Chapter Text
He remembers a time long ago when him and his brother would curl up under the blankets, whispering and giggling about anything and everything their little minds could come up with.
He remembers a time when his mother had told him he was important. That he was made for a reason. That he was needed.
Sometimes he wondered when it started. When his brother’s eyes, originally filled with wonder as he spun tales of what he seen in the world of dreams, turned to boredom. Or when they finally turned to distain, where they remained for eternity.
He wondered when he had let the rich, populated fields and forests of the realm of sleep be taken over by the Lethe. Letting the landscapes he spent his whole prior existence building be washed away until there was nothing but him amongst the mists.
He supposed they must have happened at similar times. As Than grew older and disinterested in flights of fancy. As Mother Nyx found more important people to care for. As the sound of tiny, burning feet began to echo in the halls.
It was no coincidence that the Lethe ran through the realm of sleep. Dreams were destined to be forgotten by all but the most stubborn of dreamers. The pains of waking life could be washed away in sleep, if even for a moment.
Forgetfulness. Oblivion. The Lethe was as much a part of him as the Styx was to his eldest brother.
Perhaps that was why he was destined to be forgotten by all he cared about.
After all, what use is Sleep to the ever-moving gods? It was nothing of importance, a luxury to be taken to avoid work. Or a tool to use against them. Something to be forgotten until the next time someone may think him useful.
A convenient tool, but never truly needed.
The Lethe didn’t work on him the same way it did the souls of mortals. The first time that despair enveloped him in ways he could not hide he fled to his sanctuary in Elysium and drank his fill of the river until the tears faded away. He had hoped he could be wiped clean, freed from his traitorous mind to perhaps start anew. Alas, all it did was numb the pain and blur his thoughts until apathy settled upon him.
The feeling had still been addicting enough to repeat.
No one noticed if he was more sluggish. If he started to space out more often. Sounds and colors blurred together more and more, and it was fine. If anything, he was just settling more into the role they already saw him as.
What was the harm in that?