⟪ he’s known quieter dreamers. leah tosses and turns, gasps and groans, enough for matthew to croak a few swears. impressed or exasperated, dream can’t tell, and while his own eyes rove the pages of the book — journal of the tranquil — his mind has wandered farther afield. or closer, maybe.
he shouldn’t be here. somewhere between pages 7 and 18, it occurs to him that he’s never before shown himself to her in the waking world. it’s no transgression — he’s shown himself to plenty of people — but it also kind of is, breaking the self-made walls he’s so carefully erected in the past weeks. in the past years, even, back when he first realized that she could be a threat. not just to the dreaming, but to himself as well, a full-fledged dream walker and a magic user to boot.
no other reasons. obviously. those were dangerous enough on their own.
it’d be easier if they were all like burgess. if she was like burgess. specifically. but she isn’t, even as flames lick her fingers, and morpheus looks up just in time to watch them evanesce into the bleak squalor of the library. he stares. matthew bristles, quickly hopping from one shoulder to the other and looking oddly disheveled.
whoa, whoa, whoa! lady! nobody ever told you that feathers are flammable??
dramatic corvid. like master like bird. dream barely notices. what he does observe is the light flush dusting leah’s cheeks, her neck, her ears. she sputters nonsense, and beyond morpheus’ overall disquiet, despite its solid grasp on his mood, his mouth pinches against what might have become a smile otherwise, a hint of self-satisfied amusement in his eyes. ⟫
Hello. ⟪ his voice fills the entire room, embers and sand. matthew huffs, mildly offended, and dream finally spares him a glance, surprisingly fond despite his seemingly cold dispositions.
contrary to popular belief, he’s anything but. ⟫
I’m afraid we have intruded. ⟪ which absolutely explains the fireball very nearly thrown in both of their faces. through his lashes he glances back to her, his stare slowly traveling from her neck to her eyes, noting how weary she truly looks. his expression shifts at the sight; it could have been pity, once upon a time. it isn’t, more akin to sadness instead, lingering behind the celestial fires in his eyes. ⟫ Apologies. I simply came to check on you.
no subject
⟪ he’s known quieter dreamers. leah tosses and turns, gasps and groans, enough for matthew to croak a few swears. impressed or exasperated, dream can’t tell, and while his own eyes rove the pages of the book — journal of the tranquil — his mind has wandered farther afield. or closer, maybe.
he shouldn’t be here. somewhere between pages 7 and 18, it occurs to him that he’s never before shown himself to her in the waking world. it’s no transgression — he’s shown himself to plenty of people — but it also kind of is, breaking the self-made walls he’s so carefully erected in the past weeks. in the past years, even, back when he first realized that she could be a threat. not just to the dreaming, but to himself as well, a full-fledged dream walker and a magic user to boot.
no other reasons. obviously. those were dangerous enough on their own.
it’d be easier if they were all like burgess. if she was like burgess. specifically. but she isn’t, even as flames lick her fingers, and morpheus looks up just in time to watch them evanesce into the bleak squalor of the library. he stares. matthew bristles, quickly hopping from one shoulder to the other and looking oddly disheveled.
whoa, whoa, whoa! lady! nobody ever told you that feathers are flammable??
dramatic corvid. like master like bird. dream barely notices. what he does observe is the light flush dusting leah’s cheeks, her neck, her ears. she sputters nonsense, and beyond morpheus’ overall disquiet, despite its solid grasp on his mood, his mouth pinches against what might have become a smile otherwise, a hint of self-satisfied amusement in his eyes. ⟫
Hello. ⟪ his voice fills the entire room, embers and sand. matthew huffs, mildly offended, and dream finally spares him a glance, surprisingly fond despite his seemingly cold dispositions.
contrary to popular belief, he’s anything but. ⟫
I’m afraid we have intruded. ⟪ which absolutely explains the fireball very nearly thrown in both of their faces. through his lashes he glances back to her, his stare slowly traveling from her neck to her eyes, noting how weary she truly looks. his expression shifts at the sight; it could have been pity, once upon a time. it isn’t, more akin to sadness instead, lingering behind the celestial fires in his eyes. ⟫ Apologies. I simply came to check on you.