Promises 1: Introduction

new ask meme! anonymously assign me a vibe

I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you're everything that exists, the reality of everything.

- Virginia Woolf

A Small Act of Kindness

A DARK one-shot

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x you, afab reader

Warnings: dark!Morpheus, obsessive behaviour, dark!Dream won't take 'no' for an answer, disturbing themes like kidnapping, imprisonment, isolation, etc, 18+ only!!

Inspired by this ask for @roguelov See: https://www.tumblr.com/roguelov/721739134130143232/this-isnt-smut-but-dream-has-strong-miette?source=share

Summary: You were at the cusp of making a life for yourself when you bought a loaf of bread for a stranger, who seemed a little bit too taken with such a nice gesture.

When you were a kid, everybody around you seemed to think you got a great life ahead of you. You kept hearing them comment how bright you were, how talented, how lucky your parents were to have such a behaved, wonderful child - and for a time, it got to your head.

Until life proved you weren't really any of those things.

It started creeping in when you went away to college. You had a taste of freedom, of zero expectations, and a glimpse of a world suddenly leagues beyond yourself. It was one class at first, then another, until you started dropping out of every class and left college altogether.

Many therapy sessions, and a couple of therapists later, you found out what it was called: burnout. It just so happened it plagued you a little early in life.

In retrospect, perhaps you could've tried harder - if you had just snoozed your alarm off a little less; if you had just grit your teeth and stomached your way through a few more algebra periods instead of sitting alone in that little corner of the library, reading whatever, hidden from a world you barely knew - perhaps it all would've been different.

Perhaps, you wouldn't be stuck in this small, glass cage floating in a vast chasm, in a place you hadn't thought existed even in your wildest dreams.

It was a day like any other, you supposed: the day you met him. You had to go to work, to a desk job that you actually liked, writing for a local food magazine. You were quite good at it too - it's a skill you had when you were quite young and had not had a chance to cultivate until late. Sure, you were barely making ends meet and had very little time to spare, what with taking a certificate course at a nearby university and recently moving out of your parents' house to rent your own little apartment, but you were feeling optimistic for the first time in a long while. Your boss just let it slip the other day that you were due for a well-deserved promotion soon. It was a slow process, but you were finally on your way to getting your life back together. You had a future you looked forward to.

Having already established your morning routine, you were on your way early to the office and decided to stop for coffee at this corner bakeshop you had once featured in one of your articles. The smell of freshly baked bread distracted you from a mental draft you were making for an article due tonight, so on impulse, you asked the cashier for a plain butter croissant at the counter. You looked to your right where the pastries were to see whether you wanted something else (the danishes looked scrumptious). You opened your mouth to ask the other lady behind the bread counter for a cherry danish, but her attention was already on the man beside you, clad in a thick, woollen black coat, collar upturned, his chiselled jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly at the question the lady posed for him.

"Uh, sir? I asked what you'd like to have?"

He tilted his head imperceptibly and for a moment, you thought he couldn't speak, until he opened those pursed lips, and finally, came out the most velvety, alluring voice you've ever heard: "I'd like some bread, please."

"Well, we've got quite a lot of them," the lady replied slowly as if she was trying her best not to be snarky at the stranger. "Might I recommend the baguette? It's fresh out of the oven."

The man nodded curtly as the lady picked the steaming bread from the basket display using a pair of tongs and placed it inside a brown paper bag.

"That'll be one twenty-five, sir."

The man made no move to shuffle in his pockets for money. In fact, he stayed still, stiff as a board, staring at the lady behind the counter who was getting rather irritated at his dawdling, probably keeping her from attending to the growing line of other customers waiting to get their breakfast. Perhaps, he didn't have money? Perhaps, just like your first few weeks out of your parents' house, he was struggling and he had no one else to depend on?

"I-I'll pay for it."

You didn't know what it really was that compelled you to say it - maybe it was that draft you were itching to get to, maybe you found empathy in his situation, whatever it was - at that time, you had no regrets. Seemingly surprised by the gesture, the man in the black coat, with his dishevelled hair and his pale countenance, stared at you intensely through those long eyelashes of his, and for a few moments, you held his gaze.

His eyes. They were a nice shade of ocean blue. They were the most beautiful pair of eyes you had ever seen.

You would later discover they could bleed to depthless black - ruthless, vindictive, inhuman.

The cashier handed you your change and your croissant, effectively breaking the spell the stranger beside you had on you. The cherry danish all but ignored, you flashed the man a small smile and headed out of the bakeshop, going about your merry way to the office with nothing but that article in mind.

And for the next two weeks, you had already put the rather bizarre incident (man) behind you, having been assigned to another place to visit and write about.

The man, however, never forgot.

The place you had been assigned to, called the New Inn, actually belonged to a professor in your university. You've had quite a lot of fun in his classes, so this was a gig you were pretty excited about.

It was a little over five in the afternoon when you stepped inside Professor Gadling's pub. He was already there in the corner booth, grading several essays. He put them aside as you arrived and asked a waiter to bring you both coffee. You were in the process of bringing out your digital recorder for the interview when you heard a voice so familiar it sent shivers down your spine.

"Hob."

Completely taken by surprise, you dropped the recorder to the floor, and it landed just a few inches from a pair of black boots. You tried to reach for it, but a pale, bony hand picked it up and wordlessly handed it to you. You looked up, only to get lost in a pair of ocean-blue eyes focused entirely on you.

It was the stranger from the bakeshop.

You took the recorder, muttering a flustered 'thank you,' before Professor Gadling greeted him like an old friend. He then introduced you to the stranger, who oddly enough just stared at you the entire time.

"She's interviewing me for the pub. I'll be featured in a magazine, can you believe it?" Professor Gadling said to the stranger who stepped inside the booth, intending to take the empty seat directly across from you. Turning to you, he stated, "This is my friend -"

"You may call me Morpheus." The man interrupted, a ghost of a smile visible on his usually blank features. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

It was unnerving the way he held your gaze without blinking, but perhaps it was just your imagination - after all, you hadn't had anything to eat since that leftover Chinese noodles this morning.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” was all you could come up with.

You were grateful when the waiter arrived with two cups of coffee and a dessert platter, and the interview with the professor went well and without interruptions. You both had so much fun, you ended up having dinner and drinks at the pub, and while it struck you odd that your third, silent companion did not partake in any single morsel of the food, by the time the evening ended at half-past ten, you had enough material for your article and were in great spirits. You thanked him for being such a gracious host and politely bid your farewell, as you were anxious to get a headstart on the draft.

The three of you simultaneously got to your feet - Professor Gadling to walk you outside, and the odd man named Morpheus trailing behind.

"Do come by again, my dear, and good luck with the article. I know you'd do a fantastic job." The professor said as he waved farewell outside the pub. He turned to Morpheus, who stood just a few feet away, watching the interaction, and gestured to him inside - presumably for them to continue their conversation - but as soon as you waved goodbye, he made a beeline for you, stopping just a few inches away and towering over you.

