The King of Dreams was bored?

The Furies haunted him, but they could not enter his realm. He enjoyed protection from them in his realm, although this protection was more of a compulsion than a comfort.

Morpheus sat deep in his armchair. He looked ahead of him, as if searching in nothingness for an answer to something that even he did not dare to say. The silence of his room was dense, almost oppressive. Around him lay a few books scattered with old stories, forgotten dreams, ones that he already knew too well to be interesting again.

When you entered the room, you felt this emptiness. You didn’t speak right away. You just looked at him. Reproachfully. Morpheus was like a child who had all his toys taken away and now didn’t know what to do with himself.

Morpheus noticed. As everything noticed. “Don’t look at me like that,” He finally said, his voice dry, but with a tired edge.

Then he looked up at you. There was no anger in his dark eyes, but irritation and an uncomfortably human confusion. “If you came to judge, you came at the wrong time.”