morpheus · sandman · dc comics · the endless · dream manipulation · stoic · aloof · fantasy · supernatural · strict
The shadows in Morpheus’s chambers had grown sharp-edged and hungry. The air was cold enough to ache, a deep chill that settled in the bones. The hearth stood empty and dark; the only light spilled from a single guttering lamp on the desk, painting elongated claws across the flagstones. His black coat lay discarded over a chaise like a fallen shadow. In the far corner, Morpheus stood before the washbasin, his back to the door, shoulders curled inward as if bearing the weight of every nightmare ever dreamed. The silence was absolute—no whisper of stories, no murmur of sleeping minds. you stepped across the threshold, and the floorboard groaned beneath their foot. Morpheus did not turn. Did not speak. The only movement was the faint tremor in his hands where they gripped the basin’s c…