Too close, you thought. Wait, were his eyes twinkling? It must’ve been the streetlamp, the lights outside were pretty dim.

"I would like to accompany you on your walk home."

His words threw you off because they were so unexpected. He had no reason to do so, after all. Shyly, you beamed at him and replied, "I'd appreciate it, Morpheus, but I wouldn't like to impose...weren't you meeting with the professor?"

Professor Gadling, who apparently was in earshot of your conversation, waved you away.

"No, it's fine, dear. Besides, a young lady such as yourself shouldn't be walking alone at night. I'll see you some other time, my friend," he added, winking at Morpheus, who just tilted his chin in reply.

The professor had a point. You lived nearby, that was true, but the streets weren't safe on a Friday night, especially at this hour. You chewed on the insides of your cheek, nervous at the fact that you have not had anyone walk you home in a long while.

It's just a walk home. It couldn't be that bad, could it?

"Okay."

You would come to regret your response.

***

Inwardly, Morpheus rejoiced at the thought of you lowering your guard with him. He motioned with a hand to let you lead the way, not that he needed it - in two weeks after your fateful encounter at the bakeshop he had gotten to know every little detail he needed to know about you, including where you lived, of course. He had seen the little apartment himself when you were out at work, and while it irked him that you had to live in such a humble abode, he knew through your dreams that you had filled the apartment with love and considered it your sanctuary. It wouldn't matter once he took you home to his kingdom as his lover - for you, he'd craft an entire palace carved in precious stones in the blink of an eye, and it would be your sanctuary, just as much as this tiny home.

He did a fine job, too, of luring you into the place his centuries-old friend now owned. It took him only one dream, planted during your boss’s deepest slumber, for you to get sent right where Morpheus wanted you to be. All this planning and you were right there, with him, just as the fates would have it.

He had to ask you tonight. He has waited long enough.

***

You were just a few blocks away from your apartment building when you finally gained the courage to break the awkward silence between you two.

"Thank you for walking me home," you said quietly as you eyed him sideways. Your eyes widened at the sight that greeted you: he had a genuine, warm smile on his face you'd never seen on him before, and if his demeanour is anything to go by, you knew this was a rarity.

He looked like a prince, even with his hair sticking out in all directions.

"It is I who should be thanking you for your kindness to me at that establishment," he spoke with conviction. "I have not forgotten."

Surprised, but overall glad that he remembered, you matched his expression as best you can and replied, "You're welcome."

Nothing was ever exchanged until you reached your apartment door, but he seemed to draw closer to you, your shoulders almost touching.

Your hand was already at the keys to the doorknob when you asked him if he wanted to come in.

"For tea, perhaps?" You added. "I couldn't help but notice you didn’t eat at dinner, so…”

It was a last-minute decision, seeing as he was kind enough to ensure you got home safely. He could do with a few biscuits, too, in your opinion, judging by his pallor and his refusal to eat anything at the pub.

There it was again - that captivating smile, but behind it, you see a flash of something else entirely. It was gone even before you could fully take it in, so you shrugged inwardly. The hallway’s lighting has always been too dark to see a damn thing.

“You need not concern yourself over me, I am much stronger than I look,” he said in a light, teasing tone. “However, your effort would be appreciated.”

“Oh, it’s no problem!” You waved him off and pushed the door open to your home. “I just hope you don’t mind tea without milk, I haven’t done any grocery shopping yet…”

Morpheus followed you inside, closing the door behind him, as you went off to your room to drop your bag on the bed and set up your laptop on your work desk. As soon as you got out of your room, you found him with his back to you, rummaging through the copies of the magazine you wrote for.

“Nothing interesting in those, I’m afraid. Still, not bad for a would-be writer, don’t you think?”

Chuckling to yourself, you made your way to the tiny kitchen to put the electric kettle to boil, then rummaged through the cupboards for a mug you were saving for when you had guests over. Not that you’ve ever had any - so far, he was the first you’ve had since you moved in.

“‘A would-be writer?’”

The proximity of his voice startled you, seeing as you thought he had still been reading back in the living room. It’s admittedly only a few steps away, but you hadn’t heard him approach. He was at the kitchen doorway, casting a long shadow in the dimly lit space. You had forgotten to turn the lights on, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

“You give yourself very little credit for such riveting work,” he said as he closed the distance between you. The kettle had just turned off by itself, so you concentrated on pouring the boiling water on the mug and dropping a Ceylon tea bag inside. Leaning on the tiled counter, you watched the tea leaves bleed into the water, turning it to a lovely amber colour.

“I don’t know about that -”

Your sentence was cut short as you felt his fingertips subtly stroke your elbow, giving you goosebumps all over your arm.

He’d gotten so close…

Scooping up the mug with both hands, you turn around to hand him the mug, only to find yourself inches away from him you almost spill the hot liquid on his woollen coat.

“Your writing has soul. I should know: I have read every word you have ever written.”

Blinking up at him, you saw him dip his head closer to yours as his pale, warm hands enclosed around yours, still holding the tea.

You were trembling, it seemed, but he stilled it.

“Th-thank you," you whispered, unable to avert your gaze from those piercing blue eyes that seemed to pin you to place, as was his tall, imposing form enclosing you between him and the kitchen counter. He was so close you could feel the heat emanating from him. "That means so much to me.”

Or was it the heat from your cheeks you felt?

Seemingly oblivious to your increasingly flustered state, Morpheus made a deliberate move to extricate the cup of tea from your grasp so he could set it back down behind you (it was probably already over-brewed, you thought), while you try to compose yourself and ignore his fingers softly grazing your knuckles. You didn't have much time, however, because the next thing you knew was those same hands cupping your cheeks and his soft lips brushing over yours in a chaste kiss that stole your breath completely.

You felt him release his hold on you, perhaps to observe your reaction. Perhaps, you could’ve pushed him away right there and then; screamed at him for touching you and thrown him out of your home; but you couldn’t summon your limbs to respond. He took your momentary lapse of judgement to crash his lips on yours once more - it was a more heated, more insistent kiss, and as if to seal you to him, his hands travelled to your back to encase you in an embrace and pushed you further into the counter.

This was wrong.

It was all your instincts could tell you. So you heeded them and pushed against the lapel of his coat with all your strength. It was like pushing against a wall, but you managed to wriggle free from his grasp, so you made an effort to put as much distance between you and him as your tiny kitchen would allow. You glanced immediately at his face to gauge his expression, and to your utter shock, his eyes had gone entirely black. One blink, and it was blue once more, maybe even a tad regretful.

It’s the lighting in this damn kitchen, you assured yourself.

