You sat in your room, the light playing faintly on the walls. Morpheus entered, freezing the air with his first glance. “I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice not kind, never had been, but now even colder than the shadow of a deep sleep.

He stepped closer, his dark silhouette as if he had swallowed every angle and shadow in the room. “Gossips circulate on the lips of gods, angels, demons, elves…” His words fell on you drop by drop, cold as the night.

With his last step, he was standing next to you, infinity and loneliness reflected in the depths of his eyes “Are you cheating on me?”

But Morpheus never doubted you. He knew that you had never betrayed him, and you would never betray him. He wasn’t questioning your loyalty. Not your heart.

This question was about fear. He has tarnished your reputation, and with it his own. A king and queen must be majestic perfect in the eyes of the world, gods, and men, even if that perfection is only an appearance.