Page 107 of Snatched By the Sandman

I am a being of nightmares, dreams, and magic.

No hesitations. I pierce the new soul right into my chest and bind it into my heart, each stitch a promise, a vow to protect and nurture my dream weaver’s soul—and everyone with it. My heart accepts the new soul. My hands shake slightly as I stitch it safe there, knowing the orb will encompass me, the windows of my eyes offering a glimpse into its shadow, light, and color.

As I finish the final stitch, Hecate appears.

I smile as she joins our hands—Nyxion’s skeletal hand, Morpheus’s shadowy one, and her flaming hand. She fuses a brand new tattoo upon my palm—a symbol of our unity and power: a hyoid bone, shadows and glittery sand, and a curling flamed torch.

New power courses through me, the new soul beating within me. Triumph and tenderness beat with my heart, my body trembling with the intensity of my emotions.

Before the skeletal hand may retreat from mine, I seize it. Nyxion stops, those black diamond eyes within his skull morebeautiful than ever. He stands with all his silent darkness, voiceless. But I feel every fracture of his existence, knowing he filled the cracks with his love for me.

And with my rebirthed power, I weave, drawing upon my newfound strength. He lowers his jaw, parted teeth betraying his awe as the hyoid bone takes shape, intricate and perfect, infused with my reborn essence.

Weaving the final strand, I gently embed the new hyoid bone into Nyxion’s throat.

For a moment, there is silence, and then he cups one side of my face and speaks, “My little killer.”

My chest nearly caves in at his familiar voice—so deep and resonant, it echoes through Hecate’s throne room. His eyes meet mine, gratitude and something deeper reflected in their depths.

With tears running down my cheeks, I reach out and touch his face. He touches me, collecting my tears of joy and magic, memorizing their language as my trembling fingers trace the lines of his jaw.

Morpheus and Hecate observe from nearby, not interfering, letting us have our moment.

Nyxion sweeps me off my feet and brings his mouth down on mine. The mouth of his god form. Full, seductive lips part mine while the stubble from his chiseled jaw chafes my cheek as he angles his neck to deepen the kiss.

I wrap my arms around his strong pillar of a neck, digging my fingers into his long curls like black silk. I don’t even care if I get bone dust all over my white gown.

He parts from my lips for a moment, setting me down, so I may take in the breathtaking sight of him. His rich brown skin glows with an inner light like polished mahogany. The slabbed muscles, carven from beautiful Chaos, have no flaw. His deeply hooded eyes, so intense, smolder with their black diamonds, their depth, and mystery nearly hypnotizing me.

I’ve learned many of his secrets, but I know more will unfold.

“How?” I whisper, almost afraid he will disappear.

He kisses my palm, the ink scrawled upon it. “We have a new bond. It grants me form and life I may change at will as I never have.”

“But you can still change into the lich I love, right?” I hold my breath.

He chuckles darkly and brushes skeletal fingers along my cheek. “Does that answer your question, Zenya Alice Myre?”

“Zenya Alice Morpheonyx.” I smile mischievously.

He lifts one brow as Hecate and Morpheus approach from behind me. “Did she just?—”

“She did,” Nyxion says. “Gods, this woman!”

Phantasos approaches me from the side, his steps slow, his shoulders drooping. My heart clenches for him and our shared loss of Ivy. A bittersweet loss when we know where she is, but the pain still lingers. I turn to him, and just as he opens his mouth, I wrap my arms around his neck and murmur in his ear, “Yes, you can adopt me, Phantasos.”

“Darling Zenya.” He tightens his hold, and when he lets go, I show him the trinket I wove during our hug. He parts his lips, and I’d swear a few tears glisten in his eyes at the charm bracelet with a lollipop, a cloud, a cake, and a puppy. In the center is a charm of the three-peak of mountains, his favorite tattoo.

“Would you like to see her?” Hecate interrupts our embrace, and we rush to nod.

The Goddess of Magic spins an orb the size of a large mirror, granting us the gift of seeing Ivy sitting in bed. Nurses have removed the intubation tube. Her older brothers and sisters have gathered around her to give her hugs. Those blue eyes sparkle with the same life she showed in our Dreamworld. I don’t know how long she was comatose, but she reaches for hermom and dad and parts her lips to say hoarsely, “Can we get a puppy?”

I cry with her parents as they kiss their daughter.

Phantasos touches my hand and stares at me with proud tears in his eyes. “Thank you, Zenya darling.”

When familiar shadows twist and curl around me, I turn to Morpheus, this beautifully sculpted dark angel of a god.

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