Page 72 of Snatched By the Sandman

Damn. My father’s wings flare. I have never dared to challenge him, to defy him to such a degree. His eyes flash dangerously. With talons clenching, Hypnos creeps forward in a slow, gliding step. “Careful, son. Don’t make me call your mother.”

No, that’s the last thing we need.

Lowering my jaw in submission, I assure him,Zenya will undertake the Trials. She will restore balance.

“Thanatos would be kinder to her than such an undertaking.”

Steeling myself, I shake my head.I am not ready to let her go.

Hypnos’s expression grows more suspicious and sinister. “And if she fails, Thanatos will come anyway. We cannot and will not trouble the Abyss. You know what could happen if we do.”

My spine locks up. The Apocalypse. The portals of heaven and hell unleashing their fire upon all worlds, not just the mortal one.

“If he senses an iota of hesitation in her…do you think he’ll spare her for your whims? I know she was a dream walker first, my son.”

Don’t.My rib cage rattles.

“You should have returned her to Purgatory when she accidentally wandered into your realm. She would have had a painless and slow process of working out her morally gray life. Now, she must go to war with her demons.”

My heart snaps its strings, crashing to my stomach to swirl in its undertow. My memory returns to the moment she stepped into my world when the walls of Purgatory fractured for a time.

A dark desire overcomes me with the vision she was—one I believed was a mirage at the time. I called to her, summoned her deeper into the fabric of my realm, and hid her from Eros until I could find her in that cold and lonely hospital room. One glimpse to confirm her identity. One kiss of promise to return.

And I did—with the Eye of Morpheus.

The one who got away would not escape me again.

My father sways to absorb the shadows, casting him into a silhouette with only his eyes as light in the darkness. “Phobetor, the Chaos of the Universe chose you as the essence of nightmares. Whether you recognize it or not, you are necessary for the gravity of the subconscious of all mortals.

“In the past, you have created dream walkers and fed on their minuscule amounts of emotions—most return to the world of man driven to insanity. You cast them aside, returning to your haunting ways.”

He does not ask, but I know the question hangs between us. Why is she different?

I could give him an endless list of reasons.

The truth is this: while she may not remember, she felt me all the same. She sought me. From the moment she entered Purgatory and felt its fractures, she searched for me, damn near hunted me in my nightmarish world. I sang my dark lullaby over her and laid her on the ground near my fortress before stealing away to her hospital room.

Her subconscious accepted the implantation of the Eye.

I recall the overwhelming awe when she fell for me. Her weaving like healing and how her presence had fused with my fractured soul.

Her ferocity when I pulled her down to that burial ground before her spirit took me until she was weaving for me.

And then, the moment I beheld her tears—ones not wrought from my hand—pierced my darkness. I felt her raw vulnerability and humanity in every breath.

I’m convinced Zenya Alice Myre’s soul fell from heaven, then crawled through the fires of hell, battling for rebirth.

Father…I tread carefully, daring to step forward while raising myself higher, lifting my chin to stare down the God of Sleep.It is not her alone. It is becauseI would battle Death himself for her. It is because…I take a deep breath and speak the words in the macabre sanctuary of my mind, knowing they will become real.I would crawl into the Abyss itself and sell my soul to its infinite black heart if it granted her another sweet dream bereft of my nightmares.

Hypnos says nothing. I do not blink. I do not break, caught within his all-powerful gaze. I’ve unmasked my feelings, unraveled my heart, my truth—this vow I set upon myself with a hardened resolve.

He is the first to blink. Then declares, “Your devotion is evident, but devotion alone cannot mend the fractures you have caused. There are consequences, Nyxion, and even love cannot erase them.”

Hope can.

It’s my split-second response, and while my bones rattle with the gravity of what I have spoken, I believe it with every cell in my being. Could hope truly exist in the fathomless fabric of nightmares?

“A valiant speech, son.” He sniffs. “But do not mistake theatrical words for actual power. The Abyss does not bargain lightly. Neither does it grant favors to those who only know how to destroy.”

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