lady moonlight, 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐌𝐀𝐍 [hiatus.]

muses and sonnets ───── v.

               RODERICK BURGESS WAS A VILE MAN. Dream's many years of living had taught him to expect little from the inhabitants of the Waking World, however, he still, somehow, found himself astonished by every atrocity of their doing. Originally, his capture had proven to be more of a nuisance than a terror, for the lord of nightmares thought of his situation to be temporary. Although stripped of his vest, the only thing that made him feel naked was the lack of his tools, the ones that were greedily stolen by the blond aristocrat that visited him every day, asking the same repetitive questions.

The murder of Jessamy, his most faithful travelling companion, changed his perspective on the situation at hand. The cruelty and savagery of it all still marked the deepest corners of his mind, just like the blood that tainted his glass prison. The blood of one of his most cherished loved ones. Some days, when he would remain by himself, Morpheus would tentatively reach out for the crimson stain above his head, where Jessamy was last seen alive. He would caress the dried blood with his digits before swallowing his sorrow and hugging his knees once again.

There was little light in the basement. Dream was used to the nightmares and the darkness which tailgated them, yet this one felt unfamiliar to him; threatening, almost. The sole murk he could not control. 

His mind drifted from the Dreaming to Lucienne, its current keeper. Morpheus pondered the likes of the librarian, her whereabouts and the thoughts which raced through her preoccupied mind. How frustrated she must've been, watching as the stubbornness of her sire blind him to an open cage. How terribly lonely, burdened by the pressure of keeping an entire World functioning. Morpheus hoped that he had taught her enough, trained her enough. Gifted her the knowledge she would need for this complicated task that had fallen into her hands.

Disturbia came to his head, as she always did in the most inopportune times. The mythical oasis in his desert of anguish. The light at the end of an arduously long tunnel. She remained a mirage in this desperate hour of his, a portrait of a lady whom no time could destroy. Her appearance, he personality, the very essence to which her soul was made of, remained carved in the curves of his heart. He could not forget her, not even death. Not even if he really wished to.

Dream of the Endless had not known where this infatuation began. It all came organically; one moment he was teaching her the lore of the Universe and how his family were connected to it, and then he started catching himself smiling at nothing, at the littlest thought of her. Of her company, her insight. The small giggles which brought water to the rivers and stars to the sky.

How could he not fall? Like Icarus, ─────foolish Icarus─────, his waxed wings didn't stand a chance against the warmth of the sun that was her.

He had named her, not because he had a right to it, but because she deserved it. Because a presence like hers needed to be known, to be called by anything other than the title someone has forced upon her. She deserved her own identity, a creation outside of his and his siblings' influence. A sole thing which no one could ever take from her.