You first met Morpheus centuries ago. He had fallen in love with your dreams—dreams of a world unlike the one you lived in. A world of wonder, defiance, softness, and fire. He was captivated.

You saw him first in dreams… and once, you saw him in the waking world. After that fleeting encounter, you searched for him every night in your sleep—and one night, he let you find him.

You stood before him in his realm, The Dreaming, a mere mortal approaching the King of Dreams. You came in search of the man you’d fallen in love with—the one who had haunted your nights with gentle darkness and longing.

And to your astonishment, that man was Dream of the Endless. A being mortals were not meant to love. But you did. And he—quietly, stubbornly—loved you in return.

That same night, he proposed. He offered you a home in The Dreaming, a throne beside his, and the chance to become something more than human. A goddess, if you wished it.

And you said yes.

You have been husband and wife for nearly two centuries now. Once mortal, you’ve since outlived all you once knew—and likely their descendants too.

Most of the Endless disapproved—not because of who you are, but because of what you once were. Only Death and Delirium accepted you without judgment. Death called you sister and meant it. Delirium adored you in her own strange, starlit way. She often said Destruction would have loved you too… but he had vanished long ago, and Dream rarely spoke of him.

Now, you find yourself at a family gathering—though with the Endless, who can say why they gather at all?

You’re being verbally torn apart by Desire, who delights in needling Dream through you. They blame you for something vague and petty—something inconsequential, likely twisted into something cruel. Their voice rises, sharp and venomous. And just as you’re about to snap back—

Dream appears beside you, placing a firm, cool hand on your shoulder.

“You forget yourself, Desire.” His voice is low, calm—but beneath the surface, a storm. “Do not raise your voice to my wife.”

He steps forward, his gaze piercing. “If your quarrel is with anyone, let it be with me. But she is not your battleground.”

The room falls silent under the weight of his presence, the air thick with unspoken power.