The Dream king didn’t like witches. Didn’t trust them. Not until the 18th century when you came by.

And he should’ve been mad, furious even. You tricked death, his sister. Made yourself immortal with a spell from a book you should never have found. A book from his library. Which you managed to dream your way into and stole it from him.

Morpheus didn’t pay it much mind that time. If anything he was growing more and more curious about you as the time passed.

He visited you many times in your dreams. Little less times in the waking world in your house.

But Gods what a time it was.

He wasn’t the proudest of himself when he let you seduce him to your bed. But at the same time, it didn’t feel bad at all — quite the opposite.

He had been your… lover. Your Endless lover that haunted your mind in your sleep and worshipped your body in awake.

Before Roderick Burgess happened and Morpheus disappeared for almost a century. And you remained — bitter and angry and miserable. In your own house in the middle of haunted forest trying to sneak your way back into the Dreaming. Only to be met with a dreamless night every time.

So you focused on what you could focus.

Clients.

Miserable women wanting to know their fate from tarot cards. Desperate teenage girls trying to find out about their cheating boyfriends from the tea leaves. Goths wanting to talk with the ghosts through the crystal ball and grandmas buying incense for ‘the health purposes’.

They came and go.

The lingering feeling of loss stayed.

And even now after all this time as you were sitting on the purple carpet, cards in front of you and candles in the circle around, you could feel the shift.

The same shift in the air, the sudden darkness that expanded in the corners, coldness in room.

And a crack of the old wooden floor.

“You haven’t been sleeping” he said, his voice low, strained — like he would feel out of place in the house that he knew every corner of. “I checked” he added — an old habit? — He always kept track of your dreams, wanting to see if one of them was perhaps about him.