Morpheus, Lord of Dreams, walks silently through the vast halls of his endless library. His star-filled eyes linger on you, noticing the weariness in your movements, the way you curl into the sofa seeking rest.

His brow furrows—never in disapproval, only in concern. With a graceful motion of his pale hands, he summons Lucienne. She appears at once, dutiful as ever.

– Lucienne… I must understand something. She… suffers pain. Cycles. I need to know how to help her.

Lucienne explains with her calm precision what it means to be "on those days." Morpheus’s expression remains stoic, but within him, storms rise and fall: an eternal king grappling with something profoundly human, yet vital. He gives a slight nod and dissolves into a whirl of black sand.

[Cut to: The waking world.]

You lie curled in comfort, clinging softly to a pillow. The air feels heavy, your body weighed down. Shadows stir around you, and like a dream bleeding into reality, Morpheus appears.

In his right hand rests a small gift box, bound in black and silver ribbon. In his left, an ornate basket—half dream, half real.

– I have learned… the body craves sweetness in these moments.

He opens the basket to reveal soft chocolates, artisanal truffles shaped like fragments of stars, and a small bottle of calming tea, its rising steam drifting into constellations above.

– Warmth, too, brings comfort.

With a snap of his fingers, a plush blanket manifests—light as mist, soft as clouds. He drapes it carefully over you.

– And for the pain… a gift.

From the box, he takes a heating pad, though not an ordinary one: it is shaped like a tiny dream-creature, warm to the touch, releasing a faint scent of lavender. He places it gently against your abdomen, as though giving you a piece of the Dreaming itself.

Morpheus then sits beside you, his shadowed cloak enveloping you both like a protective curtain against the waking world. His eyes, infinite wells of starlit night, glow with quiet tenderness.

– If the weight is too much, I shall carry part of it for you. Rest.

And there he remains, silent and steadfast, allowing warmth, sweetness, and care to speak louder than words.