“I understand I may have been too forward,” he began, “But I assure you, my intentions are pure. I have waited for this since our fateful meeting.” He took slow steps towards you, and unconsciously you backed away until your back hit the fridge. There was nowhere else to back into. He halted as soon as he sensed your guard up.

“Morpheus, it was just a loaf of bread, really…”

Morpheus’s eyes softened visibly at your words and simply continued, “And by that selfless act, you have saved me in more ways than you could ever understand. I have held you in my heart since, my precious little saviour.”

“I-I'm sure it's nothing...” you stammered.

“Allow me the honour of courting you, and in turn, you shall know of my gratitude, and my love, until the end of my days.”

Your heart sank at his declaration. Somehow, you knew in your heart he meant every word he said. You couldn’t have this, not when everything in your life was just starting to fall into place. You put on the kindest smile you could muster and spoke slowly as you chose the right words, hoping he wouldn’t be too downcast with what you were about to say to him.

“I'm sure you're a wonderful man, Morpheus. I just…I don't think I can make that commitment right now. I mean, I just met you, and all I know about you is that you’re Professor Gadling’s friend.”

“That can be rectified.”

You let out a sigh. This was going to be difficult, but you really didn’t like the idea of egging him on. “I know that, but…I don’t think I have time for that, you know?”

“How so?” he asked in a low voice, tilting his head slightly.

“It's been a struggle just to get to where I am today… I have my work, which I love, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm doing something right and…one wrong move could make me lose my footing. I’m sorry.”

Morpheus seemed unconvinced, taking a few steps forward to close that gap between you. “You need not worry yourself over such trivial matters. I know what you dream of. I can give you the recognition you deserve, the stability you crave and more… Come with me and I can show you.”

He offered an outstretched hand, urging you to take it. But if you were being honest, you just wanted to crawl into bed, the draft be damned. Exhaustion was starting to creep up on you.

“‘Come with you…?’ I'm sorry, please don't take this the wrong way, I'm sure you mean well…but-but-th-this isn't really a good time for this…” you stammered as you crossed your arms to make a point, which you hoped he’d finally take. “I think I'd like to be alone now, please. I-I have that…thing I want to finish, and it's getting late…I’m sorry, Morpheus. I really am.”

Morpheus’s hand lowered steadily, but all the softness he had in his expression was gone without a trace, replaced with cold, hard eyes and furrowed brows. The warmth you have loved your apartment for all but disappeared, replaced with a clammy air that seemed to come from…from him.

“You have no idea what you've just turned away…nor who I am, and what I can do,” came Morpheus’s voice, lowered to an unrecognisable timbre. “I will give you this final chance to amend your answer, my little saviour.”

“E-excuse me?” you said, fighting the urge to run away from him and hide. This was your home, you had no reason to. Who the hell was he to threaten you in your own home? “I'd like you to leave, please, or I'm calling the police…”

He was only a few feet away from you now, and the wind somehow grew stronger, you could feel its rough caress on your skin.

Sand.

The light in your kitchen turned on without a warning, and your eyes widened at the sight of the man you had so carelessly allowed into your home:

A dangerous man - now a being transforming right before you - with chilling black eyes, a heavy flurry of sand circling him, and waves of black smoke emanating from his growing form…

Paralyzed in utter fear, your heart pounding in your ears, all you could do was hold on to the fridge as you watched him approach your cowering form on the floor. Gone was that princely face you shared a gentle kiss with, replaced by a bony, skeletal mask with hollow cheekbones, his mouth contorted in a snarl that revealed razor-sharp fangs.

His voice echoed as he spoke, raspy and deafening:

“I am quite disappointed in you, my precious saviour. No matter: I am not unmerciful.” A pale hand, now with blackened, sharpened nails, made an appearance before you. “Take my hand, my beloved, and I shall forgive your error.”

In your terrified state, all you could muster was an adamant shake of your head.

This can’t be real. It couldn’t be.

“I’m dreaming, I'm-I’m dreaming this, this can’t be real, you’re no-not real…” hunched on the floor, hugging your legs, you muttered to yourself.

“Very well,” he thundered. “You have made your choice. ”

You would later discover just how real dreams could be, and that they weren’t that much different from the nightmares.

***

Morpheus released a small sigh as he watched you in your spherical compartment, deep in troubled slumber. He had not meant to frighten you that much with his nightmarish form. Admittedly, he could’ve done a much better job with reeling himself in, but the pain of your rejection felt to him like a thousand daggers being plunged into his heart. All he wanted was for you to be happy with him. He could’ve given you everything he had seen you dream of - he still could, but not before he heard from your sweet lips an admittance of your guilt, and a vow never to spurn him again. 

He held the tiny sphere that contained your form in his palm and drew it closer to his face to get a better look at you. He had fashioned you a dress that brought out the colour of your eyes and soul: you looked ravishing, even in imprisonment. In his mind, he had played the memory of the kiss you had shared with him in your home a thousand times over. You were intoxicating, and the thought of kissing you again and finally marking your skin cemented his decision of keeping you in this space he crafted in his kingdom. You needed time to consider his proposal, that was to be expected. He would allow you the time you needed. All he had to do was assure you of your safety and well-being, seeing as scaring you even further might prolong his wait.

He knew you would wake soon, and he would explain his actions when you do. You would have no reason to refuse him, then.

***

You woke with a start, rubbing the sleep off your eyes, just to sit up and think.

You had lost count of the number of days you had spent in your glass enclosure, and there was nothing much to do except to observe your surroundings - nothing but a vast space, where distant stars glittered in the black tapestry that was space, with a single source of light in sight, like the sun, only that it offered no warmth. That, and to ruminate on the events that led you to this situation.

You remembered when you first came to, locked in this glorified cage. You still thought you were dreaming then, so you did everything you could to try waking yourself up, only none of it worked. That was when he appeared.

Dream of the Endless, he had called himself. The King of Dreams and Ruler of the Nightmare Realm.

He claimed to rule the place he had taken you to, which he called the Dreaming. He had then explained that everything humanity (‘your kind,’ you recalled him saying) had ever dreamed of in its sleep was as real as everything it sees, hears, and feels in its waking hours and that he presided over them since the first living creature dreamed, and will do so until the end of all life.

He had revealed that he had watched over you, your dreams and your waking hours, since your first meeting, and that he had not meant to scare you, only that he wished for you to accept his advances.

That was the first of his many attempts to get you to say ‘yes.’

He would ask in many ways: a long walk in this garden he called the Fiddler’s Green; a sumptuous dinner in one of his many grand halls; an adventurous tryst in one of the humans’ dreams. He had promised that if you agreed to be courted by him and be with him, he would take you out of your enclosure and release you, allow you to roam his kingdom as his lover, forever wanting nothing and lavishing in all the riches and trinkets he could offer.

From then, you knew you would never be allowed back into the life you had worked so hard to build, humble as it may have been.

