.

𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: only expecting to meet up with hob, morpheus ends up meeting someone else

⊹ warnings: none

⊹ word count: 799

morpheus follows the red arrow painted on the wall.

he is already late for his meeting—by a century and a few decades—though none of it his fault. but their last fight and his abrupt leaving of hob in the rain in 1889—that, perhaps, was his. but he takes the red direction as a good sign and follow it until it leads him to an inn across the street, appropriately called "the new inn." he doesn't think it's very creative, but he doesn't say anything. he simply walks in.

his eyes first scan over the people sitting on the tables, then those ordering drinks at the bar. he keeps looking until his eyes spot a man at the far corner in a brown jacket scribbling away, a glass of beer half-drunk to his right. when he stops beside his table, the man finally looks up, an amicable glint in his brown eyes as he recognizes him. his smile comes quick after that, reassuring morpheus that he was in fact not angry.

"you're late," hob gadling says.

morpheus chuckles. "it seems i owe you an apology. i've always heard it impolite to keep one's friends waiting."

hob's smile widens. morpheus takes that as a good sign and he claims the seat—his seat—in front of hob.

"so, my friend," morpheus begins, smiling. "how has your life been?"

hob takes a deep breath before launching into all that has happened since they last saw each other. and like the first time hob talked about his life, hob maintains his appreciation for his immortality, his eagerness to keep living, and his excitement for the future, no matter what he went and will go through. morpheus listens quietly, like always, and even asks a question or two and makes several comments to show he is enjoying the conversation.

“i’ve made a new friend, too,” hob says before he takes the last sip of his drink. “she’s coming here, actually. i didn’t know you were showing up today, so i already had plans.”

“then i shall take my leave.”

“oh, no! you should stay for a little bit and meet her.”

“i think our meeting has been enough—”

“but, she’s already here. y/n!”

morpheus turns as he stands, and suddenly he is facing you. you are looking up at him curiously, head tilted slightly to the left in an endearing way. your hair is in a low bun, front strands free and framing your cheeks that makes his hands itch to brush behind your ear. you are pretty, of course, enough to make the men and women passing by to take a second look at you, but it’s the way you’re looking at him, a complete stranger who has always looked scary to others, unafraid and innocently curious, that makes morpheus stop.

then you blink and you smile. it's the kind of smile reserved for strangers who you wished weren't one. it pushes your cheeks up, making the growing pink flush on them more noticeable to his eyes.

“hello,” you say. your voice is gentle—the gentlest anyone has spoken to morpheus in a century—and he is surprised at how he has to put a hand on the table to keep his knees from buckling.

“ah. this is y/n. y/n, this is...an old friend of mine.”

morpheus turns back to hob. “I think i should like a drink, now.”

hob looks at him with confusion. in all their meetings, hob had always set out food for him and he had never touched it. “you—”

morpheus looks pointedly at his empty glass. “and i think you need some more too.”

“if you’re getting this round, hob, then i’d like one too,” you add, glancing at morpheus with a teasing glint in your eyes to say you were in on his game.

morpheus can’t help but look at you pleased and a bit amused.

“you—” hob starts.

“quickly, hob! before a line forms.” you pull hob out of his seat and gently shove him in the bar’s direction.

“he's known her for five seconds and he's already given her his name,” hob mutters as he walks to the bar. “not to mention making me buy her a drink.”

you slide into hob’s seat with a chuckle. “i didn’t get your name,” you say.

morpheus glances at hob, his friend for several centuries who still knew nothing about morpheus, not even his name. Then he thinks about lucienne who, if present, would introduce him by his many formal titles.

but to you, with your lively eyes, pretty smile, and the faint pink on your cheeks that he has already grown to like and which he thinks he’ll like even more if he was the cause of it, he simply says, “morpheus. call me morpheus.”

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗈𝖻 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌? 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉? 𝗒𝖾𝗌.

𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

I am so hyped for the forth tool I'm just 😩😩😩 r e a d y

ahh thank you! prologue/teaser is out if you want to check it out!!!

I want to say, I've read two of your fics and already I'm amazed by your writing. I have a strong feeling I'll read anything you produce with Dream in it :D Even if it's Dream x Reader going grocery shopping. Or Dream learning to drive. Or Dream at an animal shelter just meowing back and forth at the cats cause he is a big kitten himself. Anything.

𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗎𝗎 <3

𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈, 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾? 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗇𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗎𝗉𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌…? 😏

𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾, 2%, 1%, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗆 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗄 ("𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗄 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗐?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗄 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄.) 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗌𝗅𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗈𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗌 (𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗅𝗄𝗒 𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗐 𝗈𝗋 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗂𝗇)

What exactly are the readers powers/abilities in the fourth tool?

𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗂 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 — 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗅𝗒 — 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗂𝗂 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗏 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖾𝖽 :)

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: you encounter a strange string of coincidences in the forms of old friends

⊹ tags: violence, you don't do well coping with being separated from your husband either, more longing but from reader's perspective this time, established relationship

⊹ warnings: violence, cursing, spoilers for 1.09

⊹ word count: 2671

⊹ previous part: part i.

⊹ up next: part iii

⊹ now playing: thoughts by faime

𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚠, 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎

You wouldn't think a bathroom stop counts as you stopping from running, but the bounty says otherwise.

Your pants are barely up after having taken a piss when the door is kicked open and a hand clutches around your throat. You cry out in pain as your head is slammed against the mirror, carving cracks into the glass. Large fragments break off and fall into the sink next to you, but the piece is just out of reach.

You gasp desperately as you dig your nails into the hunter's hands, but the hunter — a man in his mid forties who you've already narrowly escaped from twice before — learned his lesson from his last attempt and now wears gloves and earmuffs.

You manage to kick his knee, forcing him away from you. But freedom lasts only for a few seconds, and despite your attempt at running away, he grabs your hair and yanks to the floor. He straddles you as he resumes his grip back on your neck, this time with both hands squeezing tight enough that you know it’ll be hard for you to talk for a day or two.

"Bounty...needed...alive..." you choke out.

The hunter scoffs and leans closer to you. "I wanted that bounty the first time I tracked you. Now, this is personal." His grip tightens, and black dots swarm your vision and block him out so all you can hear is his voice in your ear and the stench of cigarettes and bloody. "You hurt my pride, lady Y/N."

Pride. The downfall of all men.

Though the situation doesn't warrant the memory, thoughts of your husband flood you anyways. Perhaps it's because he's always in your thoughts. Or perhaps he's chosen to make this appearance to give you solace from the pain as you black out. For when you open your eyes, you aren't in the dingy gas station bathroom anymore, but a green meadow with trees around and flowers blooming throughout.

Just because you're untouched by Death doesn't mean your memories throughout are vivid or intact. But you remember everything about that day, from the smell in the air — crisp, clean summer air with a fresh breeze that brings around the smell of petals — to the touch of the sun's warmth and your soft, chiffon wedding dress against your skin.

Unlike a dream, you aren't in control. Your body moves according to the memory. You move down the aisle between the three or four rows of seats. At the end of the aisle is a large willow tree, its branches drooping over a white arch where Lucienne stands. She bids you a small smile, which you return with your own, before your eyes shift to him.

Like always, there is a look of adoration in Morpheus' eyes. He looks handsome, having foregone his usual long black coat for a formal suit of that time. He's even managed to tame his messy hair — something Mervyn and Hob must have helped him with. As you get to where he stands, you see his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Don't cry, my love," you whisper. You place your palm against his cheek and rub your thumb under his eye. And like always, he leans into your touch, finding comfort in you. He turns his head and press a kiss against your palm — all while not breaking eye contact with you, the coy bastard.

You shake your head and smile.

The memory fast forwards, and suddenly he's saying his vows. He doesn't speak quietly — he has no shame in everyone hearing how much he means to you.

"I vow to always find you, as long as you wait for me. I vow to love you for as long as you let me. And I vow to be your husband until you want me no longer. All I am is yours until you cast me aside. And I beg of you to never."

Thank the gods you had said with your speech first. His speech had rendered you overcome with emotion to do anything else but cup his face and kiss him, both of you sealing your promises of forever with that act.

And both of you had kept your promises to each other. He remained by your side, as you remained by his. Until now.

He, by no fault of his own, disappeared from your side.

And you, also by no fault of your own, disappeared from his side.

A cruel twist of fate. Perhaps the universe restoring balance to the centuries of happiness the two of you lived together. Perhaps that had been enough, and it's time you stop trying to delay the inevitable. Perhaps it's time you stop and succumb to the exhaustion and pain of being with Morpheus.

I vow to always find you, as long as you wait for me.

Wait for me.

Morpheus' vow jerks you back to consciousness. Your eyes snap open, staring directly into the hunter who's looking down at you greedily. His mouth is curled into a hideous snarl, and his pride at seeing you weak and defenceless has drawn his head close enough that your noses were nearly touching.

Behold pride, you think as your hands drop from his wrists in feign unconsciousness, the downfall of all men.

