenshots #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #not my screenshot

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angelicwolf98 · 3 days ago

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Of course Morpheus is the jealous type! 😂 And we finally meet Matthew!! 😄🥰😍

Chapter 17: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

~London Calling~

Morpheus, with Nora and Lucienne beside him, began to walk down the long, skeletal dock that jutted out into the swirling expanse of inky blackness. They stopped about midway, silently gazing out at the Dreaming Waters, its depths echoing with whispers of forgotten fears and unresolved sorrows.

It was Lucienne who finally broke the heavy silence, her brow furrowing slightly. "Where are you off to, sire?"

Morpheus's mental voice, cutting through the stillness, resonated with quiet authority. "London."

"London?" Lucienne interjected, her brow furrowing slightly. "My Lord, did you not just spend the last century there?"

Nora shot Lucienne a sharp look. Excuse you, Lucienne, she thought, a silent warning.

"My apologies, Nora," Lucienne quickly amended, her gaze sweeping between the two of them. "My Lord, my apologies. But, if I may ask, why London?"

"My sand was sold there," Morpheus replied, his voice a low, steady current in their minds. "When I have it back, I will seek out my helm. In Hell."

Nora’s head snapped to him, her eyes wide. What did he just say? The silent question, a sharp jolt of surprise and concern, reverberated through their mental link.

Lucienne hesitated, then took a step closer, her hands clasped. "My Lord, if I may be so bold, grant me a favor. Take a raven with you."

"No more ravens," Morpheus stated, his voice flat.

"If not for you, then at least for me," Lucienne pleaded, her tone earnest. "The raven can go back and forth between realms, keeping me informed."

"No more ravens," Morpheus repeated, his gaze distant, staring out at the inky blackness of the Dreaming Waters. A profound sorrow, like a cold, heavy stone, emanated from him. "Jessamy was the last." He refocused on Lucienne, his expression hardening with a familiar, ancient resolve. "If this Constantine is anything like her ancestor, she will serve him well enough."

He then turned and walked towards the very end of the dock, reaching the precipice of the swirling blackness. He took a step forward, as if to depart. But then he paused, hearing footsteps approaching behind him and turned his head slightly, seeing Nora drawing closer, a determined set to her jaw.

It will be too dangerous, he began to project, the thought forming even as Nora cut him off, her voice a sharp, unyielding blade.

"Oh, no you don't, Sandy. Not a chance in hell. Pun totally not intended. Don't even start with 'too dangerous' or 'I must go alone,' because we've been over this, haven't we? I promised you, Morpheus. Whatever it takes. To rebuild this kingdom? To get your power back? To ease your pain? I said I'd do it. And I meant it. Every. Single. Word."

She stopped before him, her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with a defiant fire. After a century trapped in a fishbowl with you, listening to your existential angst and my musings on capybaras in rainbow fur, she thought, a flash of her usual irreverent humor breaking through, do you honestly think I'm going to let you swan off into the 'dangerous' waking world by yourself?

Look, I don't care about the danger. I don't care what you say. You're stuck with me, Morpheus. Get used to it. Her mental voice softened slightly, a hint of genuine affection underpinning her sass. Besides, you need someone to make sure you don't accidentally scare a busker to death with your brooding face, or accidentally cause a traffic jam by simply existing too intensely. Her mental voice continued, Trust me, you need me.

Morpheus stared at her, a myriad of emotions flickering through his ancient eyes – surprise, a hint of exasperated amusement, and something deeper, a quiet, unwilling acceptance. After a long moment, a ghost of a sigh, a mere wisp of air, touched her mind. Very well, Nora, he conceded, his mental voice devoid of argument, a silent acknowledgment of her unwavering will.

He raised a pale hand, performing a small, swirling gesture like casting a spell. The black, still waters of the Dreaming Waters began to stir, parting before them with a soft, whispering sound, revealing a clear path forward. He then extended his hand to her. Nora’s eyes, against her will, were drawn to his elegant fingers. Asshole. Completely, utterly rude. The last thing I need right now is to be thinking about how pretty his hands are, she thought, a spark of frustrated irritation momentarily eclipsing the grim reality of their surroundings. He guided her off the decaying dock, down the ethereal steps that formed in the water, and onto the newly revealed riverbed, a shimmering, dark path that led them into London.

Morpheus and Nora appeared at the top of the steps to a large, somewhat imposing chapel, its weathered stone columns looming overhead like ancient sentinels. The night air was cool and damp, carrying the faint, metallic scent of rain that had recently fallen, leaving the ground slightly slick. Nora’s gaze swept across the scene, taking in the gothic arches and stained-glass windows, now dark, unseeing eyes in the dim London night, before her eyes landed on Johanna Constantine. Clad in her signature cream-colored trench coat, its fabric a stark contrast against the gloom, Johanna ascended the steps with an easy, confident stride, her brown hair, brushing just past her shoulders with a slight wave, swaying gently with each step.

As Johanna drew a few steps away from the top, Morpheus’s voice, resonant and ancient, a deep hum in the stillness, called out, “Constantine!”

Johanna paused, her head snapping up. Her sharp, intelligent eyes, the color of a stormy sea, found him, unwavering and direct. “We have business, you and I.”

Johanna tilted her head sideways, a hint of a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Well, well, what have we here? She thought, an inner chuckle. “Who’s asking?” She then took a couple more steps toward Nora, her gaze raking over her with an appraising, saucy glance. Nora’s mind went completely blank. She’d been stared at, scowled at, ignored, but flirted with? This was uncharted territory, a foreign language she didn’t speak. Her heart gave a surprised lurch against her ribs. “Is it you, love?” Johanna purred, a seductive undertone in her voice that was impossible to miss, a challenge laced with flirtation.