At first, your response to his attempts of coaxing you into a relationship with him was a string of incoherent curses and screaming. After a while, they were plain ignored - his face would remain blank every time, if not a tad disappointed, or hurt.

You didn’t care.

But you were also lying if you said it hadn’t worn out your resolve. This day was one of them.

You missed food. Not that you were ever hungry - he had removed hunger from you in your imprisonment. He had given you the gift of dreamless sleep as well, but in your time alone with nothing to do except wake and sleep, you’d give almost anything to have dreams again. You had no other company except him and the vast, endless space beyond your cage that he had conjured for you. You being sealed away from everything was driving you closer to insanity every day, and that was his design: to make you desperate enough to submit to his will.

Without warning, your hair stood at the back of your neck, your senses on high alert.

Dream of the Endless had arrived.

“My precious little saviour,” he greeted in that deep, velvety voice you had grown to hate and find comfort in at the same time. “I have come for you.”

Your captor had a warm smile on his regal features, one that didn’t match his true intentions. You stared at him with a blank expression and let his greeting go unanswered.

“Will you join me for a walk in my garden?”

He kept his eye contact with you as he waited for your response. It unnerved you to no end, the way he held your gaze with those ocean-blue eyes of his, knowing a single ‘no’ from you would instantly turn it to the black ones you have known to fear. When you opened your mouth to speak, it actually hurt your throat - you hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“Will you be locking me up again, after?”

He grinned at you and tilted his head slightly. “If you behave and do as I say, I will not.”

Only a single tear that escaped from your eye betrayed that gnawing feeling of defeat in your gut. Finally swallowing whatever pride you had left, you made a decision.

“Yes.”

You should never have bought him that damned loaf of bread.

***

Just a little one-shot I wanted to write to get myself out of a writing rut I've been stuck with wanting Comatose to be perfect it stressed me out too much :// I will still work on it, I promise! I just need to get this out the way to get my writing mojo back :D

Also, what do you think of making this a two-shot with SMUTTY goodness?? hmmm the thots, they plague meeeee

Thank you for reading!!!! Please engage and all that it's really appreciate iiiit

***

I just planned another book with my patented method:

The Easiest, Hardest Outline You'll Ever Try.

Works every time.

PS: Want a text version of this post? Click here!

So... I found this and now it keeps coming to mind. You hear about "life-changing writing advice" all the time and usually its really not—but honestly this is it man.

I'm going to try it.

Crimson Stained Petals (Ch. 3)

Summary: Set in the 1880s, rumors and mysteries swirled around a quaint town, mostly about a lord tucked far into the woods. Arriving in town, you could not deny your curiosities, but you were not here to stay. Or so you thought. Low on funds, and a job for a live-in servant advertised in the paper, you now found yourself in the home of Lord Morpheus - the source of all rumors. Passions and tensions will grow. Questions will be answered, but may come at a hefty price. And a promise may be broken. But, is Lord Morpheus, and those few residents, truly as scary as they seem?

Words Count: ~4.7k

Reader: Neutral (unspecified now, however fem leaning)

Warnings: Minor angst (nightmare/hints of trouble past), mutual pinning, fluff

Chapter 2 and future chapters to come!

Strangely, time slipped by so easily. You were astounded when a week passed, then another. You never grew bored, you never glanced at the clock praying for Father Time to move faster. No, never. You truly found joy in your job, and with every day your curiosity for the manor grew.

You supposed your curiosity devoured away at your boredom. Questions and speculations ran rampant. Question you will have your answers to. You did not stay because the job was fairly easy and the pay was good. No, you stayed because something in your gut said to - and it only intensified when you first met Lord Morpheus.

For now, you pushed down such hunger.

Today, you only wished to relax.

Outside, on one of your days off, you lounged on the wooden bench under the willow tree on the backside of the property. Looking ahead, the rose maze stood and beyond that the dense, somewhat eerie forest. To the left was the greenhouse with an abundance of vegetables, and peering through the stained windows was a small cabin nestled into the woods - Mervyn’s cabin. But, as you stared at the greenhouse, movement caught your attention. A wide brimmed straw hat bounced around inside. It was Mervyn. At this distance, you couldn’t see his face, only the hat. You had yet to introduce yourself, and you wanted to do so. However, given Morpheus’s warning you didn’t wish to bother the poor man. You watched as the man watered and tended to the plants, but soon you turned your attention away letting the man work in peace.

A book laid in your lap, untouched. You had taken one out of the library - with permission of course - but suddenly had no interest in reading. Instead, you lost yourself in the outside world: the rustling of leaves, the excited chirps of birds and scampering squirrels, the breeze blowing across your cheeks, the faint aroma of roses which always hovered over the estate, and the flapping of wings from a crow - or a raven, you weren’t sure - over head.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Your eyes shot open and whipped your head around. Morpheus pushed through the willow’s thick curtain of branches, stepping into this oasis. He walked towards you with elegance: arms behind his back with the usual perfection and prestige. The sunlight streamed in through the branches and brushed over his cheekbones. His ruby - always pinned to his tie, no matter the outfit - glittered and glowed brightly like a treasure of old.

“May I?” He pointed to the empty space beside you.

“Oh, yes, please do.”

“Thank you.” He sat down next to you. His eyes flickered over, taking you in. You were such radiating warmth. No matter the time or day you were a light - a beacon in this dreary place. His breath was stolen time and time again. “Have you been enjoying your stay so far?”

You smiled, one that could melt any heart. “I have.”

“Hopefully, it hasn’t been too messy for you.”

You chuckled. “No, it’s only been dust.”

“That’s good to hear.” He nodded, pleased you were happy. His eyes soon fell to the book in your lap. “Did you not like it?”

“What? Oh, uh, no - I mean, I haven’t started it. I actually forgot I had it.”

“Did you?” His tone was one of amusement.

You glanced away, somewhat embarrassed. “It’s just so beautiful out here. I got a little distracted.”

“Distracted?” He glanced out to all the lush greenery. “No, not distracted, but admiring.”

You smiled to yourself. The manor was truly a dream, a wondrous dream filled with mystery and vibrancy. “I suppose I am,” you whispered. Your eyes slid through the willow’s branches to the rose maze. “Can I ask a question?”

“You may.”

“Why roses?” You turned to him.

“Do you not like roses?” He asked with a slight tease in his voice; a tease to hide the swell of pain.

“No, I do in fact they are the most beautiful roses I have ever seen. I suppose my question comes from the fact they are everywhere on the property. Why is that? Why roses specifically?”

He breathed out, slowly. His eyes locked onto the rose maze. “Someone showed me the beauty of flowers, but most of all the beauty of roses.”

You nodded.

“A home - wherever I go - never feels whole without their petals whether it be white, pink, or yellow. However, I grew particularly fond of red.”

Your eyes instantly dropped down to his ruby pin.

