⟪ she is so earnest in the way she immediately accepts, a visible freight of burdens draining from her face. if it’s pride that kept her from asking, even at her lowest, she’s happily stomping on it now — the same way he did when he ultimately offered a hand.

but it’s not entirely for her.

there have been certain… disturbances in the dreaming. for a while. assaults occurred in the past, and dream even found himself trapped in his own domain once. it’s a popular realm to assail, it seems, a plethora of impossibilities made possible, if only for a moment. it’s enough to ignite the tiniest hope sometimes, however misplaced, but there are conquerors as well, who would very much like to witness morpheus’ demise first-hand.

the threat is contained. for now. but as her war wages, her enemies grow in number, all craving a piece of his kingdom, so sure of its origin. of its essence. of its purpose. a multitude of beliefs abound across the universes, which in turn feeds his own realm and sustains his guests, inspiring, fortifying. but there’s a thin line to cross there, a threshold watchfully guarded, and some creatures seem pretty determined to step on his toes.

leah has been fed a ton of lies. some deliberately, others just out of ignorance. it’s not dream’s place to correct; there’s no pitch to give here, to spiel to share, no faith to judge. not usually. it only becomes a problem when the safety of his dreamers is jeopardized, and well. it’s kind of getting there.

it’s a little bittersweet to witness her excitement. her relief. she doesn’t fully realize what’s at stake here, but dream has seen entire universes fall before, some because of his inaction. sacrifices are necessary sometimes — for the greater good, and all that. but there’s one soul in particular he’d like to see flourish, eclipsed by a world too dim to let her bloom in peace.

so, no. it’s not entirely for her. but to some extent, it is, if only a little.

he’s going to hurt her, in one way or another, sooner or later. maker’s breath, she says, and his own catches somewhere in the back of his throat. her hand rises. consciously or otherwise, he doesn’t know, though he finds himself delicately curling his fingers around hers, loosely held between them. and he bows his head. it’s brief, barely a nod, but it’s deliberate and vastly apologetic, a shadow of regret flickering in his gaze. ⟫

You must be prepared. ⟪ and there it is, his first warning; he doesn’t know the outcome. all he knows is that she isn’t going to lose that war, and no one is going to usurp his domain. he takes another step closer, his expression shifting like sand; intent and stiff, gentle and (somewhat) open. ⟫ You will rest… ⟪ a sigh touches his lips, his eyes drifting down before flickering back up, blue against green. ⟫ …but you will mourn as well. Truths. Beliefs. Friendships. ⟪ thrown onto a path where new revelations might pave the way to a bitter victory.

even without his help. ⟫