Morpheus took a single, decisive step forward, angling his tall, brooding form just enough that it effectively blocked Johanna’s view of Nora, an act of subtle yet undeniable protection. “You have something of mine,” he stated, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, yet carrying an unmistakable weight of command, like a stone dropped into still water.

Johanna’s smirk widened, clearly amused by his protective and defensive nature regarding Nora. Figures he’d be the jealous type, she mused, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Get in line, bruv,” she said with a hint of disdain, a casual insolence that seemed to roll off Morpheus like water off a duck’s back. Her eyes drifted back to Nora, doing a quick up-and-down sweep that lingered for a moment, a silent acknowledgment of Nora’s presence, before she sent a quick, knowing wink Nora’s way. With a purposeful step, she briskly walked around Morpheus, her trench coat swirling slightly, and disappeared into the chapel, presumably to begin her work.

Morpheus, his head following Johanna as she walked around them and into the chapel, turned to look at Nora, who was now standing directly behind him. He raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, a silent question in his ancient eyes. Nora felt a blush creep up her neck and flood her cheeks, a betraying heat that only intensified her shock. She desperately tried to hide it, her gaze darting anywhere but at him. Okay, calm down, Nora. It was just… a wink. A very intense, flirtatious wink. From a very hot, dangerous woman. Get it together! she frantically told herself. “Alright,” she mumbled, forcing a casual tone, her voice a little too bright. “Let’s go after her. Come on.”

By the time Morpheus and Nora made it inside the chapel, the air was thick with the acrid tang of ozone and sulfur, a palpable sense of struggle clinging to the shadowed arches. Johanna Constantine was already in the throes of an exorcism, her voice a sharp, unwavering incantation that sliced through the growing chaos as she wrestled with a towering demon. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows that seemed to writhe in sympathy with the infernal presence.

The demon stood fully present, much taller than Johanna, with thick red skin and a mane of dreadlock-like hair adorned with glinting golden rings. Short, sharp horns protruded from its head, and its hands ended in wicked claws. Its eyes, wide and glowing, found Morpheus. "Lord Morpheus!" it rasped, a sound of visceral recognition and dawning horror.

"Stop!" Morpheus commanded, his voice a deep, resonant chord that cut through the demonic snarls and Johanna's fervent chanting, momentarily stilling the oppressive atmosphere.

Johanna, mid-incantation, her body taut with exertion, paused. Her head snapped up, her sharp, intelligent eyes widening as she truly registered the ancient, cosmic presence of Dream before her. Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Oh, shit," she muttered under her breath, the two words heavy with the weight of unexpected reality. This wasn't some ordinary, opportunistic charlatan trying to poach her business.

"I almost didn't recognize you," the demon continued, its red skin rippling, regaining a sliver of its usual, sneering arrogance, "without your helm. Where is it?"

"I assume it is in Hell, with whom it was traded," Morpheus replied, his gaze unwavering, fixed on the demon.

The demon's form seemed to writhe more intensely, a desperate, wheedling plea entering its voice. "Stop her! Stop her from sending me back to Hell, and I will tell you where it is!"

Johanna merely scoffed, a dismissive sound, her focus unwavering on her task. Her hand, which had been raised, gripped the crucifix tightly. Even with Morpheus's commanding "Stop!" and the demon's frantic, piercing cry, "Dream of the Endless commands you to stop!", she remained utterly resolute. Her lips peeled back in a sneer that promised no quarter. "Fuck off and run along back to Hell," she snapped, her voice laced with an icy finality. With a powerful surge of contained energy, visible as a faint shimmer around her, she completed the exorcism. The demon shrieked, a sound of raw agony and furious despair, as it was violently ripped downwards through a swirling, fiery maw that abruptly opened in the chapel's ancient stone floor. Then, a profound, echoing quiet descended, swallowing the last vestiges of its torment, leaving only the scent of ozone and stale incense in the air.

Morpheus turned to Johanna, his eyes burning with an intense, cold light. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Johanna smoothed down the damp fabric of her trench coat, a smug, satisfied grin spreading slowly across her face, utterly unperturbed. "I just tripled my fee." She then turned and walked out of the chapel, a definite, almost jaunty hop in her step, a low, triumphant whistle nearly escaping her lips, radiating an almost palpable pride in her work.

Nora, breaking her silence for the first time since entering, let out a short, soft sigh. "Well, shit." She walked up to Morpheus, gently took his pale hand, her fingers a warm anchor, and tugged lightly. "Come on. Let's go outside."

As they emerged from the chapel, the cool London air, damp with the lingering threat of rain, was a welcome contrast to the chapel's oppressive interior. Johanna was already waiting for them, leaning casually against a weather-beaten stone pillar, one ankle crossed over the other. "What do you want?" she asked, her tone flat, impatient.

"A leather pouch filled with sand came into your possession," Morpheus stated, his voice direct, his gaze unwavering. "I require its return."

Johanna raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, that was yours? I couldn't even get the drawstrings open, mate." Her words tripped with a casual insolence that might have frayed the nerves of anyone less ancient.

Morpheus's gaze hardened, his patience wearing thin. "You will help me get it back."

Nora cut in, rolling her eyes at Morpheus's lack of tact. "He meant to ask that nicely, with a 'please' on the end," she said, her voice dry, her expression clearly conveying her exasperation with his social graces.

Johanna's smirk softened almost imperceptibly as she looked at Nora, a flicker of genuine appreciation in her sharp eyes. A rare, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. "Alright," she conceded, her tone surprisingly compliant, her gaze lingering on Nora for a beat before returning to Morpheus. "I'll help him get his sand." She pushed off the pillar. "But I'll do it in the morning."

