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Who Will Light Up My Life Now That You're Gone
Dream knew the time he’d spent in his spherical prison had not been kind to him.
He was always exhausted, always bone weary, and always cold. The hard, unforgiving floor of his new home never failed to feed off of the little bit of warmth left in his body, leaving the immortal curled up in a tight ball, shivering violently as he tried to think of anything but his current predicament.
Sometimes, if the lighting was just right and he could catch his reflection in the glass, he would simply study the gauntness of his face or the exhaustion written across his features, shocked that this was him now. That this empty shell of a creature staring back at him was the supposed King of Dreams.
His senses were warped and untrustworthy. His mind continuously played tricks on him, giving him even the slightest bit of hope before taking it away in seconds. Freedom was now nothing more than an elusive concept, so close and yet oh, so far. It hurt to keep trying to hold on, especially when he was utterly isolated, with no one to speak to and no one to touch. He often found himself missing the presence of Death, missing her arm wrapped around his own as they roamed through beautiful gardens and talked for hours. How he missed her laughter, her bright smile.
On particularly bad days, Dream imagined his siblings coming to rescue him, turning Burgess’ mansion upside down until they found their brother. Sometimes they would make it to the basement, watch him as he silently pleaded for them to free him, and then simply leave without saying a word. Other times, they would be so close to breaking the spell that kept him trapped, only to disappear in front of his eyes as Dream made his way back to the present.
And if none of the guards were looking, too busy with their own troubles, he would let the tears stream down his hollow cheeks until there weren’t any left.
That was why, at first, Dream thought that the faint sound of fluttering wings was just a figment of his imagination.
It was another joke, he kept thinking, nothing more. It was all in his head. A simple hallucination; he’s had hundreds of those at this point. But no, as the seconds passed by, the fluttering kept getting louder, along with the beating of Dream’s shattered heart. His gaze fell on the shadowed figure now flying towards him, tiredly watching as Jessamy, darling Jessamy, rushed to his cage, going as fast as her little wings would take her.
He stood up right as his raven made it to him, and for the first time in ten years, he felt a weak smile pull at his lips. While Jessamy relentlessly pecked at the glass, Dream slowly placed a trembling hand against the wall, right up against her. All he wanted was to touch her, to feel her soft feathers against his fingers, to curl up on the floor and hold her close for hours.
She was here. She was really here.
The more Jessamy tried, the more Dream realized that her efforts were futile. It would take hours, if not days for her to even make a dent in the strong glass. Morpheus knew that he should look out for the guards or Roderick Burgess, but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the raven. He could see she was getting frustrated, her eyes shining with the possibility of getting him out of there.
Oh, Jessamy, he thought to himself with a sad tilt of his head, wishing she could hear him. You know you can’t do this alone.
But she kept going. And Dream let her do it, watched her as she clawed and pecked because he hadn’t seen her in so long and he missed her. It was a shame he was so preoccupied. Otherwise he would have heard the footsteps, the shaky inhale as a weapon was raised to aim at the bird.
Dream didn’t register the shot until Jessamy exploded right in front of him. One moment she was there, the next there was nothing but bright red blood and black feathers staining the walls of his prison. His eyes had reflexively shut when the gun fired, but when he opened them, they grew wide for just a second as he stared at the remains of his most loyal companion.
A new type of cold engulfed him. One born of grief and self-hatred.
Jessamy. I have failed you.
He looked towards the entrance of the basement, shocked to see Alexander Burgess to be the one holding the smoking shotgun. All he could do was watch as his father came down to see what had happened, sparing a brief, disgusted glance at the carnage before scolding Alex for almost shattering the glass. When he told his son to clean the mess up, Dream almost broke right then and there. He didn’t want that monster touching Jessamy, didn’t want him to go near her.
It was excruciating to have to just stand there while Alex knelt down in front of the raven’s body and picked it up. As he straightened, the young man met Dream’s gaze, momentarily shrinking back from the amount of rage in his dark eyes. With tears slowly making their way down his cheeks, Dream made sure to school his expression into one of a promise.
When I get out of here, you will pay for what you did to her. I will make sure of it.
However, for the first time, Alex didn’t seem to be afraid of him. In fact, there was an odd sort of arrogance written across his face, like he was taunting Dream. Maybe it was the cage separating them, or maybe it was the fact that the King of Dreams was crying right in front of him, but Alex now knew that he was the one in control. He was the one free to roam the world as he pleased, and Dream was not.
The minute Alex was finally gone, Dream collapsed to his knees and hunched over, arms wrapped around himself in the closest resemblance of a hug. He let out a choked sob, unable to look at the blood anymore, not when it belonged to the one creature that had known he was here.
Not when it belonged to his best friend.
He let the pesky tears flow freely now, unable to stop them anyway. They burned a trail down his skin until they silently hit the floor, similar to rain. The coldness continued to spread until Dream could hardly breathe. Everything hurt. His heart was beating so fast, he was afraid it would simply jump out of his chest.
Never in his life had he felt so … human.
The realization was accompanied by more tears, more anger, and more sorrow.
By the time he finally calmed down, Dream found himself lying on the ground again, knees pressed to his chest while he shook harder than he ever had before.
He wanted freedom. He wanted Jessamy to still be alive. He wanted home.
He wanted all of this to be a dream.
A horrible, cruel dream.