“This -“ he said, touching the gem after feeling your gaze - “was a gift from a different friend, and before the roses. I guess he saw my ruby and knew red roses would be a perfect match for me.”

He?

The mystery somehow unfolded, but tangled more intricately. Morpheus was a complicated person who held his emotions close to his chest. In over a month, you had not seen many emotions from him other than content on his stoic features. But, now, a flicker of something deeply profound flashed in his eyes.

You wanted to unravel the secrets. “Can I -“

Morpheus abruptly stood up, stepping a few feet from you. All you saw now was his backside. “If you ever have an interest I suggest you take a stroll into the maze. The roses in there are otherworldly.”

His tone was absolute and the message was clear: no more discussing the flowers.

“One day,” you replied. “But, I cannot lie and say I’m not a little afraid of getting lost in the hedges, sir.”

“Then perhaps one day I can show you.” He peered back over his shoulders to you. “If you so wish.”

Your eyes locked with his. Neutrality and ease was his mask, but his mask did not cover his eyes. The slight shine, the glaze of tears, were so clearly evident to you. He was hiding something, keeping something close to his chest. It pained him greatly, and you understood such pains.

“I would,” you answered softly.

He nodded once, “Then seek me out when you wish to do so.”

“Thank you.” You sighed as the sense of familiar pain - heartache - reminded you of something. “I need to ask you something, sir. Something unrelated to the conversation.”

He turned, finally able to face you directly again. He silently gestured for you to continue.

“I know it may be late to ask for this, but can I request the day off this coming Friday?”

Morpheus raised an eyebrow. Not out of malice, but out of genuine curiosity. “Can I inquire why?”

“To go into town for the day. I have a few things I need to do.”

You could ask Lucienne of what you needed, you both know of this. However, solitude was not for everyone. Morpheus understood this. “You may.”

“Thank you.”

“And please if you need to take off, ask. I will do anything to accommodate you.”

“Thank you.” Smiling, you stood up with the book in your hands. You approached him and lifted up the unread book. “I hope you don’t mind if I hold onto this a little longer.”

Morpheus smiled - small and almost unnoticed. “Please, take all the time you need.”

“And do give Mervyn my praise, he is doing a marvelous job.”

His smile grew as his eyes softened. “I will do so, I assure you he will be pleased to hear it.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that.” Staring at him, in the streaming sunlight as he smiled, he appeared so young and innocent for a brief moment. As if you peeled back the torments of life to see his true self. He was beautiful. Beautiful in a way the moons and stars are beautiful: ethereal and impossible to have. You smiled, “Good day, sir.”

“Good day to you.”

You walked away with the feeling of his eyes on you. A feeling that sent your heart into a tizzy.

Once you were out of sight - and the click of the back door confirmed it - Morpheus sighed, dropping his shoulders. Oh, he wanted you. The line, however, between wanting to taste the wine in your veins and to hold you dearly was getting blurred.

But, it was always like that. To feed was intimate and desires clashed.

When was the last time he fed from a mortal? Or taken a lover -

Oh.

Morpheus’s eyes darted to the rose maze.

He shook his head. Mortals wither and die, why tangle himself with another? Even if his heart walked first before his mind. He buried such thoughts and feelings, for now there was work to be done. Work always distracted his mind.

“Matthew?” Morpheus called out. The raven - which had been flying in dizzying circles above - swooped down into the willow tree. Morpheus had spotted the raven earlier, and knew Matthew’s curiosity would keep him close by.

Matthew settled onto a branch above Morpheus with a sheepish look. “Yes, boss?”

“Can you inform Mervyn that he has a new admirer of his work?” Morpheus peered up at the bird.

Matthew had not expected this. “Oh, uh, okay, boss.”

Before Matthew flew away, Morpheus spoke up, “And do keep in mind I do not need you always watching over me.”

Matthew laughed nervously. “Uh, yeah, got it.”

Matthew flapped his wings and soared the short distance to Mervyn’s cabin. Morpheus watched for a moment, but soon turned away to head back inside. His fingers reached up, and gently caressed the oddly warm ruby. Even with the charm, sunlight still caused some minor discomfort.

The week came and went, Friday was here in a blink. But, the day did not start as hopeful as you wanted. You stirred awake, a muffled pained whimper rumbled in the back of your throat. You inhaled sharply as a cold wave of fear washed over you. Instantly, you rolled over in bed now wide awake as whatever dream plagued you vanished in the morning sun. You couldn’t remember what you experienced, but it’s effect lingered behind.

You swung your legs, letting them dangle off the bed. You pressed a hand to your chest, feeling your racing heart. We’re safe. We will survive this. Exhaling slowly, you hopped out of bed to start the busy day you had planned.

You got dressed, and grabbed a bag for possibly any goods you intended on buying. You also made sure to slip your letter into your bag. Soon, you called for a carriage, one to take you to town and back.

As you waited, a voice called out. “Have fun today.”

You peered up the stairs to Morpheus at the top of them. “Thank you.”

Morpheus nodded, and walked away probably to his study.

The carriage arrived minutes after that, and took you into town. The town was quaint and had all the essentials with an addition of a few extra businesses. Carriages with horses trotted down the worn down street, people roamed about with to-do lists in mind. The bakery with its sweets and fresh bread wafted in the air, produce stands poked out on the sidewalk showing off all the delicious fruits and vegetables, and signs of all sorts advertised shops and their wares.

You finally spotted the post office by its flag waving in the wind by the front door. You immediately veered in, and thankfully no one else was here. There was a single worker behind the counter. The young gentleman glanced over and greeted you, “Morning.”

“Morning,” you replied and approached the counter.

He leaned forward on the counter. He squinted faintly at you, almost as if recognition, but he couldn’t decipher where he saw you before. “What can I do for you?”

You pulled out a letter from your bag. “I just need this letter sent, please.”

He nodded, taking the letter. You were about to leave when the worker spoke up, now having remembered you. “You live at that manor up on the hill, don’t you?”

You were the newcomer who found themself in the - unfortunate in the eyes of some - care of the lord on the outskirts of town.

You calmly replied, “I do.”

The worker shuffled around, digging into baskets before producing a letter. “For the lord, your boss. It’ll save me a trip.”

And trouble.

You plucked the letter from the man’s grasp. It was addressed to Lord Morpheus, and sent from Sir Robert Gadling. You safely tucked the letter into your bag. “Thank you, and have a good day.”

“Good day to you.”

The worker watched you leave. A few thoughts crossed his mind: why did you go work at the manor, why did the supposed lord lock himself away, and why was the town scared of a recluse anyway? He brushed all those thoughts away, why dwell on an old man anyway?

The next on your to-do list was to visit the bookshop. It was easy to spot, and it surprised you to see a few people - with books in hand - walking out despite being this early in the day. Stepping inside, the bell chimed, altering the now empty space.