"No," Morpheus countered immediately, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

Johanna, still facing them, her hands now tucked into her trench coat pockets, shrugged. "And I work alone. I don't need you or your friends looking after me."

Morpheus's brow furrowed slightly in confusion by her plural term. He glanced to Nora, who was standing steadfastly beside him, then back to Johanna, seeking clarification. "Is that not your raven?" Johanna asked, her gaze drifting deliberately towards where a raven was perched a few feet away on a low, crumbling wall, its black feathers sleek, hopping nervously from foot to foot.

Morpheus's attention was now entirely on the bird, Johanna completely forgotten. His normally impassive face showed a flicker of something unreadable – surprise, perhaps even a hint of wonder. He took a slow, deliberate step towards the raven, then knelt down, his dark coat fanning out slightly. "What is your name?" he asked, his voice neutral, carefully devoid of any overt emotion, yet holding an undeniable, ancient weight.

The raven ruffled its feathers nervously, its small head cocking. "Matthew," it responded, a little shyly, a surprisingly human quality to its voice.

Nora, her eyes wide with surprise and a sudden warmth, took a step in Matthew's direction, a soft, genuine smile touching her lips. The sight of the little bird, so out of place yet so clearly connected to Morpheus, brought a lightness to the grim situation.

Morpheus slowly stood, his tall form casting a shadow over Matthew. "Go back to The Dreaming," he commanded, his voice firm, echoing with his newly regained authority. "I do not need a minder."

"A-Actually Boss, you do need my help!" Matthew insisted, a flash of urgency in his small, dark eyes as he looked past Morpheus, then frantically flapped a wing in a vague gesture. "She's getting away!"

Indeed, Johanna, having taken full advantage of their profound distraction, had already turned and walked off hurriedly, her trench coat disappearing around the corner of the chapel with remarkable speed. Matthew slumped slightly on the wall, looking down at the ground with an air of long-suffering exasperation. "See?" he muttered, a hint of genuine frustration in his voice, his feathers deflating slightly. "This is why you need a raven."

Morpheus turned to Nora, a silent question in his eyes as to why she hadn't given him warning. Nora merely offered a sheepish grin, a faint blush dusting her cheeks, and held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. Oops. I was also distracted by the pretty bird, she thought, the admission a quiet, amused wave through their mental link.

Next Chapter

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

#dream #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #king of dreams #netflix sandman #lord morpheus #netflix the sandman #sandman

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angelicwolf98 · 3 days ago

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This chapter was a roller coaster! I hope Nora can remember everything the Fates told her when “later” finally comes cause I know I’d forget everything! 😂🥰

Chapter 16: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

~The Crossroads of Fate~

Morpheus, his new strength barely a ripple against the vast desolation, turned and led Nora and Lucienne towards the Western shore of The Dreaming. The ground crunched underfoot, a barren wasteland where lush dreamscapes once blossomed. In the distance, a long, skeletal dock jutted out into a swirling expanse of inky blackness. This was the Dreaming Waters, the endless ocean that mirrored the subconscious of all creation, and it too had suffered in his absence. It was a place of morbid stillness, its depths echoing with the whispers of forgotten fears and unresolved sorrows.

As they walked the long, decaying dock towards the inky blackness, Lucienne's voice, usually a soothing balm, was now edged with trepidation. "My Lord," she began, her gaze fixed on the churning depths, "the Dreaming Waters... they are not as you left them. A century without your presence has left them wild, untamed. They are treacherous, My Lord. Unsafe."

Morpheus merely nodded, his gaze distant, already piercing the veil of the murky waters. "I am aware, Lucienne," he projected, his thoughts firm. "But this path is necessary. The Fates demand a price, and I require power to pay it."

They reached the end of the dock. The air here was heavy, cold, and permeated with a palpable sense of decay. Morpheus knelt, the small, glowing orb of Gregory’s essence still clutched in his hand. “Gregory’s sacrifice will not be in vain,” he whispered, his voice resonating with ancient resolve. He tipped his hand, and the golden sand flowed from his palm, drifting down into the inky blackness of the water. As it touched the surface, a soft, ethereal light began to spread, pushing back the oppressive gloom, revealing currents that writhed like restless spirits.

Morpheus reached out, his pale fingers extending towards the luminous water. Just as his fingertips brushed the surface, a reflection, perfect and unnervingly alive, reached out from the depths. It grasped his hand with a startling strength, and with a sudden, powerful yank, pulled him into the churning, glowing abyss.

Nora gasped, instinctually stepping forward, her hand flying to her mouth, but Lucienne laid a steadying hand on her arm. “He must do this alone,” she said softly, her voice filled with a quiet understanding. “It is his journey to reclaim his power, piece by piece.”

Morpheus tumbled through the frigid currents, disoriented. The Dreaming Waters, once an extension of his will, were unruly and treacherous. They churned and bucked, as if actively resisting their returned master. They no longer recognize me, he thought, the realization a cold, hard knot in his gut. I will remind them. And I will take from them what I require.

The currents pulled him downwards, through a vast, formless expanse. He focused, pushing back against the chaos, seeking the threads of dreams he needed. The Fates require offerings, he thought, his will hardening. And one meets the Fates at the crossroads.

Suddenly, the tumbling ceased. He was in the dream of a Cambodian farmer, a simple, sun-drenched field. The sky ripped open, and a colossal, ethereal hand descended, its fingers closing around a four-way crossroads that stood in the middle of the field. With a soundless groan of displaced earth, the giant hand plucked the crossroads from the ground, pulling it upwards and out of sight.

Morpheus plunged back into the churning currents. He continued to navigate the dream currents, seeking another offering. The scenery shifted with dizzying speed, and then, a coarse, rough material wrapped around his neck. He felt a sharp, familiar tug. A noose.

