Page 78 of Snatched By the Sandman

The sound of her voice—soft, grateful, and full of trust—pierces through the layers of bones forming a cage that has long encased my heart. A sensation strikes me, one I haven’t known in eons: a heartbeat. The rhythmic thump echoes within my chest.

The cadence of the slight pulse sends a tremor to rattle my bones. And shivers through my soul.

Delicate and sincere, her whisper feels like a thread of light weaving through the dense fabric of my existence. I say nothing. I don’t deserve her gratitude. Beneath all her wrath and witty verbatim is the heart and soul of a lonely wanderer. A lost soul seeking a home, belonging. She brings enough light to radiate a beacon through my entire Realm of Nightmares.

I remain seated, a silent sentinel in the dark, yet her words reverberate into me, stirring emotions I thought were long buried.

I glance at her, a fragile figure nestled between two powerful beings. The realization that she thought of me, even in the comforting presence of Morpheus and Hecate, is almost too much to bear.

My heart may be faint and hesitant, but it beats with a new purpose. It’s as if her simple whisper, along with her tears, has ignited a spark within me—a flicker of warmth in the bone-cold expanse of my soul. If love can exist in the realm of nightmares, then perhaps she has awakened it in me.

Through me, you will dream. Through you, I will awaken.

I never imagined it would manifest this way.

I sit here, surrounded by the dark and eerie serenity of the night, and silently vow to uphold this newfound feeling. For her, I would face any fear, any darkness.

Her whisper is my heartbeat.

In the morning just before dawn, as much as time is measured in this dimension, Zenya wakes. No, her eyes are too dark.

Beastiequietly and subtly slips out of the blanket fort. Hecate and Morpheus undoubtedly stir from her movements, but they won’t interfere.

I don’t move from my seat. I don’t blink when she weaves a blade in her hand and presses it to my cervical vertebrae before tracing it across the gap of my missing hyoid bone.

“I considered weaving razor blades onto your dick,” she confesses.

Everything inside me winces, but I don’t blink.What stopped you?

She rolls her eyes with a heavy sigh but does not remove the blade. “Shelikes it too much.”

A slight gap in my teeth forms—not a smile, but the admittance weaves a warmth inside me.

“Zenya is?—”

Naive, wild, and impulsive,I repeat in unison as she narrows her eyes.You will not allow the darkness to devour her. Nor will I.

“If this is some trick, some manipulation tactic to deceive her or hurt her, I’ll snap all your bones, then shatter them before I rip out your spinal cord.” A dangerous glint flashes in her eyes, and I have no doubt she would make good on her promise. The blade chafes my vertebrae, shedding bone dust.

I’d rip out my own spinal cord and give you full license to whip me with it until you shatter all my bones,I vow, my voice deep and grave.

She screws her brows low, flips the blade, and stabs the handle beneath my jawbone. “Tell me now, Phobetor. Why?”

Her tears.I curve the phalanges of my hand over the femur armrest of my chair.Not the tears of rage or fear, but the ones she shed in awe as she read the flower language in her journal. Language you wrote for her. Those tears were more beautiful than anything I’ve ever witnessed. The first tears I’ve beheld that were not shed for me or because of me.

Beastie presses her lips into a tight, skeptical seam.

I pause, feeling the memory wash over me.There was a moment when she turned the pages, her eyes wide and shimmering, and I saw something pure and untainted. Those tears were like drops of silver blood from her heart. They gave me a gift I could never be worthy of, something I never expected to feel. I don’t expect you to believe me,I add softly.I vow to protect her, not just from the darkness of nightmares, but from everything that threatens to harm her.

Her grip on the blade doesn’t waver, but I continue,For her, I would endure any torment, face any fear.

The room remains tense, her eyes locked onto mine, searching for any sign of deceit. But I hold her gaze, steadfast in my resolve.I may be the God of Nightmares, but even in the deepest shadows, there can be a glimmer of light. Zenya is that light, and I will protect it with everything I have.

If this is what it means to have a heart, then I am willing to let her hold it, fragile as it may be. She may do with it what she wants. Break it. Ruin it. Crush it. I would let her crush it and feel the blood running down her arm while my essence fades away. If she places it back in my unworthy chest, I would give it to her again and again. For eternity.

Silence hangs between us, heavy and charged. Neither of us blinking or breaking. Finally, she steps back, the blade still poised but her eyes reflecting a flicker of consideration.

“Dacryphilia,” she confirms my preoccupation and arousal from tears. Zenya’s tears have clawed far deeper. Each one is a needle piercing my very alchemy.

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