Work Text:
Dream was falling. Tumbling between endless memories of fonder times. Of warmth and of sunlight and of hope. But hope was dead and the sun had long ago set on his face for the last time.
Dream was falling, and soon he would be nothing but darkness, nothing but a faded memory, a name on the tip of your tongue. There is a bitter sort of peace in being forgotten, in knowing that you will be gone.
Dream was falling, and as he fell, his lips twisted into a smile. And even after he had hit the ground, his heart soared free.
Because there's a certain grace in falling when you should be soaring. theres a grace in finally letting go. there's a grace in endings. And as his body lay on the ground outside of the prison that he had slowly learned to love, as stray white feathers floated to the ground, his mind was finally quiet. Finally calm. As his blood ran onto the grass, as the wind gently caressed his hair, Dream died.
Maybe in another life they would have mourned him, but they had only seen his fall. They had only seen him as he crashed to the ground. They had never seen the boy who had grown up alone. A boy who had fought for his life, for hope, only to have it brutally beaten out of him. They never saw the boy who had given up everything to the merciless gods above. Everything, and only to be loved for the first time in his pitiful life. Only to be seen.
Maybe he was always bound fo fall.