Daydream | Morpheus

prologue

Before | At the Beginning

The Dreaming has always been full of stars. I didn't get to know the reason until I knew Morpheus, but I've noticed the fact long before. I've always had a habit of staring at the sky for too long.

The existence in Dreaming is a peculiar one. It's a constant, a never-changing state of being. You don't sleep, you don't change realms, you stay in the same one, always, with the same role.

If you're a dream, what you change is people. In my case, it is the people I torment.

I am the oldest nightmare, the first one created by the Dream of the Endless and his sister. What am I? What is human kind's oldest nightmare?

Death, of course.

I am a killer in your dreams. I hold the blade that plunges into your ribs. The gun that shoots into yours chest. I'm the sickness that nests into your body as you dream of dying.

I watched millions of last breaths being taken, of quiet prayers whispered at the end, of screams and yells as the blood pours.

It was never real, of course, the death part. At least not in their realm. They woke up, shaken but alive, well. That's what I reminded myself every day.

Because here, it was real. Here, I killed them, and their corpse didn't wake up, didn't reverse what I've done. The blood stayed even when the body was gone, and I could never quite wash it from my hands.

It's hard to hope for something when you've never thought it possible, so I've never dreamed of ending this suffering it brought upon myself.

Not until the night Dream of the Endless came to me with a plea.

I was looking at the stars, a little pecks of light in the darkness of the world. They didn't do much to brighten it, but at least, as they flickered, they gave that possibility. You could wonder, if there's be a million more, maybe they could light up the whole sky.

"Hello" I say when I feel him next to me, that familiar presence settling near. Up until now, he was quiet, waiting for me to speak, but finally he turns his head in my direction, and my own sight drops from the stars.

"Hello," Dream says. He has a pleasant voice, and I softly smile at his deep tone. My ears are happy, I think. It's rare I use that word to describe myself, "I need something from you, nightmare."

I flinch at the word he uses. I don't like it, but I suppose I should be happy. There are thousands of nightmares - each of them, he calls by different names.

I'm the first, and I'm the oldest, so the nightmare title belongs to me, as it always has and it always will.

His voice is even more quiet than mine, but there's urgency and power to his tone. Whatever he needs it won't be a plea, but a command, and I'm expected to not question it.

"Okay," I say, softly. My voice is quiet, like the whole realm of Dreaming is. The loudest sounds around here are usually the raven's croaks.

I take a chance to stare into Dream's eyes. Just as his voice, they're pleasant to look at. The blue mixing with green, shining with the stars' light. The soft look that hides behind them. The hint of pain I shouldn't see.