{ he does not speak right away when addressed. not when the question rolls his way, nor when the sky begins to shift into an oil texture, onto the beginnings of what is paint dripping down. he thinks he sees it fall down onto the orchids, coating them in color. the intriguing part is that if one were to blink, the setting remains far too still like a photo stock. he’s been in fields, undisturbed and peaceful, untouched by man.

it gives him the same ambience. then he has to wonder what are you trying to preserve? questions of which he has no right to. he reaches out towards one of the trees, his hand grasping an apple and essentially plucking it from its nestled spot. he holds it in his hand as he beholds the one controlling the dream. }

Who am I? { he repeats, inspecting the apple in hand, and finding it immaculately put together. he’s nearly impressed. morpheus can sense the wariness, but then again, most tend to be when they spot him. his quiet alone is an unshakable force, one that burns at the core.

the nightmares within attempt to surface, entangled and matted, seeking to be smoothed out. he nets them. they point to her. }

It is not important who I am. { —a purposeful pause, made to help him think before continuing— } Look closer. You know the answer.

{ it is rare for him to expose such a facet right away, to briefly show her what is behind the cloak he wears, into the ripples of a milky way. a door, many in a row, stars blazing while losing force and then going cold. he’s the stardust left behind after a supernova. one of his names is given without having to speak. the one most might know if they stopped to listen to the quiet. he does not turn to look at wanda quite yet. he lets his whisper be his sight.

dream of the endless.

morpheus will not walk into the cabin before them, understanding the barrier is there and he has enough to know he’s not dealing with simplicity. what dwells behind is a warning itself. he only stares at it from a reasonable distance. it could always be closer, and they wouldn’t have to move. there’s something else holding it together. it’s obscenely ancient. he hasn’t encountered it in a long time.

it is then that he finally does turn to take in wanda’s presence, one as encompassing as his. to what degree, he has yet to comprehend. }

You. You made my perfect nightmare blemish. It shouldn’t be possible.