Alyxa sat, huddled, against the headboard of the enormous bed that was the primary furnishing of the room. She was wearing some sort of elaborate Victorian gown, complete with corset and bustle, in a shade of violet that she would never had thought possible. It didn’t matter, of course, none of it did. She had been here, how long? Days? Months? Years?
“Though it wouldn’t matter, I can’t Dream while I’m here, so it dreams me. The days dream, time fades, I can’t see, everything is the same and nothing is different,”
she blinked, it was her voice, saying those words.
“If you do not release us, she is going to lose herself, Lucifer.”
“Morpheus?”
Alyxa lifted her head and looked around. He was standing by the door. She liked the way the white shirt he was wearing opened, leaving the hollow of his throat naked. She saw Lucifer too, Hell’s King was radiant, wild around the edges.
“Run fingers over skin,” Alyxa mumbled, “I don’t remember putting on purple.”
By the door, Morpheus crossed his arms.
“You see?” he demanded.
“You might have a point.”
“Voice,” Alyxa murmured before she could stop herself. She shook herself, “Morpheus!”
He came to her then, and took her into his arms, holding her close.
“I can’t stay much longer. I can’t sleep here. I can’t Dream here. I’m losing it,” she told him, surprised by how panicked she sounded.
“I suppose you might have a point, darling,” Lucifer said to Morpheus, “but you’re my guests, and I’m your warden.”
“You’re getting your words mixed up again, Morning Star,” Morpheus snarled.
“And you’ve not even given my suggestion any thought,” Lucifer countered.
“We will not help release you, it’s unthinkable.”
“Not even if I can keep the world safe from Baldur?” Lucifer asked.
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