For crying out loud Morpheus, don’t give me that look. I tried, okay? I did literally everything I could. I told her, flat out that I was going to swallow her soul. That all this, it was going to end in insanity. Death. Shitting on herself as she babbled on in an incomprehensible tongue. Most of the time when I reach that point? These wanna-be worshipers, they pause. They reconsider their lives, all the little conveniences they love. They they sheepishly smile. They stagger away, and say “maybe another time”.
I had a guy once turn down unlimited power for microwavable burritos. SERIOUSLY. That’s what was holding his mortality together. Creator above, that one sent me into a spiral. I mean, here I am. My age stretching untold aeons, blood on my penta-breasts.
And I get turned down for burritos. Like, okay. You’re the god of dreams. You can just make them love you. But me? Do you have any IDEA how hard it is to sell me to these fleshlings? It’s not like it used to be Morpheus. They’ve entertainment now that rivals the most heated deliriums. There’s no nudging or suggesting-now they’ve the magicks of “Google” and “Smart phones”. They can FACT CHECK our threats! Unbelievable.
But she?
Well.
You meet your fleshlings in their dreams, dear. So advantageous, that. You get to control the terms of the meeting. You get to ply them with whatever they like, they need. No need for circles, temples, bonfires. I used to have all that, you know. I used to be loved and worshipped and FEARED, damn it. But nooooooo, not anymore. Now I have to pray for a spark of curiosity from these new-age “wiccans” and their damned crystals!
That’s how I knew with her. There weren’t any crystals, any sage burned. She did it the old way, my dear dreamer. The blood. Creator above, it felt good to see it, taste it, smell it all again. That took me back. She even did the incantations, just like then. A mousey thing, she is. Small and thin, but with bright eyes. I prefer my acolytes strong…
But I hunger for it. Not just the blood, dear. The faith. Mountains have turned to sand since my name was last invoked. Then she came along. She, with the old ways, the old respect. Not fear-but a mutual understanding. The last time I had that, Rome burned. You remember Nero, don’t you? Shame, that. He had so much potential.
That’s the other thing, Morpheus. This one-the madness didn’t get to her. It’s not the first time, but it was so abrupt in how naturally she embraced it. Most of the time when I reveal myself, that’s it. The fleshlings go absolutely bonkers. They claw at their eyes, their throat. Blood curdling screams, the works.
She simply smiled.
And-and it made me pause.
I stood there speechless as she cowed her head. As she pledged her life, her body to me. How could I not accept? If for no other reason than she was damned intriguing. No sooner had the words left her tongue than I supped, my dear. I poured in through the fused bones of her skull. I came as a black cloud over her mind, a lurking fungus that seeped into every thought.
Then came the second pause of my existence.
Morpheus? She wanted me. Tears broke from the lids of her eyes as our thoughts melded. That smile of hers, it didn’t fade. It only grew, warm and genuine as her brain grew receptive. All her fears, her dreams, her inner turmoil?
The voids in them were filled with devotion to me. Not just from respect, but with love, dear Dreamer.
I…
That’s why I came to you.
You, the melding roil of thought and dreamstuff. You of the candied kisses and barbing nightmares. I come to you because you’re so much more familiar with…
With love. With care, with genuine welcome from your worshippers. Morpheus, the fleshing-she…
She cares for me as one does their dearest beloved. Her mind wraps me in it’s every thought, her inner voice high like birdsong. And Morpheus, her thoughts grow so brandied towards me. There’s a light in them that doesn’t burn, a light that lays bare the both of us in its glory.
And…
I want to revel in that light with her, Dreamer. I want to hold her hand and dance among the flowers with her.
I want to walk the earth again, Dreamer. A feat beyond even my own writhing chaotic capabilities.
So I ask you this favor. For a sibling, for an old friend.
Won’t you help us be happy? If not for me, than the fleshling. This-this human woman, named Agatha. Though ages and torment might pass, though empires might crumble and all turn to ash before us…
She deserves these moments, these seeming seconds of eternity for her very own.
Help me, brother.
Help me learn to be happy.