Page 71 of Snatched By the Sandman

I’ve never shared the tears of those who mourn. I’ve never found the light behind those dark tears ready to burn in their eyes again.

I’d drink poison if it meant I could share her tears.

After she scribbles something in the book, I’m ready to approach her until…

…Phobetor, the grim voice summons me.

Gods damn me!

If any of them notice, they don’t show it as the booming voice follows the summons with his irresistible force of dragging me through time and space like I’m a damn wraith.

With a tightness in my chest and tattered wings stiffer than usual, I stand before the darkened threshold of myfather’sdomain. The haze of his hypnotic realm thickens the air. The scent of opium poppies perfumes the air.

Hypnos’s call is relentless, stronger, and more demanding, thundering through the depths of my consciousness. He calls to me from the darkness of his cavern system like some great and terrible monster stirring from his slumber.

Stepping into the cavernous expanse, a never-ending labyrinth of shadowed caves surrounds me—each wall carved from the alchemy of timeless sleep. This was the birthplace of the Oneiroi, a place of ancient power and dark serenity.

The God of Sleep emerges from the gloom, his presence both commanding and weary.

For fuck’s sake.

Daddy is not happy.

I harden my jaw at the sight of the ancient God who stands as a towering, imposing figure, his presence dominating the cavern. His massive owl wings in place of arms span the width of the cavern, feathers shimmering with a dark, otherworldly light. The same feathers cover every inch of his body in bountiful layers. A great owl skull substitutes for his head, its hollow eyes glowing malevolently.

Hypnos is formidable and macabre. His nature as a minor God demands respect despite his natural sloth of slumber. The son of Nyx, his aura is dark and enigmatic.

“Phobetor,” he booms, his voice, deep and resonant, hammers in my ears, carrying the weight of countless ages overseeing the realm of sleep. Yes, he prefers to call me by my birthname, the “Frightener”.

Shoulders heavy with his troubles, the God’s voice pierces through the oppressive silence.

“Nyxion,” Hypnos’s voice rumbles with discontent, “You and Morpheus are fighting. Again.”

I meet my father’s gaze with defiance icing my blood and resignation weighing down my wings.He stole my voice, Father.

His gaze bores into me, seeing right through my ruse. “You stole his Eye first. You bear the most responsibility for this discord.”

I don’t lower my head, but I don’t deny his statement.

A weary sigh heaves from his mouth as he shakes his chest feathers. “Your battles with Morpheus have left me cleaning up your messes. I prefer my territory of rest and sedateness. Your infantile need for drama to appease your boredom with the fears of man and your misguided envy of your brother have led to thefragmentation of our worlds. Many lost dreams are escaping to the mortal realm. Too many could cause an undue war.”

He coughs, makes a choking sound, and regurgitates the bones and skulls of small birds. Reavers escape with the bones. I should have recognized his signature in their attacks.

His talons scrape at the rocky ground in obvious annoyance. “Temporal storms rage unchecked, and reavers plague the dreamscape. I thought you’d get the hint of how I’ve had to work overtime, mending the fractures you and your brother have wrought.”

I grind my jaw, nearly breaking a tooth. I cannot deny how more chaos has erupted from our conflicts this time. After all my failures to create a dream weaver resulted in thousands of souls passing into Purgatory, I took advantage of Morpheus. Wrath and envy ruled me.

They do not rule me now.

The dark torment of my soul from my little dreamer’s tears has left me in a purgatorial prison of my mind. One of my own making. Only she may heal me with the asphyxiation of my sins until I retch them onto the ground for her to trod upon.

Clenching my bony hand, I stare my father down.I take responsibility for the disturbances that have ripped through the dream realm and into the mortal world. My quest for Eden has only thrust me closer to the Abyss.I don’t mention how I’ve found paradise within the black and hollow void.

“Nightmares are as significant as dreams and sleep, Phobetor.” Hypnos’s voice sharpens upon me. “You would do well to remember that. Dreamwalkers are one thing. You’ve toyed with them. But never have you created a dream weaver. With every thread she imagines, the balance grows more volatile.”

He tilts his head, predatory and commanding. “Zeus is not pleased with your recent exploits, especially after the incident inPurgatory that shattered the barriers between realms, then the deep schism between nightmares and dreams. Never have you and your brother been more divided. If you don’t rectify this soon, I will have no choice but to call upon Thanatos.”

A storm tremors inside me, and a growl rises.

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