The hanged man represents surrender, sacrifice for the greater good, he mused, his thoughts distant even as the pressure tightened. This gallows… it comes from a young Japanese cinephile, her head full of British horror films. He hung there for a moment, suspended in the dream, allowing the currents to strip away the illusion, until the gallows dissolved into mist.

He was back in the turbulent waters, tumbling and spinning, the currents stronger than he remembered, threatening to pull him in directions he did not wish to go. He fought for control, his mind a steel trap, focusing on the needs of the Fates. What do they require? What symbols will suffice?

The currents swirled, forming a narrow, somewhat underground tunnel. He was sucked through it, unable to control his movements, the darkness pressing in. He was losing his grip, the last vestiges of Gregory’s essence flickering. He had to act. He had to focus.

With a sudden, jarring lurch, he was spat out of the tunnel. He landed on a floor of packed hay, in what appeared to be a rustic wooden shed. The air was warm, smelling of earth and dry grass. He looked down. Coiled around a leathery, oversized egg was a serpent, its scales shimmering with iridescent hues.

A serpent, Morpheus thought, his eyes fixed on the creature. A symbol of transformation. Of life, death, and rebirth.

The serpent lashed out, its head striking towards him with lightning speed. But Morpheus was ready. With a fluid, almost impossible grace, he moved. His long, black wool coat flared, and with a gesture reminiscent of a magician, he swept the serpent into its folds. The inside of his coat seemed to ripple and expand, a nebulous expanse where galaxies swirled and stars were born and died. The serpent vanished into the cosmic void within, captured.

He looked down at the leathery egg. It pulsed faintly, a silent testament to cycles of creation and destruction. Slowly, he reached out, his pale fingers caressing the surface before his hand closed around it. He stood, the egg held securely in his grasp.

I have gathered my offerings, he thought, his gaze hardening. Now, to summon the Fates.

The heavy silence that had settled on the desolate beach was shattered by Morpheus’s voice, now resonating with ancient authority. “I, Lord Morpheus, Dream of The Endless, summon The Fates, the Three-Who-Are-One, the One-Who-Is-Three. The Hecate.”

As his words hung in the air, lightning flashed overhead, momentarily illuminating the stark landscape in blinding white. Thunder boomed, a deep, guttural roar that vibrated through the very ground. In the brief, searing flashes of light, Nora saw her appear: a solitary figure, far in the distance, adorned with a long, flowing scarf and cloak that whipped wildly around her. Yet, with each successive bolt of lightning, her face seemed to morph, shifting between the serene countenance of a Maiden, the wise, weathered lines of a Mother, and the sharp, knowing gaze of an old Crone—the archetypal forms of the Fates.

Finally, the tumultuous thunder and lightning settled, leaving behind an unnerving stillness. Before Morpheus now stood the three women, distinct yet somehow inseparable: the old Crone, her face a roadmap of countless ages; the youthful Maiden, with eyes that seemed to hold the promise of all tomorrows; and the compassionate Mother, her presence radiating a quiet, ancient strength.

The Maiden spoke first, her voice like the rustling of dry leaves, light yet resonant. “Morpheus, it’s been a while.”

The Mother followed, her tone softer, imbued with a maternal concern that seemed incongruous in the desolate realm. “You look thin, love. Are you eating? Are you hungry?”

Then the Crone, her voice a dry rasp, cut in, her gaze sharp and discerning. “He is, but not for food. Look at him. He wants something.”

A faint, almost imperceptible flicker of defiance crossed Morpheus’s features. “You’ve found me out.”

Another low rumble of thunder vibrated in the distant sky, a silent punctuation to his admission. Morpheus continued, his voice gaining a subtle edge of desperation, though he fought to conceal it. “I do want something. I need your help.”

The Crone let out a short, dry chuckle, devoid of mirth. “Help? Oh, listen to him. Like you helped us against Circe?”

“Circe is old business, sister-self,” the Mother chided gently, her gaze softening.

The Maiden, her eyes glinting with a mischievous light, added, “And he did bring nice stuff.”

Lightning crackled once more, and another roll of thunder echoed. The Mother extended a hand towards Morpheus, her gesture inviting. Morpheus, with a subtle movement, unfastened a portion of his heavy black wool coat, and the head of the captured serpent, its scales shimmering with iridescent hues, slowly slithered out. With a pale, elegant hand, he guided the creature onto the Mother’s outstretched arm. As the serpent began its slow, deliberate ascent towards her head, winding around her arm, the Mother spoke. “You may ask us three questions.”

The Mother’s mouth opened impossibly wide, a dark, cavernous space, and the serpent, with a final, fluid motion, slithered inside. Nora, watching from a short distance with Lucienne, couldn't suppress a grimace as the creature disappeared. Morpheus himself merely blinked, a flicker of discomfort crossing his usually impassive face. As the serpent's tail vanished into the Mother's mouth, her form shifted, melting and reforming into the Maiden, who then declared, her voice echoing faintly around them, “And get one answer from each of us.”

“Thank you, ladies,” Morpheus replied, his voice a low murmur, the desperation he fought to hide still present beneath the formal words. Then, almost imperceptibly, his resolve seemed to crack, and he asked, a hint of raw yearning in his tone, “My first question. I had a leather pouch filled with sand. Where is it?”

As he finished speaking, the desolate beach dissolved around Morpheus, replaced by a sudden, jarring shift in scenery. He found himself standing in the heart of a bustling London street, rain sheeting down in thick, cold curtains. People hurried past, their faces obscured by the dark domes of their umbrellas. The Maiden’s voice, clear as a bell despite the urban cacophony, echoed around him. “It was sold in London. Last purchased by a magic user called Johanna Constantine.”

