Archive of Our Own

Your dreams were like an itch he couldn't scratch, a speck of dust he couldn't get out of his eye; always in the back of his head, a shadow dancing at the edge of his vision. Had they been in any way pleasant, he wouldn't mind them as much - God knew how much he needed something pleasant in his otherwise bleak life. But they weren't anywhere close to "nice". The darkness residing in your dreams bothered him to no end, never quite letting him go like a blister that is scratched open with each painful step. Strangely enough, such a course of events was completely foreign to Morpheus - people's dreams and nightmares never stuck to him for longer than the fraction of a second between an exhale and an inhale.

At first, he feared he became privy to the first tremor of a shattering earthquake, that your misery was an omen of something much darker and sinister. Fearing for the well-being of his realm, Morpheus followed your dreams to venture into the Waking World and find you. Honestly, he was expecting to uncover a true calamity but he never did see it - at least not in the form he had thought.

What he saw was, in fact, a lot worse. All calamities have a source, the eye of the storm, but this one clearly didn't. It would all be very bitterly funny if it wasn't so heartbreaking - how everything you touched ended in pain and loneliness, rarely because of you at that. Your frustrations quickly became his own. Watching you go through every day like you were screaming at the world to let you be happy, to let you have something good for a second, but the entirety of creation was separated from you by a glass wall: you could only watch and weep. Were you cursed or hexed? No, he would have noticed something of that sort. Then what was it? What unnamed sorcery made you the scapegoat of humanity?

He once spent an entire night standing under your window like Romeo admiring Juliet. For hours on end, you were sitting with your face against the cold glass, eyes forever watching the moon travel across the black sky. Your tears slowly rolled down your cheeks as your vacant stare begged the universe for an explanation of its injustice. It pained Morpheus how beautiful and tragic you looked. Perhaps you truly weren't of this world? Would you not find your place in a baroque painting? Part of him wished he could paint that heartbreaking view. Not for his selfish pleasure, no, but for the whole world to be reminded of its barbarity until Judgment Day.

And Morpheus simply stood there until sun rays chased the world's dreams and nightmares away. He wasn't quite sure why he remained a watcher for the entire night. Maybe you appeared so distraught and fragile he feared that the moment he looks away the sunless abyss of secrets unspoken will devour you; that if he left his post there would be nothing tying you to this realm.

A lot has changed because of that night but mostly Morpheus himself had undergone some kind of transformation - he became quieter if that was ever possible and more irritable. He would pace around the throne room, clearly thinking intensely about something but never revealing what it was. And with time, he began to neglect his royal duties, disappearing for hours if not days on end, only to come back and refuse to give any explanation.

Little did you know that he was always there like a guardian angel that never abandoned its duty despite being exiled from heaven; hiding around corners as though he was a mere delusion that lingered on the edges of your vision. Wherever you went, he followed, often leaving pain and terror behind. Things started becoming weirder around you in the sense that people would fall to strange ailments or spiral into madness. Some never woke up, while others went for days without sleep. A snarky acquaintance did everything they could to not fall asleep in fear of the nightmares that awaited them. A cynical relative lost their mind and claimed that horrendous creatures from their night terrors trespassed into reality. Perhaps it was crude to say so but you felt a sense of relief at those tragedies: people too busy with their microapocalypses were too busy to add nails to your coffin, too preoccupied with themselves to put you on the receiving end of their wickedness.

But to Morpheus's terror, his tricks and punishments were not enough to aid your woe. They were merely temporary solutions like putting a bandaid over a stab wound. His anger only grew as the universe laughed in his face and continued its merciless quest for maintaining your unhappiness. Morpheus was forced to watch you being stuck in a cruel cycle of perpetual misfortunes and how you'd cry yourself to sleep only to somehow get out of bed in the morning and carried on, day by day. You were akin to Atlas but Atlas only carried the globe, not the peskiness of the cosmos like you did.

The streetlights lit brightly underneath you. Cars and motorbikes sped through the labyrinth of streets as if chasing time itself. Someone was walking their dog, a man was going home after his shift, a couple chatted happily while walking to a restaurant. They were each in their own microcosms, moving to the rhythm of life. All, except you. How could everyone simply live on, find balance and happiness in their unchanged daily bread? Was there something you missed? A secret you were never told? Or, perhaps, the answer was a lot simpler: you didn't deserve contentment. The fact that you came into this world was nothing more but a slip-up, a stumbling step taken while the person blinks.

You looked at the people filling the streets beneath you. From the distance, they were all so small, unimportant, cold. They never looked up to the tops of buildings, never acknowledged the acrobatics of someone struggling to cling to life. Even if they did, they probably wouldn't care - your hypothetical death was, after all, none of their business. Standing on the rooftop, you were no longer part of the same plane as them. Perhaps, you never truly were. Is that what birds saw as they flew over your head?

The rooftop was so high and the street so low... Would it hurt to fall? And the falling, would it take long? Lying on the cold cobblestone, your hot blood warming the otherwise cold world, how would this starry sky look? Would this rooftop look as faraway then as the street looked now? Would the pavement feel rigid and uncomfortable under your broken bones?

