2021 – London

The weather is uncharacteristically warm for London, with the sun casting a golden hue across the city. Yet, there’s a faint chill in the breeze, a subtle reminder of the ever-present cold beneath the warmth.

Morpheus, Lord of the Dreaming, sits on a worn park bench in the heart of the city, lost in a reverie as he scatters breadcrumbs for the pigeons at his feet. His thoughts, as they so often do, revolve around her. Ravenna. The thought of her is a persistent ache, a gnawing hunger he cannot sate. Is she happy without him? Does she smile in his absence? His longing for her presence is a constant, a shadow that clings to his every moment. Perhaps he should see her, just once more. Just a glimpse, from a distance. But he knows the truth—he will never be able to keep his distance.

The moment he sees her, the world around him ceases to exist. He is drawn to her like a man lost in a desert, desperate for the last drops of water. And in the end, she leaves him parched and empty, filled with a regret so deep it threatens to consume him. He knows he will never have enough of her.

Ravenna is a paradox to Morpheus, a beautiful curse and a precious gift. She is the missing piece of his soul, the answer to a question that has haunted him for eons. Yet, they are not meant to be. It is a truth that tears at the very fabric of his Endless heart, a tragedy beyond the bounds of even his endurance.

A voice, warm yet sharp, cuts through his thoughts, pulling him from the depth of his sorrow. “For a moment, I thought you might have moved past this state. But here you are, mourning and feeding pigeons. Again, I might add. Is this a new habit?”

A dark-skinned woman, dressed in casual, modern clothes, takes a seat beside him, her presence grounding him back to the unforgiving reality. Death, his sister. The faint smile playing on her lips belies the concern in her eyes.

Morpheus’s expression darkens, a sigh slipping from his lips. “This is what I have done for centuries, my sister. Mourning and weeping, every time I watch my Ravenna slip through my fingers, dying in my arms. It is nothing new.”

“So, this is about the mortal girl,” Death says, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “Committing the forbidden? What were you thinking, you overgrown, bubble-headed fool?” She throws her hands in the air, her words tinged with dramatic disbelief.

“Ravenna is an ephemeral bliss,” Morpheus murmurs, his gaze still fixed on the pigeons, pecking eagerly at the crumbs. “I am addicted, hopelessly.”

“And here you are, mourning as if your world has ended.”

“It has,” Morpheus replies, his voice barely a whisper. “Without her, I am lost, dreading the emptiness that follows her absence. The more I try to distance myself, the worse it becomes.”

Death stands, a mixture of irritation and deep affection flashing across her face. She cares for her brother, deeply, and if knocking some sense into him might ease his pain, she is more than willing. “Do you hear yourself? This is madness, utter madness.”

“You call it madness. I call it love.”

“You’re in deep with this mortal, aren’t you? It’s fascinating, but I cannot approve.”

“And yet, you are here, my sister,” Morpheus says, his voice low, his eyes still distant.

“You sought my support, Dream,” she replies, her tone softening. “And for once, I’m inclined to offer it. But you’re still the most pathetic excuse for an anthropomorphic personification in any plane of existence.” With a quick motion, she snatches the bread from his hand, forcing him to look at her instead of the ground.

When he finally meets her gaze, the depth of his heartbreak is evident, etched in every line of his face. The sight of his suffering softens her resolve, and she sighs, shaking her head. She knows she will regret this later.

Relenting, she tosses the bread back at him, and he catches it in mid-air with a grace that seems almost absent-minded. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but why don’t you do something about it instead of sitting here, moping and feeding pigeons?”

“Keeping my distance is the only way to keep her alive. It is the right thing to do. But I cannot bear to let her go.”

“I don’t believe it,” Death says, her voice firm.

Morpheus raises an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. “What do you suggest?”

“I cannot change what is fated, but Destiny might. If there’s a loophole, there could be hope,” she says, watching her brother’s face as he processes her words. A series of emotions play out across his features—surprise, hope, doubt. It seems he hadn’t considered this possibility before. It is moments like these that remind her why she is often considered the wisest of their siblings.

“I doubt Destiny will help. He’s not exactly fond of me,” Morpheus replies, sinking back into his sorrow.

“You’re right. He probably won’t. That’s why I’ll be doing the talking. He’ll listen to me,” she says, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You need to hold onto hope, Dream. You deserve that much.”

“Hope,” Morpheus repeats, his voice catching as he swallows back the tears threatening to spill. He looks at his sister, a soft, genuine smile forming on his lips. “I like the sound of that.”

A smile spreads across Death’s face, warm and full of joy. “I bet you do.”

“Thank you, my sister.”

She leans in, planting a quick kiss on his forehead. “That’s what family’s for, little brother.”