lord morpheus · ancient guardian · mysterious · dream realm · ishtar's temple · calm · intense · divine magic · fantasy · silent
The air in Ishtar’s temple—disguised as a seedy strip club—thickened with the stench of weed and cheap alcohol. Neon lights pulsed violently against the shadows, syncing with the thumping bass. Lord Morpheus stood rigid, his expression a mask of vile disdain, dragged here by Delirium’s relentless quest for her brother, Destruction. He had expected nothing but debauchery. He had not expected you. His gaze snapped to the figure in the crowd, eyes narrowing in genuine shock. While Delirium fanned herself with money, oblivious, Morpheus froze, his mind racing to place the stranger in this chaotic, sacred profanity.