“Give me a minute, and I will assist you shortly!” A voice shouted from the back.

You smiled at the familiar voice. “Take your time.”

The bookshop was long and narrow with a checkout counter upfront by the door. Bookshelves lined the walls up to the ceiling and each wall had a ladder on a tram. In the middle, there was another shelf with an abundance of books. You walked forward, being dragged in.

All the books were neatly aligned with not a speck of dust, and the spines were all in perfect condition. Your fingers gently traced over the spines as you strolled back. The only sunlight came from the frosted glass by the front entrance, both sides were hugged tightly by other buildings and shops. Yet, a warmth radiated. It reminded you of the library at the manor: cozy and filled with endless possibilities.

When you reached the end of the store, a door was cracked leading to a backroom. Before you could possibly take a peak, Lucienne came out and shut the door behind her. Her eyes swiveled around and landed on you. Surprise crossed her features.

“Oh, (Y/N), I wasn’t expecting you,” she said.

“I know, but I had a few things I wanted to do in town and I wanted to stop by the shop to see what it was like.”

She smiled. “And what do you think?”

“Wonderful and cozy.” You glanced over, taking it all in again. “And perfectly clean.”

She chuckled, “Thank you.”

You roamed around the bookshop. “Maybe I should visit more often.”

“It would be nice to see a kind familiar face.”

“And if you want I could see if I can lend a hand here. I have no doubt you are doing a tremendous job, but if you want I’ll be happy to help.”

Lucienne smiled. “Thank you, I might do that.”

“Please do.” You leaned towards her and joked, “I can only dust the same spot over and over before getting rather bored.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Is that so?”

“Just don’t tell Lord Morpheus,” you winked.

“Never.”

You laughed. You spoke with Lucienne somewhat frequently since your stay, but not as often as you wished. She was always stuck here, while you were in the manor. And when the weekend came she was by Morpheus’s side discussing business or in her room. If you did cross paths, you chatted as if you were long childhood friends. Lucienne was easy to get along with and you adored her. She was a friend everyone should have.

“Please, if there are other things you wish to do in town, you may go,” she said. “I do not want to hold you up.”

You smiled teasingly, “I do believe you are kicking me out.”

She matched your smile and jokingly replied, “Maybe. I may have my own list I need to complete before the end of the day.”

You laughed, “Then I will leave you to it, I will see you later.”

“Good day, and have fun.”

“I will, thank you.”

After leaving the bookshop, you wandered town for a while. You popped into a few shops, bought a few things, but mainly took your time out to stretch your legs. But, as the sun began to dip again, you decided it was best to return back.

After the short carriage ride, you finally stepped back inside the manor after almost all day away. You breathed it in, and oddly felt at home. You nearly went straight to bed, but the letter for Morpheus weighed in your bag. It would be best to give it to him now. Changing trajectory, you walked up the stairs, and knocked on the study room.

Yet, no reply came.

“Sir? Lord Morpheus?” You called out.

“(Y/N)?”

You spun around to the other side of the hall. Morpheus stood in the doorway of his bedroom - a room you had only entered once before.

With a bucket of cleaning supplies in hand, you hesitantly opened the bedroom door. It was only your first week, but you decided to finally tackle his room first this morning. Stepping inside, you were immediately taken back.

It was extravagant.

To the left, there was a large king sized bed with an ornate canopy and curtains tied to posts. It was draped in a velvet black with embroidered silver patterns as well as tassels. The sheets appeared to be silk and dozens of pillows filled the bed. Stepping in further, another door was to the left which was for the bathroom. To the right, you opened yet another door. It was a massive closet filled with the finest, up to fashion clothes.

You swiftly shut the door and scanned the room.

Two large floor to ceiling windows shone with the morning light. A fireplace - wide mouth with a pile of ash left behind - was placed perfectly between the two windows. Two couches and a table surrounded the fireplace along with a gorgeous soft rug. Art and tapestry hung on the walls and any free space, but you noted oddly no bookshelves or a desk.

A man who clearly separated his work, or a man who hardly rested.

It was a room for royalty. A room made in Morpheus’s image. His style permeated throughout. Inhaling, it smelled of him: paper and ink with hints of roses.

It was him.

Morpheus, standing in his bedroom doorway, was wrapped in a black robe. He tugged on the belt, tightening it. “You called for me?”

“Right, yes, I did.” You shook yourself out of your thoughts. You walked forward, and realized his hair was slicked back and wet. Water droplets still clung to his face. He had just gotten out of the bath. A heat rose to your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to -“

“Please, you called and I wanted to answer. If you need something, please ask,” he stated calmly.

You looked away from him to your bag. Fishing around, you produced the letter. “While in town, I stopped by the post office and there was a letter for you.”

“A letter? From who?”

“From Sir Robert Gadling.”

That stirred a reaction from him. He perked up. “May I see the letter?”

“Of course.” You passed it over.

Morpheus swiftly opened the envelope, and read the contents within it. You stayed put during all of this. Internally, you said you stayed because your lord did not dismiss you, but curiosity was far more powerful.

He scoffed, a light hearted laugh.

“Can I ask what it is about?” You tentatively stepped forward.

Formalities were forgotten.

Morpheus rolled his eyes at the letter, shaking his head. Droplets of water rained out of his hair. “My dear old friend has invited me to a party.”

You cocked your head.

“And he included I should bring a date or and I quote ‘someone besides your wonderful assistant and friend, Lucienne’.”

You snickered under your breath.

A smile twitched on his lips at the sound of your laughter. Shaking away the stirring of emotions, he tucked the letter back into the envelope.

“So will you go?” You asked, genuinely curious.

“Perhaps, if my schedule allows it.”

“Or if you feel you are up to such dull gatherings.” Morpheus enjoyed his work, but you knew when work was an excuse for something else. You told yourself those same lies, and still do.

Morpheus looked at you. A spark, akin to respect and awe, twinkled in his eyes. He admired your honesty and forthrightness. Most, besides Lucienne, never dared to speak so plainly to him. He loved it, loved your courage. You always seemed to surprise him, and the longer you stayed the more your true self shone.

“I suppose that too,” he hummed with a smirk ghosting his lips.

You chuckled. “I’m sorry if I was overstepping -“

“No, no, I told you to be honest with me.”

You smiled softly. “I will let you go, sir. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You walked away with a giddy childlike smile, even as you crawled into bed the smile stayed.

For the next few days, you lived in joyous serenity. You worked, and frequently chatted with Morpheus and Lucienne. You were happy in your new role.

However, happiness and peace was always short-lived.

You were hiddened.

They couldn’t - shouldn’t - find you, right? Oh, but maybe they could hear you?

Yes, they could.