But, maybe, you had the strength to try one last time before taking that path. You looked up at the starry firmament and let out a sigh before speaking quietly. "Hey," you called out to the night sky, "if there's anyone out there, and I highly doubt that, can you help me a little? Life's a bitch, you know? I just... I just need a win. Something good, no matter how small, so I don't feel like my entire existence is pointless if not a burden. But if there really is someone out there, you're probably busy anyway. I mean, there's more important work to do than answer my whining, right? Wars to end, cancers to heal... But if you have a spare second, maybe you could give me something good. Or kill me, I don't care anymore."

"I have listened to your prayer and I heard your suffering."

Surprised and confused, you turned around to look at the stranger. He was tall and lanky, with dishevelled hair and a cold look in his eyes. In some strange and fascinating way, he did not look real but rather like a scribble that came to life; like a raven if it was reborn as a human.

"Who are you?"

"I am Morpheus, Lord of the Dreams," he slowly spoke in a low tone. "I came to answer your call."

As strange as it was to admit it, that was the truth: for the first time in your life, somebody answered your prayer. "I'm sorry, I didn't actually think this would work. I'm not much of a believer."

"And yet I came. Why did you call?"

No words left you at first. A shattering, painful tremble clawed through your body as that gaping hole in your chest was reponed. This sadness... it felt like being stabbed; like your body was so numb in its agony that you couldn't breathe. The full moon's silver light glistened in your tears as if it wasn't you weeping but the stars.

"I am violently unhappy," you confessed.

You didn't see it but Morpheus clenched his fist for a moment, which was more than strange - after all, he knew about your misery beforehand. Perhaps it was your admittance, irrefutable proof of your awareness of the injustice bestowed upon you, that gnawed at him. "Why is that?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"God, where do I even begin... It feels like everyone around me has something I don't like a love song only I can't hear. There's something wrong with me, I wasn't meant to be born into this world. I don't belong here. Nothing I do has any value, I can't keep up with the rest. You try and you try and it's never enough. No matter what you do or how. No one cares about your pain until it somehow involves them. I'm just so... tired."

"They will never stop disappointing you," he said as he walked towards you. Whether it was his own belief or merely something you wanted to hear, didn't matter. For Morpheus, it was one and the same.

"Every day I wake up to a web of human lives I've been woven into against my will, fulfil meaningless duties no one likes and yet everyone follows. Then I come back home to rest only for this pointless cycle to begin again in the morning. And I can't help but wonder if there is no third act where I'm someone special? Where I matter? Is this bland suffering all there is?"

"No," he spoke barely above a breath. "There is much, much more to this world. I could free you from this life."

"Free me?" you asked with a dry scoff. "I am as free as one can be: I love nothing and I'm loved by no one."

Morpheus, however, was a steadfast person and that annoying affliction only grew in strength the longer he was in your vicinity as if your presence was gradually gnawing at his sanity. It was an exchange he'd welcome more than warmly: his reason for your companionship. "You could be the pinnacle of my desire, the anger that forces my hand. All that breaks your heart will have to beg for my forgiveness. There shall be no day when all of my existence does not belong to you. I will bleed out just to quench your thirst." He took another step towards you, his face leaning in so close your noses were almost brushing. "If you do not wish for this freedom, let me imprison you." Then, in a wavering voice, he added: "Please."

His offer made your heart nearly jump out of your chest but you knew better than to immediately agree - he didn't deserve such a burden. Feeling shame and disgust with yourself, you looked away from him. "You will change your mind the moment you get to know me. I'm nothing interesting or worth loving."

Morpheus lifted his hand to your face. His index finger anxiously brushed against your cheeks as if you really were a baroque painting that he defiled with his undeserving touch. Morpheus spoke ever so quietly: "Had I whispered your name to Moses, the whole world would watch God's chosen discard the first commandment."

"Sounds blasphemous," you answered equally quietly. When your breath brushed against his cold skin, a shiver run down his spine. Perhaps if he could fill his lungs with your breath he would never feel sorrow ever again.

"Not to the goddess I worship." His blue eyes, the colour of a raging sea, stared into yours. There was so much he wished to say, unspoken confessions that would embarrass poets but he had a lot of time - all of eternity, in fact.

"Where will you take me?"

Dream's hand gently fell from your face to your own palm. Temptingly, his finger wrapped around yours. "To Dreaming - your new kingdom, my queen."

And from that day on, you never looked back. Never once did the faraway streetlamps visit your thoughts. There was only him: the eldritch king that fell to his knees begging for your affection that you so happily granted. Your desires became his, your pleasure his joy and your discomfort his anger. If he could tear himself apart, he would hand-feed you the pieces that were once him.

It was strange - how comfortable imprisonment could be, to be forever tied to someone. After all, aren't trees prisoners of their roots? And yet should they struggle free, they would fall straight away and die of thirst.

Were you not a bird of paradise? Sitting on a perch in a gilded cage only because someone liked your feathers or your song. All the comforts you were given, wishes that he granted, just so you stay the canary that sings his loneliness away. And like a bird, you were released from your cage only to be imprisoned by the confines of Dream's home. The bird, however, rejoices! For it never knew such freedom.