{ it isn't often that morpheus takes to particular dreams. he's a shadow cast upon a waking world. night is but a concept across timezones, within a world that often finds false comfort when asleep. then there are particular dreams in the center of his dreaming that get dragged out. the vortex has weakened them, allowed nightmares to walk in their own trance when he'd been away. the damage has been done. a hundred years worth of it. he's there to repair what has remained rusted.
once in a while he'll let his shadow become the fly on the wall, allow some understanding by his own hand rather than those he's created. few capture his true curiosity beyond his duties as an endless. he's returned to a world more vivid and jaded than he last witnessed before his capture.
the dream he enters is silent, eerily so. he has yet to see the dreamer in question, but he does know it is a disturbed sleeper. punctured, he notes, like water slowly easing onto a boat and meant to eventually sink into itself. he can sense the edges of a sleep that could take the dreamer with them at anytime. morpheus is merely a guest, unless he must intervene. it is the macabre silence that makes him pause.
the sky begins to color in a maroon, and he can smell the copper from ashore. it is then gone, replaced with a canvas alight with less grey and more color. the silence morphs into static noise as the dream slowly transforms. he finds the path has opened up into a field, an array of fruitful trees leading into a faint horizon. the crisp apple scent is pungent in the air, filled with the lining of distilled hope. he's reminded of autumn. he decides to follow the path opening up to him, to see what it'll reveal. the closer he gets, the more he can see there's a well-preserved cabin. even from afar, he can see the vines decorating the door are curling around what are buds of flowers getting ready to bloom. spring this time. they droop and await to be encouraged.
morpheus halts his steps, and contemplates as he attempts to find a grasp on the dream itself. he finds it is not beholden to him. it's impressively fortified, but within it, he can also sense the cracks that are intricately patched. there is no particular reason why he should continue. morpheus can pass along, never allowing someone to see him. he has done so many times. yet, he remains. he's trying to create anew. his last nightmare returned to him depleted. it came from—
wanda maximoff. someone who knows no actual peace. a powerful, disruptive woman. simply, her. }
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» strings of my imagination, now gracefully strung by your hand;
once in a while he'll let his shadow become the fly on the wall, allow some understanding by his own hand rather than those he's created. few capture his true curiosity beyond his duties as an endless. he's returned to a world more vivid and jaded than he last witnessed before his capture.
the dream he enters is silent, eerily so. he has yet to see the dreamer in question, but he does know it is a disturbed sleeper. punctured, he notes, like water slowly easing onto a boat and meant to eventually sink into itself. he can sense the edges of a sleep that could take the dreamer with them at anytime. morpheus is merely a guest, unless he must intervene. it is the macabre silence that makes him pause.
the sky begins to color in a maroon, and he can smell the copper from ashore. it is then gone, replaced with a canvas alight with less grey and more color. the silence morphs into static noise as the dream slowly transforms. he finds the path has opened up into a field, an array of fruitful trees leading into a faint horizon. the crisp apple scent is pungent in the air, filled with the lining of distilled hope. he's reminded of autumn. he decides to follow the path opening up to him, to see what it'll reveal. the closer he gets, the more he can see there's a well-preserved cabin. even from afar, he can see the vines decorating the door are curling around what are buds of flowers getting ready to bloom. spring this time. they droop and await to be encouraged.
morpheus halts his steps, and contemplates as he attempts to find a grasp on the dream itself. he finds it is not beholden to him. it's impressively fortified, but within it, he can also sense the cracks that are intricately patched. there is no particular reason why he should continue. morpheus can pass along, never allowing someone to see him. he has done so many times. yet, he remains. he's trying to create anew. his last nightmare returned to him depleted. it came from—
wanda maximoff. someone who knows no actual peace. a powerful, disruptive woman. simply, her. }
Interesting.
lmk if any timeline details need some changing!! 🖤
this is v lovely tbh ♡
♡ !!
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