Endless Dream

Endless Dreaming

Everything is cold. It's like ice has seeped into my veins. A sinister chill settling in on a barren field of wheat inside my chest. Is this what death is like? An endless blanket of frost smothering my body? 

I feel so exhausted, my very self leaking out of a festering wound that won't close. Each day I feel more of myself ebbing away, pouring into an abyss that cannot be sated. Its sinister grip tightens more on my bones, I can feel them crumble. Gentle, almost silent cracks fill the air around me as another bone splinters from the inside, the sharp shards digging into my lungs with every shallow breath.

Time moves so slowly now, before it moved so quickly; like I was awash in a sea of effervescent light. I danced through my days with constantly shifting and swirling light that rolled and rumbled in the ever-changing landscape of The Dreaming. I knew happiness. I knew warmth. 

Fluffy socks cover my toes in the midnight storms that rage outside the windows, and a steaming china grey cup in my hand as he speaks to me. He is reading something from a book, fingers caressing each page with a careful swipe. His voice is low, subtly switching as he reads the two voices of the lovers in the story. One reads as light and airy, blissfully unaffected by the world around him whilst his lover is fierce and frightening - desperate to protect his love from the dangers they face. I tell myself to pay attention to the story, knowing the verse and pros are slipping away from me like sand in a time turner, however; I can't take my eyes off of his lips.

Occasionally he licks a finger to catch the tip of the page before turning it over. The movement is so delicate. I can't help but grip the mug tighter, the ceramic clinking against my necklace as I clutch it to my chest. I doubt he realises he treats books with the same care he treats me, tentative and lovingly.

He wonders why I stare. He catches it every few pages, meeting my eyes with those swirling orbs. They mesmerise me. They beckon and berate me, showing me just how far removed from human he is; that under his skin lies something ancient and raw in design. The eyes of a god. Any rational creature would buckle under that stare but I want to challenge them, to cackle and prod until the beast beneath shows its teeth. The creature stalks inside, waiting for me - I catch it as he questions me about the story, checking that I'm paying attention. Its cage rattles as I lie, pretending I'm offended at the notion. I clutch at my necklace, feigning horror with a dreadful delight in my eyes. 

He closes the book and stalks across the bed. Somewhere within me, heat rises to my chest, the flames crackling against my ribcage. My eyes flutter panicked. I can see the muscles along his shoulders and back shift as he moves on all fours as I bundle the duvet around me. He hesitates for a moment, looking for permission as his hands brush the tips of my socks. There is neediness in his expression. A longing to touch, to be touched and to feel my skin. His back bows, submitting himself to me as he leans down to my feet. 

I think about denying, about teasing this moment out but the hunger I've been nursing answers for me. The look in my eyes changes from apprehension to excitement. 

The book falls from the bed, pages trapped under its weight as it clatters at an awkward angle. Lucienne would be furious, complaining about how the spine could have broken. 

He waits for me, now pressing his forehead to the arch of my feet. I move the duvet aside, the cover flattening as I move my hand along it to hold his chin. A deep sigh escapes him. It sounds like a relief, as though my touch heals the ache within him. I let him rest in my hand, nuzzling his cheek into it. I've always loved his skin. The smoothness of his cheeks and the tiny hairs that tickle my palms as I brush my thumb along his cheek.

The storm outside grows louder, rain hitting the windows with a loud rasping sound. I glance away from him. The rain is so loud that it sounds like knocking.

"It's just the rain," he muses, his lips finding my fingertips and kissing them. The delicate brush of his lips upon me makes my eyes flutter. A light and fluttery feeling flowing along my nerves. He lingers on my index finger, sucking softly on it. I can feel his teeth drag across my skin and gasp from the contact. 

The rain turns to hail, smacking louder and louder at the glass. The glass could shatter for all I care as he places another finger into his mouth, running his tongue along the soft underside of my fingers. I shudder under the sensation. He places another inside his mouth, working his mouth up and down them with ease. 

"Morpheus," I moan breathlessly. He doesn't notice at first, absorbed in his worship of my hands that he doesn't see my other hand reaching for his throat. His eyes shoot open, mouth filled with me as I grasp him. 

There has always been a satisfaction in watching him tremble before me. Me, who has no real power. Me who is nothing more than sand. I can't help the dark look on my face as his cheeks flush with light pink. He who is a god, an endless being, thousands of years my superior and with power that could bring armies to ruin. He gasps as I tighten my grip. I remove my fingers, trailing his spit down his lips and chin. His lips glisten wetly in the dim light.

Lighting strikes the railing, bathing his face in half-light. I would do anything for that look. I would forsake my magick, forsake every other pleasure and privilege in this life and every other for his shy, blushing gaze and supplication.

The lighting strikes again. I turn again, hearing the overhead rumble of thunder. It beats against the glass. The force of it makes my ear pop. 

"Iris..." he moans, pulling me back in. How can I ignore his begging tone?  I press a weak kiss on his forehead, knowing it isn't enough. He begs me for more, pawing at my shirt helplessly. He whimpers and mews as I dig my nails in. 

The thunder hits again, louder now. I rub my ear, trying to ignore it. The storm is outside, he is inside. I plant another kiss on his temple, moving achingly slowly down the side of his face. I can feel the air stilling as he gets more frustrated with me. 

"What?" the storms called to me, something close to my name howling at the glass. He grips me, pulling me into a kiss which melts the fear away like a knife through butter. 

His kiss is suffocating, crushing me. I try to gasp between movements, panic rising in my chest.

"Iris,"

I try to pry him off of me but his grip traps me, pinning my head to his. I can't move as he pushes himself onto me.

"Iris!"

The room gets darker. I don't know if it's the room or the black spots in my vision growing larger. I claw at him, trying to pry his hands off me but they meld with my skin. His skin is wet and sticky like a heavy clay that absorbs me. I can't scream as the blind, wide-eyed panic fills me. His face melts and forms over me, clogging my airways. I grasp at it, the clay sticking my hands to my face.

"Iris!"

I shake and tremble as my lungs burn. What is happening to me? Where am I? Morpheus?! Help me! I tug at a thread, pleading but the end of it is loose, broken at my side. Help me! I internally scream as more clay fills my mouth. Help me! I keep thinking, writhing at this viscous mound consumes me.

Everything is cold. It's like ice has seeped into my veins. A sinister chill settling in on a barren field of wheat inside my chest. Is this what death is like? An endless blanket of frost smothering my body?

I feel so exhausted, my very self leaking out of a festering wound that won't close. Each day I feel more of myself ebbing away, pouring into an abyss that cannot be sated. Its sinister grip tightens more on my bones, I can feel them crumble. Gentle, almost silent cracks fill the air around me as another bone splinters from the inside, the sharp shards digging into my lungs with every shallow breath.

Time moves so slowly now, before it moved so quickly; like I was awash in a sea of effervescent light. I danced through my days with constantly shifting and swirling light that rolled and rumbled in the ever-changing landscape of The Dreaming. I knew happiness. I knew warmth.

Fluffy socks cover my toes in the midnight storms that rage outside the windows, and a steaming china grey cup in my hand as he speaks to me...