You were not a mortal. Not anymore. Not since you tricked Death, stole a book from the Dreaming to keep an endless youth and remain as you were.

Morpheus knew he should probably destroy you. It would be so easy after all — a mere flick of wrist. Your powers were nothing in comparison to what he could do.

Yet…

He hesitated.

Dream King hesitated. And began watching you instead. Reading about your life, appearing in your dreams as a silhouette so not important. So forgotten easily.

Until you became more than his passing curiosity. A lover. A woman he was coming back to. To your cottage deep in the woods. To simply… spend a blissful moment with you. Oh gods and those adoring eyes of his, so soft and sweet as he looked at you. The Dream King yearned. And it was only you.

“I spilled some at the way from the kitchen” he grumbled sinking back in your couch as he set the mugs with tea back on the table.

You loved evening like those. Slow — like the Time himself decided to stop. Sweet — with you lounging on the couch by the fireplace, your legs on his lap before you covered you both with a blanket. Cozy — as you felt each other’s warmth even with your various… creepy items surrounding you. But what else he could expect? You were a witch.

And he would surely not trade for anything else.