Raven Of The Endless [¦ Morpheus X Reader ¦]

Part Two

It's a dark, dreary, and cold day. You stand before an old, weathered mansion, dressed in the very same clothes you had on whenever the accident happened. Glaring at the home, the front door suddenly creeks open. No one comes out, no one walks past. Feeling as if you're walking in slow motion, you begin to walk forward, glancing at the clear, full address carved into the stone, like someone wanted you to see it. Forcing yourself through the front door, it closes on its own behind you. Remaining unfazed as you continue forward, people pass you while you slowly walk through the home. It's as if you're a ghost walking through someone's dream. The voices are muffled, and faces are slightly hazed over, but you can see everything. Letting your mind lead you, you find yourself at the top of a set of stairs leading down into what seems to be a basement of some sorts. Coming down the stairs, you halt once you've reached the landing. A sudden wave of dizziness comes over you as the room begins to strobe before your very eyes. You're no longer in your body as you see rapid fire images of a man. You can feel his suffering, you can hear his despair. His pale skin, the coldness around him, the few tears of sorrow that were shed years ago, everything brings you to your knees. The man, while he seems calm in the flashes, he's screaming out your name, begging for you to hear him. You scream back, desperate for him to hear you, but nothing you say makes him stop. He can't hear you. You're a ghost to him, too. The emotional pain that stabs you in the chest is overbearing, it's crushing. Glass, icy eyes, and raven hair. The sound of his rough, worn voice calling out to you becomes louder and louder. Blood suddenly begins to trickle from your ears as you scream back, tears streaming down your cheeks as you cry out. I'm here! I'm here! Where are you?! Mo—

Gasping for air, you lurch forward in bed. Fighting for breath, you desperately search for your notebook you keep near the bed. Fighting with the pen, you franticly write down everything you can see in your mind. His name! It's right on the tip of your tongue! It's right there! It's— it's right there! "No, no, no!" You call out as every moment begins fading from your mind faster than a wildfire. Your hand freezes as you were just about to write his name on the page. Like there's a wall in your mind that you simply cannot jump over, it's gone. It's all gone. All that remains is the same, blurry, haunting image of a man with pale skin, raven hair and icy eyes. His voice is like a whisper in the back of your mind, continuing to call out to you as it slips further and further away. Throwing the pen across the room, you collapse in on yourself, your tears refusing to stop. Curling up, you just know this person is real. It's more than a simple nightmare, it's more than a made-up story from a book you might have read. It's real. It's fucking real. What are you to do about it? Call the police and try to explain to them that there's someone in trouble somewhere and the only way you know that is by a reoccurring nightmare? Yeah, because that sounds completely sane. Screwing your eyes closed, you clutch the thin blanket over the bed to your chest as you struggle to calm yourself. Fidgeting with the ring on your finger, the same one you've had all this time, a very quiet thought pops up in your mind that unnerves the hell out of you. What if this is someone you knew? What if it's someone you loved? The ring is much more than a trinket, that's certain. It had to have come from someone. You have no clue what finger it belongs on but based by the design and the beauty of it, it has a meaning behind it. Forever... forever what?

Finally getting your mind to quiet down and your body to relax, you get up from the bed. While you're not sure what time it is, it's daylight outside. Picking up your sketchbook and pen, you set everything down on top of the small dresser that's in the corner of the room. You didn't even bother to get into bed last night; even your purse and jacket were still on it. Dragging your fingers through your hair, you find the slightest inch of relief in knowing you have today off from work. Getting changed for the day, you take the extra minute to pull your hair back and clip it up, trying to keep it off your shoulders. Deciding it's probably best not to try and cook right now, you get ready for the day and have your mind set on getting breakfast somewhere. It's just past eight in the morning when you open your front door, ready to walk out with your notebook in hand, hoping something else will come back to you. Upon opening the door, you find a note taped to it. Ripping it off, you read it as you close the door behind you.