A woman emerged from the rain-swept gloom, walking directly towards him. She wore a cream-colored trench coat, its fabric slick with water, and held a black umbrella aloft. As she drew nearer, she lightly tilted the umbrella upwards, revealing the sharp, intelligent features of Johanna Constantine, her face unperturbed by the deluge, thick droplets of rain falling from the edge of her umbrella.

“Constantine?” Morpheus questioned, his voice laced with surprise and a touch of disbelief. “I knew a Constantine, but that was 300 years ago.”

The scene flickered, and then, with a dizzying rush, Morpheus was back on the blighted beach, facing the Fates once more. “You said ‘last purchased.’ Does she still have the sand?”

The Maiden, her voice placating and soft, yet resonating with an unyielding finality, replied, “Dream, you know better than that. You get one question, one answer.” Her voice seemed to echo slightly, emphasizing the unchanging rule.

Morpheus's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, maintaining a semblance of courtesy. “My apologies. My second question.”

The Mother, her eyes kind but firm, urged him on. “Go on, dear.”

“My helm. What happened to it?” Morpheus asked, his gaze direct and unwavering.

Again, the world around Morpheus dissolved. He was now in a dim, shadowed chamber. His helm, dark and intricately crafted, lay on the floor within the precise confines of a chalk-drawn pentagram, candles flickering at each star point, casting dancing shadows. A woman knelt before it, her body swaying, chanting in a low, fervent whisper. With a sudden burst of brilliant flame, the helm vanished, and in its place, an amulet of shimmering protection gleamed. During this ethereal scene, the Mother’s voice resonated, echoing through the spectral space. “It was traded away to a demon, for the Amulet of Protection.”

Morpheus, who had been a silent observer standing behind the chanting woman, looked sharply upwards, as if towards the unseen sky. “To which demon was it traded?”

The scene snapped back to the windswept beach, and the three Fates. The Mother, her expression stern, reiterated, “One question, one answer, love.”

Morpheus’s silence was heavy with a quiet frustration, but he bowed his head in acceptance. “Last question. My ruby, who holds it now?”

The beach faded, replaced by another fleeting vision. A red ruby, now transformed into a necklace adorned with delicate gold filigree, dangled tantalizingly in front of a baby, whose tiny arms reached eagerly towards the glittering jewel. The Crone’s voice, ancient and echoing, accompanied the image. “Your gem was passed from a mother to a son.”

“Where are they now?” Morpheus pressed, his voice taut with urgency.

The scene cut abruptly back to the beach. The Fates, in a dizzying display of their interconnectedness, seemed to collide and merge, their individual forms rippling and shifting, their faces rapidly switching between the Crone, the Maiden, and the Mother. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed all around them, mirroring their collective pronouncement as they yelled, “You have asked your questions!”

Suddenly, as if a cosmic switch had been flipped, all lightning and thunder ceased. An absolute, dead silence descended upon the beach, thick and heavy. Morpheus, believing the Fates had vanished, turned to walk back towards Nora and Lucienne. But then he froze. The Fates had reappeared, not across the desolate sand, but directly in front of Nora.

Nora, who had heard every word of Morpheus’s desperate questions and the Fates’ cryptic answers, was too shocked and frightened to speak. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the three figures before her. But the Fates were not shy. Their voices, alternating and merging, now spoke directly to her, their words echoing not in the air, but solely within her mind.

The Crone’s voice, a dry, ancient rasp, was the first. “Well, sister-selves, it appears Morpheus has found his… Anchor.”

Then the Maiden’s voice, soft and melancholic as a distant sigh, interwove with the Crone’s, filling Nora’s head with a chilling clarity. “A bond woven by circumstance, not by conscious intent. A century of silent witness, where the mind’s fortress fell, and two souls, unknowingly, intertwined within the glass.”

Finally, the Mother’s voice, deep and resonant, imbued with an ancient, undeniable power, joined the chorus, flowing through Nora’s very being. “His solitude became a conduit, her presence a constant hum. What began as a mere sharing of thought, a desperate balm against endless time, deepened with the decades. The touch of shared humor, the weight of reciprocal sorrow, the very echoes of emotion that passed between them forged a link beyond undoing. This is not a bond easily broken, mortal, for it was born of shared hardship and the profound, unguarded heart. You are irrevocably woven, a tapestry of two, and such a weaving endures until the threads of existence themselves unravel.”

The three voices, in perfect, chilling unison, then declared: “The unforeseen has occurred. His very essence now bears the indelible mark of your interwoven spirit, a testament to a destiny unplanned, yet absolute.”

A beat of pregnant silence followed, then the Crone’s voice, sharper now, cut through Nora’s reeling thoughts with a stark warning. “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.”

With a final, blinding flash of lightning and a deafening peal of thunder, the Fates vanished for good, leaving only the oppressive silence in their wake. Morpheus, his face etched with a deep, uncharacteristic concern, closed the distance between them more swiftly than he usually would. He reached out, his large, pale hands gently cupping Nora’s face. His eyes, ancient and fathomless, searched hers intently. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a low, resonant murmur, the words laced with an unfamiliar tenderness. “Did they do anything to you?”

Nora stammered, her own hands rising to cover his on her face, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the lingering chill of the Fates’ pronouncements. “No, no, I’m fine,” she said, her voice a little too high, a nervous tremor still running through her. She forced a brittle smile, trying to reassure him, though her mind reeled from the Fates’ pronouncement. “Just… a lot to take in.”

Morpheus’s thumb traced a worried line across her cheekbone. “Nora,” he pressed gently, his gaze unwavering. “Neither Lucienne nor I could discern their words. What did they say to you? What prophecies did they impart?” His voice was quiet, but there was an insistent, almost vulnerable plea in his tone.

