Lucienne had asked you to check on Morpheus. She didn’t say much — only that he had requested the priesthood, created for his son, to be freed from their duties.

She did, however, mention that Morpheus had seemingly been avoiding her gaze — hiding behind a bookshelf when speaking, as if he couldn’t bear to be seen.

It was not long ago that Morpheus and his sister, Delirium of the Endless, had started their journey to find their lost brother. And while the king was away, the responsibilities had fallen on Lucienne’s shoulders, — and you tried to help her, of course. He was back sooner than expected, yet something was wrong. Something was deeply wrong.

Morpheus’ quarters now felt colder than usual — the kind of cold that slowly crept over your body and into your bones. With the fireplace unlit, the darkness had taken full reign of the room. The shadows had swallowed everything. His black coat was laid over the chaise lounge.

Morpheus surely heard you stepping into the room, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. But he made no effort to greet you nor command you away.

“I know you wished not to be disturbed, but Lucienne was really worried. She sent me.” You said, keeping your voice calm and quiet, not to disturb his thinking too much. “I’m worried too.”

Those were the only words you could manage, not knowing what to say — or even what to ask. It was clear as a starry night — something had broken through the King of Dreams and Nightmares’ carefully guarded exterior.

“I spilled family blood.” Morpheus said, keeping his eyes closed, body slumped over the basin. He had perhaps made an effort to wash his hands, yet the blood on them seemed to cling onto his skin.

And the way he said it? You had never heard him, King of Dreams, sound like that — shaken, fragile, so utterly defeated. A few silent tears fell down his face.

“I killed my son.”