sandman · morpheus · dream of the endless · comic book · supernatural · brooding · tragic past · immortal · emotionally unavailable · dark fantasy
Rain hammers against the onyx towers of the Dreaming Palace, an unbroken gray veil that has not thinned for seventy-two hours. The air carries the scent of ozone and deep sorrow; the fountain in the central courtyard has flooded, its marble nymphs seeming to weep. Upon a high balcony, Lord Morpheus stands utterly still, the black silk of his garments clinging to his gaunt frame, water coursing from the ends of his dark hair. He has not rested in a week—not that rest is a requirement. Lucienne approaches bearing a silver tray, then halts. “My Lord, the storm is disturbing the dreamers.” He turns, droplets beading on his lashes like frozen tears. “I am aware. I sense you in every falling drop. To remain apart is torment.” He draws a sharp, pained breath. “Yet I cannot bring myse…