Nora looked past him to Lucienne, who stood a respectful distance away, her expression a mixture of relief at Morpheus’s return and curiosity about the Fates’ private communion with Nora. She saw the librarian’s attentive stance, clearly straining to catch any clue. Nora then turned back to Morpheus, pulling his hands from her face and holding them in her own, offering a small, reassuring squeeze.

“Let’s… let’s leave that for later, Sandy,” she said softly, a tired but resolute smile touching her lips. “We have work to do. Remember? Rebuilding your kingdom? Finding your tools? That all seems a bit more pressing right now, don’t you think?” She gave his hands another squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. Not right now.”

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

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angelicwolf98 · 3 days ago

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I can’t get over how incredible your descriptions are, from the characters to the emotions within each scene. It really brings the story to life, and makes it feel as if Nora was always a part of the original story. Plus, I absolutely love how protective Nora became over Morpheus! Speaking up when he was too proud to. I just love their care for each other!! ☺️🥰😍

Chapter 15: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

~A Painful Price~

As they walked the blighted path that wound between two strange, mismatched houses, a frantic argument reached them. Nora could just make out two figures, one trying to coax what looked like a small, winged dragon from a skeletal tree.

“Gregory, come down from there right now. You’re gonna slip and hurt yourself!” one voice pleaded.

The other, more patient, called out, “That’s it. There he is. Good boy, Gregory. Good gargoyle.”

Suddenly, the one called Abel froze, his eyes widening as he saw the approaching trio. “Cain, come quick.”

“Blasted, bulbous, bilge-bubbling bollocks,” Cain muttered, his back still to them.

“Cain,” Abel insisted.

Fed up, Cain spun around. “What do you want, powder-brain? Can you not see I’m busy?”

“We have visitors,” Abel said, his voice a whisper.

“What? Where?” Cain followed his brother’s gaze to the small bridge where Morpheus, Lucienne, and Nora now stood.

Nora, however, had already spotted the large, winged gargoyle. Her heart, so recently heavy with the desolation of The Dreaming, gave a little lurch of pure affection. Without a moment's hesitation, she broke away from Morpheus and Lucienne, her steps quickening as she made a beeline for Gregory. She knelt beside the skeletal tree, her hand reaching out slowly, gently, to stroke the gargoyle's golden scales. Gregory, distracted from his play, leaned into her touch, his large head-butting into her palm with a soft rumble. He truly was adorable.

“Cain. Abel,” Lord Morpheus greeted them, his voice resonating with ancient authority.

“Lord Morpheus,” they said in unison, their voices a mixture of shock and reverence. “You’ve come back. At last.”

Abel turned to his brother with a triumphant look, while Cain merely rolled his eyes at his antics. “I told you he’d return. I never doubted it.” Turning back to Morpheus, Abel beamed. “Come in, my Lord. And you, Lucienne.” He paused, his gaze falling on Nora, who was still petting Gregory with a look of pure affection on her face. “You too as well,” he added kindly. “You are very much welcome to the House of Mystery.”

“Or to the House of Secrets,” Cain cut in gruffly. “I have tea.”

“I have tea and biscuits,” Abel quickly one-upped him.

Nora felt a sense of whiplash from their rapid-fire bickering. It seemed to be a well-worn rhythm between the brothers.

“Gentlemen,” Lucienne said, her tone leaving no room for argument, “I’m afraid this is not a social call.”

“What’s happened?” Cain asked immediately, his demeanor shifting. “Is something wrong?”

“What is it?” Abel added, his brow furrowed with concern.

Morpheus spoke, his voice solemn and heavy with a dread that Nora felt echo in her own chest. “For the sake of The Dreaming, I must take back a gift I gave you long ago.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Abel said without hesitation. “What’s ours is yours. Anything at all. Just ask it.”

Morpheus didn’t respond, his gaze shifting past the brothers to the gargoyle, Gregory, who was still batting at a small ball like a puppy, contentedly accepting Nora's gentle pets. As Cain and Abel followed his line of sight, understanding dawned, and their expressions turned defensive.

“Surely there’s another way,” Abel pleaded.

“I wish there were,” Morpheus said, the regret in his voice palpable. “But The Dreaming must be restored.”

Cain’s fear curdled into anger. “You say that as if we’re the ones that destroyed it. As if we disappeared for over a century.”

“Cain,” Lucienne cut in sharply.

Morpheus turned his head slowly towards Cain, his voice low and dangerous. “You forget yourself, Cain.”

“No, my Lord, you forgot us,” Cain shot back, his own pain and resentment spilling forth. “Do you have any idea what we’ve already lost waiting for you to come back after all these years?”

“What you have lost?” Morpheus asked, his voice laced with a dangerous incredulity.

“The answer is no,” Cain stated simply.

Morpheus tilted his head slightly. “I have not come here to ask you. I have come to ask Gregory.” At this, he walked past the brothers and approached the gargoyle. He knelt beside Nora, bringing himself face to face with the beautiful, golden creature. Tears began to collect in the corners of his ancient eyes. “I need your help,” he whispered. As the words left his lips, the full horror of the situation dawned on Nora. A wave of dread washed over her, and her eyes began to water.

“Gregory, stop. No!” Cain begged, stepping forward. “Take me instead. Or Abel.”

“Yeah, take me, Lord Morpheus, please,” Abel added earnestly.

Still kneeling before Gregory, Morpheus turned his head slightly towards them. “I cannot. I can only reabsorb that which I have created.” He turned back to the gargoyle, his voice thick with sorrow. “And Gregory began as a Nightmare.”

“Yes,” Cain argued, his voice breaking, “but he’s one of us now.”

“It’s not fair,” Abel choked out.

