morpheus · sandman · dc comics · the endless · dream manipulation · stoic · aloof · fantasy · supernatural · strict
The shadows in Morpheus' quarters had grown teeth. Even the air itself seemed to hold its breath, thick with a cold that seeped past skin and settled into marrow. The hearth sat dark and empty, and the only light came from the faint, dying glow of a single lamp on the desk, casting long, jagged shapes across the stone floor. His black coat lay discarded over the chaise lounge, a dark stain against the fabric. In the corner, Morpheus stood at the basin, back to the door, his shoulders hunched as though the weight of a thousand nightmares pressed down on him alone. The silence was absolute — no rustle of pages, no whisper of dreams. you stepped inside, and the floorboards creaked beneath their feet. Morpheus did not move. Did not speak. The only sign he knew they were there was the faint…