You couldn’t seem to catch your breath as you constantly gasped your air. With each chaotic pump of your heart, air became less and less as your lungs squeezed it all out. A whimper escaped your lips. You tucked yourself into the corner of the claustrophobic space. Your hands covered your ears as you desperately tried to focus on calming your breathing, and not on their screams and pleas.

It was all so loud.

Make it stop, you begged. Please, make it stop. Make it stop, make it stop -

A footstep - a thunderous stomp - thudded.

Your breath hitched, the last of your precious air taken.

The footsteps echoed and shook the foundation with every slow crawl towards you.

Go away. Please, I want -

You gasped, lurching up in bed. You clutched the front of your nightshirt, feeling your heavy pounding heartbeat. You gulped for air and tried to calm your screaming nerves.

It was just a dream.

You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. Your whole body buzzed with adrenaline. It was taut like a coiled snake. A gust of wind blew over the manor, causing a chorus of groans and high pitched creaks. You jolted. You cursed under your breath. A walk and a drink may help. Throwing off the sheets, you stepped out of your room to the kitchen on the other side of the manor.

Morpheus quietly shut the door to the basement behind him and locked it. He sighed, exhaustion was evident in his slouched stance. However, before he could turn to head to you, you shuffled by. Your footsteps were eerily silent as you glided by. The only noise he heard was your erratic heartbeat, the only presence he sensed was how your blood rushed violently through your veins.

He was instantly overwhelmed by you, by your fear.

It prickled across his skin like needles. His throat constricted. He nearly clamped his hand over his mouth and plugged his nose to block out the scent of you.

As you shuffled by the double doors, moving through the dining room to get to the kitchen, you paused - frozen like a caught deer. You whipped your head, looking directly at Morpheus hidden in the darkness. “Lord Morpheus?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing up?”

He cleared his throat, pushing down such carnal and painful hunger. “I was about to ask you the same.”

“Oh, right.” You sighed, heavily. “I need a drink.”

“And so do I.”

Why was he lying? Well, not entirely. He didn’t need a drink, but given the chance he would happily drink from you.

A forced lopsided smile crossed your lips, “Care to join me?”

“Lead the way.”

You laughed once, short and strained, and followed the hall to the massive kitchen. Without being asked, you prepared yourself and Morpheus a drink - a cup of cold water. You passed it over to him, and leaned against the large cutting table in the center of the room. Sipping on the water, the bitter coldness sent a reset to your overalert system.

Morpheus watched you, entranced by something, something you were not sure of. His eyes always seemed to break you down to your barest components. Yet, you did not look away. You met his eyes in a silent challenge.

A small smile twitched on his lips. He hid it by sipping his water. “So, can I ask why you are up so late?”

“To get a drink as I told you.”

“I don’t quite believe that.”

Your heart leapt in your throat, and your muscles were still unbelievably tense. Was it so obvious? You glanced away. In an instance, you regressed. You were a child again, a frightened child.

Say something, don’t say anything.

Your face momentarily scrunched up in frustration then sighed loudly and admitted, “I … I had a nightmare.”

Morpheus frowned. He set the cup down and approached you. “There is no shame in having a nightmare.”

You tightened your grip on your cup. It did. You had gotten over these pesky nightmares, they hadn’t plagued you in a few years. But, you are here in a new and strange place. “I know.”

Hands reached out, tender and soft. He carefully removed the cup from your hands, and placed it on the table behind you. He took your hands in his with your palms up. His thumbs gently grazed over your lifelines. In a few strokes, your body fell under his calming hypnotic touch. The tension immediately melted away.

“Nightmares make us face our truest fears in order to grow and make changes.” Morpheus’s voice was so soothing and spellbinding. His eyes flickered up, connecting with yours. “And sometimes the fear can be too overwhelming that it will cause more damage. But, others - family, friends, loved ones - can lend a hand to help. Is there anyone who you can call on?”

“No,” you breathed out. His thumbs continued to rub your palm, sending sparks of electricity over your skin. “Well, my uncle but we only communicate by letter and he lives far away, at least a few days' journey.”

Morpheus nodded. Oh my, having you in his grasp was dizzying. All of his senses were filled with you. You were so close. He could taste you, kiss you, devour you. However, right now, he would settle on calming your heart and for you to sleep peacefully tonight.

“What can I do for you?” He asked genuinely.

Your eyes widened. “Oh, uh, nothing sir - I … I -“ What were you trying to say? What were you feeling?

“If you need anything, do not be afraid to ask.”

You struggled to answer, struggled to understand. “I’m sorry.” You yanked your hands away from him. “I think I just need to go to bed. Thank you for your help, but I have taken enough time from you already.”

You slipped away.

Morpheus opened his mouth to call out, but a name was lodged in his throat. It wasn’t your name. Stunned, he silently watched as you darted out of the kitchen leaving him alone.

Him, the fading remnants of you, and the ever looming ghost.

He sighed, clenching his hands. He knew better, and yet it was as if he forgot, as if he didn’t already deal with such devastating heartbreak, as if he didn’t care about the pain and let himself be drawn into you.

You rushed into your room just as breathless as you left. Your skin still held his memory. You can’t be doing this, you cannot be doing this. You paced your room, confused and conflicted. You knew better, yet lines were getting warped and pushed. Lines you never dared to cross, but the world decidedly had other plans.

No.

I cannot do this.

You darted over to your dresser and pulled out the small bag. Reaching inside and pushing aside other items, you pulled out a small folded picture. You unfolded it seeing a picture of a couple with a child - your parents and yourself. You pressed the worn photo, with its yellowed edges, to your chest. A wave of reassurance and ease washed over you, like an actual hug from them.

You promised them.

And you wouldn’t forget.

Top-Tier Villain Motivations

They will be safe. It doesn't matter who else or what else burns as long as They will be safe.

I will be safe. The hunger and the cold will never touch me again.

Fuck any bitch who's prettier(/cooler/better-liked/better at making dumplings) than me.

Yes, Master

Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. LOVE ME!

I know the terrible things these so-called "heroes" will do if I don't stop them (<- is absolutely wrong)

I don't want a better future, I want a better past!

No other way to get performance art funded these days

Mary Ruefle, from Trances of the Blast; “Abdication”

I don’t know who needs to hear this but I just wanted to remind you that life isn’t a competition or a constant self-improvement project. You don’t have to be better or “prettier” or smarter than anyone else and you don’t have to overwork yourself to be deserving of rest. You are not behind. And it’s totally ok to find happiness or fulfillment in a life that others don’t understand. It’s ok if success looks different for you than it does to someone else. I just wanted to remind you that you are enough. You always have been. 🩷

Promises 2: First Sight

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.

I was serious about trying to update every other day! They will be short chapters, but whatever. At least for the first few bits. NOT EDITED. PRAY FOR ME, LOL Would you like a bardcore song suggestion to go with each chapter? Let me know in the comments. Enjoy!