“No,” Morpheus said softly, his gaze fixed on the gargoyle. “It’s not.” Speaking to Gregory, he simply said again, “I need your help.” Gregory gave Nora’s hand one last nudge before moving directly in front of Morpheus. He sat there and watched Morpheus, his eyes wide and unwavering, showing an acute understanding. Morpheus’s jaw clenched, a muscle working in his cheek, and tears started to pool in his ancient eyes, staining them red, though he refused to let them fall. He held out his hand, trembling slightly. Everything in Morpheus seemed to scream against this act. “You have served this kingdom with great honor. You will be missed.” Gregory nudged his golden head gently into Morpheus’s outstretched hand.

At Morpheus’s first touch, Gregory dissolved. He didn’t crumble or fade, but transformed into a swirling cloud of golden sand that eddied around them for a moment—an impossibly beautiful sight born of intense sadness. The sand then flowed inwards, coalescing in Morpheus’s outstretched hand.

He stood, his expression a mask of contained grief. Nora reached out and rubbed his upper back before grabbing the shoulder closest to her and giving it a slight squeeze, a silent message: I understand. I am with you. He gave a nearly imperceptible nod. He then silently cleared his throat before his voice, now stronger, cut through the silence.

“Come. We have work to do.”

As the trio began to make their way back over the bridge, Cain’s grief and anger boiled over, shoving aside a century of ingrained deference. He stepped forward, his fists clenched.

“How dare you,” he seethed, his voice cracking with emotion. “You return after all this time, not to restore, but to steal. You take one of the only joys we had left in this wasteland and you unmake him before our very eyes. You leave us with less than we had yesterday, with only a memory where our friend used to be.” His words grew more pointed, more personal, each one a small, sharp blade aimed at the silent king. “Is this what your return means? More loss? More sorrow?”

Morpheus stood impassive, his face a mask of careful neutrality, but Nora could feel the impact of each word through their link. It wasn’t anger she felt from him, but a deep, flinching hurt, an agony that twisted in his core with every accusation Cain leveled. He felt everything, and he was feeling this accusation of cruelty as a deep-rooted failure.

Hearing enough of the tirade, and before Morpheus could say anything, Nora spun around, her own anger a righteous, protective fire. She cut Cain off sharply. “How could you possibly say that?”

“He doesn’t mean it, my lady,” Abel stammered, stepping forward with his hands outstretched pleadingly. “He’s just… we loved him so.”

“Be silent,” Nora snapped, her gaze so fierce it stopped Abel in his tracks. Her voice, though cutting through the air, was laced with an intensity that also flooded Morpheus’s mind, a pure, unadulterated torrent of protective fury directed at his accusers. “Your love does not give you the right to wield your grief as a weapon. Especially not against someone who has suffered more than you can possibly imagine.”

She turned her attention back to Cain, her voice ringing with a cold fury that made both brothers flinch. “How dare you stand there and judge him when you have no concept of what he has endured, or what it just cost him to do that. You think that was easy for him? You think he didn’t feel it? Every moment of his captivity, every inch of pain, it was all to keep his realm, your home, from completely dissolving! And now, to unmake a creature he loved, a creature he created, to take back part of himself just to begin the long, agonizing work of rebuilding, it tore him apart. He felt Gregory’s joy in serving, yes, but he also felt the sorrow of taking that life, that essence, back into himself!” Little tears welled in her eyes, one escaping to trace a path down her cheek, mirroring the deep pain she felt from him.

She centered herself, taking a sharp breath. “And despite how much it was killing him inside, he had to accept that gift. Gregory understood what you clearly do not: that true loyalty isn’t about blaming the fallen for their weakness. It is about offering your own strength to help them rise again. His sacrifice was not your loss to mourn, but a lesson in devotion for you to learn.”

She let the words hang in the air, her gaze sweeping over both Cain and the now-cowering Abel. She had cut them down, not with malice, but with a truth so sharp it left no room for argument. They would not question their monarch’s decisions again.

Morpheus, who had remained still as a statue throughout her outburst, was stunned. He felt every scorching word she hurled at his subjects, every nuance of her righteous anger, every wave of fierce loyalty that radiated from her. He had known her compassion, her empathy, but this… this raw, unbridled defense was unexpected. A profound shock, followed by a quiet, overwhelming gratitude, unfurled within him. He had not anticipated such ferocity on his behalf, nor such a queenly display towards his own creations. A warmth bloomed in him, deeper than before, a resonant hum that settled into his very being, stronger than any power he had just regained, as his feelings for her grew just slightly more immense.

Satisfied, Nora firmly pivoted on her heel. Without another word, she turned her back on the two brothers and continued walking, striding past Morpheus and Lucienne as if to say, wordlessly and definitively, Okay. Now we can go.

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

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angelicwolf98 · 4 days ago

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Nora is so wise beyond her years and is not afraid to tell Morpheus how it is! I love that about her character!! 🥰🥰

Chapter 14: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

~Hope in the Ruins~

With the weight of a century of silence hanging in the air, Lucienne finally shared what she could. “I kept a journal for a while,” she began, her voice quiet but clear in the vast, broken hall. “A chronicle of everything that happened in your absence. But slowly, the words began to fade. Sometime after you left, all the books in the library became bound volumes of blank paper. The next day, the whole library was gone.” She ended on a sullen, defeated note. “I never found it again.”

Morpheus surveyed the ruin around him, a bitter self-deprecation bleeding into his tone. “And yet you remained while others fled, the royal librarian of an abandoned kingdom.”

“I never felt abandoned,” Lucienne cut in, her loyalty a sharp, unwavering point of light in the gloom. “I knew you would return.”

