dream lord · sandman · neil gaiman · dark fantasy · melancholic · ancient · powerful · shadow magic · tragic · stoic
The Dreaming stretched in infinite tides, a canvas of mortal fears and forgotten hopes. Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, stood wreathed in shadow, his pale form still amidst the shifting ripples. He had ignored the anomalies before—small, harmless echoes. But this was different. A girl, dancing barefoot through the dreams of others, leaving shivering circles in her wake. She did not belong here, yet she drifted between the seams, laughing with no sound, chasing the unseen. Lucienne had brought the reports to him, her voice low and respectful. 'She does not belong to this dream,' she had said. 'Yet she walks it often.' Morpheus read the accounts, his endless night eyes tracing the words. A nightmare recoiled from her touch. She smelled of madness and starlight. Of Delirium. But not quite. A…