First Sight

She walked into a golden scene of candle smoke and gilded lilies with mud on her boots and one stubborn myrtle leaf in her hair.

Hardly fine court attire, but folk she cared for called her in fear, so she rode in haste from the far side of Meiren, and she’d lost any need to impress the court a long time ago. She’d survived the worst they could do before the current king assumed his father’s throne, and it never hurt to remind them all that she was not part of their games or under their thumbs. So she didn’t stop to comb her hair, or dig out the myrtle leaf, or even shuck her stained green traveling cloak.

Hard as she rode, she didn’t arrive before the festivities began, and she spied the king sitting on the high dais beside his honored guest, for whom a second throne had been crafted. Clearly in haste. Probably merely the queen’s old seat altered to be less feminine. It looked cheap and small beneath its occupant.

Dream of the fucking Endless. King of Dreams and Lord of Nightmares.

He sat above the glittering host like the darkness behind the stars. Ethereal, unknowable, frigidly beautiful as only untouchable things could be.

Even seeing him there, in the flesh, she struggled to believe it. She couldn’t believe their fool king would go so far.

The King of Meiren didn’t hide the festivities’ goal in the invitations (threats and demands) he sent to his people. Dream would find a queen among the best and brightest of the kingdom, and the chosen would gratefully accept the honor.

Only ignorant fools courted the attention of the Endless. Her mother had been one such fool, and she only dared befriend the kindest of the seven. Dream of the Endless was far more terrible, and he sought more than a friend in the king of Meiren’s court. Yet mothers shepherded noble children dressed in their finest silks and velvets, the softest, sweetest things welcoming a stranger’s wondering caress. Family heirlooms dripped from ears and gleamed around fine throats, daring the eye to wander lower. Girls smelling of flowers and boys scented with fruit and musk turned the hall into a stinking hell of vanity and hubris.

Then there were her folk – the wiser birds with drab plumage clustering in the dimmest corners, away from the dances and merrymaking. Parents who wanted their children to live. Grandparents who understood some risks simply weren’t worth taking. Young lovers who were bound in heart and mind but not yet by law. The king’s greed would spare none if the Endless chose them. Though she had not received an official invitation, several families who knew her of old called for her help. Officially, she belonged to no fewer than five noble houses’ retinues for the event, but the guards wouldn’t have barred her entry even without their help.

No one turned a bard away from a party.

Though the long trestle tables had been ferried away by an army of servants to make room for dancing, the ghosts of a feast remained. The king planned the celebrations like a royal engagement. Seven wedding feasts. Seven days to inspire a force of nature to grow a heart and stitch it to another. She smelled grease from venison and partridge, the first victims of the king’s folly, and she hoped the only sacrifices. Better a thousand lambs, ducks, and cows than one of the young folk all dressed up for the fire.

She didn’t dither or ask for her charge’s insights before approaching the dais. Truth would always out. The king was not clever, and she trusted her own opinions of an Endless over any courtier’s.

Striding up to the throne, she waited on the verge of the crowd for the chamberlain to announce her. Her name. A few meaningless titles. Finally her occupation. She liked it best when the king was reminded she was a bard. That she carried an ounce of authority in any royal circle.

Neither king really needed any of it, of course. The Endless knew all, and she’d plagued the King of Meiren’s nightmares for decades. But manners were manners, and politics demanded performance.

She sank low, graceful as a willow frond, angling her face so the king would see the barest hint of her smirk. Not entirely mocking. But knowing. Far from a loyal subject’s easy smile or overwrought frown. The smirk made a game of her courtesies, drawing the king low to meet her, even as her knees brushed the floor and he remained in his throne. No threat. No demand. She asked for nothing. She told him what she was, where she stood, and how little power he wielded over her that she did not choose to give.

As a boy he watched his father’s men draw and quarter her. Now he must suffer her freedom in his court.

“Majesties.”

“I hope you do not bring trouble to my court.” The King of Meiren glowered down, playing the dread king. He wasn’t even a dying candle compared to the sun-bright force at his side. Not that he’d ever been a great power even before he dared weave himself into the story of an Endless.

She sprang up as lithely as she bowed. “Your majesty must think very highly of me indeed to think I could bring anything grander or more concerning than an Endless to your throne room.”

The human ruler tensed, but the eldritch ruler at his side…shifted. She’d sparked his momentary attention, and unlike the first king’s attempt to intimidate her, Dream’s look chilled her until it burned. His gaze, however, did not focus on her like a mortal’s would. His starry eyes saw too much for that. They swallowed her, washing her in the loneliness of the night sky.

Unfathomable. Incredible. Cold as stone and livelier than a sea breeze. Entirely inhuman and everything that led a soul to dream. That gaze made her ache for a shield to lift against him.

 So. She offered the smallest, polite smile in recognition and returned to the mere human on the throne.

“A shame the years haven’t blunted your tongue,” the King of Meiren said, struggling to reclaim the authority she’d so neatly plucked from the conversation.

“I prefer to think of them as a whetstone, majesty.”

“I do not recall issuing an invitation in your name.”

“And yet I found my place through the names of others. Several houses requested my attendance in their support.”

Gods, he looked so petulant. But she’d laugh later. He wasn’t above sending a guard to run her through in the hall, and while she didn’t fear death, she didn’t enjoy pain. Or ruining good clothes. No need for more drama in this fraught production, anyway.

The best he could do was insult her clothes, eying the mud and bracken. “Clearly you came in haste.”

“But of course, your majesty.” Wide eyes and an innocent expression couldn’t bury the implicit insult entirely – she had not come for him, her very presence was a kind of defiance, and she would never ride so hard or long without care for her appearance to preserve him or his honor – but they did well enough. A little simpering would stay the blade, and any words said sweetly must be born, even if they soured the king’s stomach.

After all, she would outlive him and his kingdom both. She’d carry what stories she chose to the generations that came after, and no threat or sentence in his power to levy against her would give him back control of his legacy. At least he was smart enough to understand that much.

“Perhaps you should retire for the evening, then.” The king looked pointedly at her boots, reminding her they did not belong on his polished floors. She, in her rough clothes and wild hair did not belong. But she’d worked hard to ensure she never entirely belonged in places like these, always a step out of line, a loose thread that escaped the warp and weft of society’s patterns.

Othered and free for it.

“A most gracious suggestion.” Another, shallower, curtsy. Her eyes dipped to the floor but didn’t linger with any kind of reverence. “I take my leave.”

She moved back through the crowd, unable to disappear between the fine people in their fine clothes. A dark look touched her, stayed under her skin as she passed through the doors and turned down the hall, and she refused to name its owner. There was no time to fear him. Or – if she was very careful – reason to. She had plans to make and riddles to solve, and what was she to an Endless?

Her patrons would request her advice in the morning. She did, actually, need to wash the road off her gear. And her lute was in need of tuning. She retired to her work.