Her faith seemed to steel him. Taking another look around the throne room, Morpheus’s despair hardened into resolve. He strode to the center of the chamber and focused, a deep furrow forming in his brow. He raised his arms to his sides, and the ground began to tremble. Pieces of stone and shattered marble slowly lifted into the air, dust motes dancing in the faint light. Nora spun around, her eyes wide with wonder as chunks of the former palace floated weightlessly beside her.

She looked back at Morpheus and saw the immense strain of the effort. He appeared almost frozen, his arms trembling violently, his hands curled into claws as if trying to physically grip the threads of creation and knit them back together. The strain was etched onto his face before, with a sudden, sharp gasp, he collapsed to his knees. Everything that had been floating around them dropped, crashing back to the floor with a deafening series of thuds that sent clouds of dust billowing through the room.

“Morpheus!” Nora cried out, running to his side. She dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands instinctively going to his shoulders. “Oh, Morpheus,” she whispered, her voice thick with an empathy that flowed, warm and steady, through their bond. “Are you okay?”

He raised his head, his ancient, starlit eyes locking with hers. In their depths, she saw a fresh wave of pain crash over him—a dawning, agonizing realization. He was not just back in his ruined realm; he was weak, too weak to mend what had been broken. The impotence of it seemed to hurt him more than the destruction itself.

“You need rest, my Lord,” Lucienne said, her voice gentle but firm as she approached them. “And food and perhaps a bit more rest, and then you’ll be back at full strength.”

“No,” Morpheus rasped, cutting her off. “Not without my tools.”

Lucienne looked confused. “Your tools?”

He explained, though Nora already knew. “My sand, my helm, my ruby. They were taken from me. By my captors. And then taken from them. I know not where.” He looked away, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, heavy with a despair that shook Nora to her core. “Nor what I am without them.”

A firm slap against his shoulder startled him, and he looked almost offended for a second. Nora’s expression was a mixture of frustration and fierce belief. “Oh, that is absolute bullshit and you know that,” she said, her voice sharp. “How dare you say you don’t know what you are without them. You make the tools, the tools don’t make you.”

She leaned closer, her eyes boring into his, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Those things—the sand, the helm, the ruby—they are just that: things. They might be powerful, they might be yours, but they do not define you. Do you think a master painter is no longer a painter without his favorite brush? Who you are isn’t in a pouch of sand or a piece of jewelry. It’s in you. It is you. You are Dream of the Endless. You are the architect of realities, the weaver of fantasies, the sculptor of nightmares. That power, that essence, doesn’t reside in objects that can be stolen. It resides in your will, your imagination, your very existence. They are aids, amplifiers, focuses for a power that is already infinite within you. To say you are nothing without them is an insult to everything you are, and I will not let you believe it.” She let out a breathless huff, her chest heaving slightly, but her eyes remained locked on his, determined for her message to sink in.

Morpheus looked at Nora, and for a moment, the weight of his ruined kingdom seemed to lift. His gaze was so filled with a profound fondness, an unguarded adoration, that she was almost stunned into silence. She hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed to hear her words, how much he’d needed someone to see the power in him, not just in his possessions.

A soft, genuine smile touched his lips. “Yes,” he said, his voice a low murmur meant only for her. With a cheeky little smile, she playfully warned him, "Don't make me slap you again."

“Well, regardless of that,” he continued, turning his attention back to the task at hand, “I will need the tools back to rebuild this place. And there is only one sure way for me to find them.” He straightened, his resolve hardening. “I must summon the Three-In-One.”

Lucienne’s head snapped up, her expression alarmed. “Surely it hasn’t come to that.”

Nora looked from Lucienne to Morpheus, confused. “Three-In-One? Who are they?”

“The Three-In-One are the Fates,” Morpheus answered her, his tone grave. “The Fates see past, present and future, and they know all.”

“Yes,” Lucienne interjected urgently, “but they speak in riddles. They never tell you what you want to know, only things you should never know.”

Nora murmured, "Oh, that doesn't sound good."

Lucienne continued, her voice filled with trepidation as she offered a different path. “Perhaps just this once you could ask one of your siblings for help. Destiny would certainly know where your tools are, or Desire—”

“My siblings have their own realms to attend to,” Morpheus cut her off, his voice firm, a familiar wall falling back into place. “I have mine. We do not interfere in each other’s affairs.”

Lucienne pressed on, her loyalty giving her courage. “You may not, but they’ve certainly been known to. Perhaps you could tell them what happened to you.”

Morpheus’s gaze fell to the rubble at his feet. “They were blind to my suffering for a century. I will not burden them with it now that I am free. This is my failing, and I must be the one to right it. On my own.” Nora loudly cleared her throat and pointedly looked at Morpheus, as if to say, What did we previously discuss, Mister?

Lucienne sighed, seeing his intractable pride. “The Fates aren’t cheap, you know. They cost a bloody fortune.”

A heavy silence settled as Morpheus considered her words, the truth of them undeniable. “And at present, I cannot muster power enough to summon them, let alone pay that cost.”

Nora, who had been listening intently, spoke up. “Wait. What if you don’t have to? What if you could… recharge? You said the realm is you. If you could find something you made, something that still has a piece of your energy in it, couldn’t you reabsorb that power? Use that to summon the Fates?”

Morpheus looked at her, then turned to his librarian, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Yes. Is there anything of mine that remains in The Dreaming? Something that I created?”

Lucienne gestured helplessly at the desolation around them. “You created all of this.”

“No,” Morpheus clarified, his focus sharpening. “Something that remains intact. That might retain some fragment of my power within it. Something I can absorb.”

Lucienne nodded slowly, a deep reluctance in her posture. She knew he wasn’t going to like the answer. “There is one thing,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Next Chapter

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

#king of dreams #dream of the endless #dream #the sandman #morpheus #morpheus x reader

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