You grab onto the sides of his head and dig your thumbs into his eyes. You try not to think about why your muscles memorize the exact amount of pressure and angle to do it so.

The hunter jerks backwards, screaming, his hands flying to his eyes which has begun to bleed. You cough violently as you take in as much air as you can to soothe the fire in your lungs, all the while scrambling to your knees and trying to get away.

A hand grasps onto your ankle.

You're pulled backwards with a scream.

"Where do you think you're going, lady?" the hunter growls. "I'm not done with you yet—"

"Remove your hands from me."

You feel the man go still. His hand falls from your ankle, and you scramble forwards. You don't need to look back to feel the shift in the air, but you do anyway because looking at them is the least you can do.

The man pulls out his saw from his bag. Without hesitation, he places the blade over his wrist and begin to move back and forth. He screams out in pain and begs for relief, but doesn't stop his motions. The hunter looks over at you, eyes glassy with gold that resembles sand, as his hand falls to the floor.

You're out of the bathroom before he begins his other hand. Before Death arrives for him.

You begin to run and don't look back.

Your throat is throbbing.

You touch your throat gingerly, and you don't need a mirror to know that the handprints of that man are visible against your skin. But even as you cough, the motion rough against your raw throat, you don't stop running.

You catch sight of a hotel, and you feel relief as you turn away from the road and bolt up the hill to the building. It'll be easier to hide in one of the man rooms, but the guarantee of people in the hotel was cause for concern. But as long as you keep your mouth shut, all should be fine.

You slow into a walk as you pass a trio of people in the parking lot. Name tags dangle from their chest, one of who is named, The Music Teacher. In the centuries you've been alive, you've never heard such an in-depth and seriously spoken topic about their favourite methods of cooking barbecue and collecting grills.

As you hurry inside, you pass by a sign that reads: CEREAL CONVENTION.

Is cereal that interesting to warrant a convention? you wonder as you scan the lobby. Nothing looks too out of place, apart from more people with name tags. It wasn't weird that there were adults taking part in the convention, but it was weird that there wasn't a single child in sight. A strange familiarity with those two words only made you more uncomfortable.

"Ma'am?" the receptionist calls. "May I help you?"

You tug up your turtleneck before approaching the reception desk and smiling at the receptionist. She visibly relaxes and smiles back, even wider than before.

"Do I know you?" she asks, peering at you curiously like everyone else who looks at you. But no matter how hard they look, they'll never be able to remember just where they remember you. Dreams had a funny way of being that way.

Even if she doesn't remember, her smile changes from being polite to being genuinely friendly, as if her muscles remember that you were a friend.

You motion for a notepad and pen. The receptionist scurries and puts the tools before you.

1 room, 1 night please, you write down.

She doesn't question it. She eagerly nods and asks for your name, which you also write down.

"You already have a room, ma'am," the receptionist informs you.

You raise a brow. A room? You never reserve your hotel rooms ahead. That guarantees someone waiting to kill you when you get there, as you learned a few decades ago in Manila.

The receptionist seems to understand the confusion on your face. "Perhaps you reserved the room for the convention?" she suggested.

But what interest would you have in a cereal convention—

The invitation.

The memory is jarring. Suddenly, you can picture it clearly. You can even feel the parchment between your fingers as you opened it, and the gasp you let out as you dropped the envelope and an eyeball rolled out, the nerve still attached.

The iris was blue, a shade nearly as light as Morpheus'. You knew it was no coincidence.

You take a step back from the receptionist, reeling that you've walked straight into a trap. You're so caught up in trying to figure out a way to get out without alerting anyone that you hear the receptionist's warning too late and your back hit something large and firm.

You spin around, your hand instinctively going to the hilt of the knife hidden underneath your shirt, before freezing in recognition at the man in a green cloak and cane.

"Lady Y/N?" the man gasps, gawking at you.

"Fiddler's Green?"

You've never seen Fiddler's Green personified as a human before, but the warmth that surrounds him in unmistakeable and makes you relax.

He dips his head in a respectful bow as he puts an appropriate amount of distance before you — a law Morpheus decreed in the Dreaming. He had been more possessive back then, especially since it was right after the power transference ceremony. Though you thought it ridiculous, you saw the slight relief it brought him so you allowed it to remain, pretending you still didn't know about it.

The appropriate response to a bow is to return with a small curtsy, but after a century of running, your first response is to run. You have to go before you harm Fiddler's Green. You'd never be able to forgive yourself for hurting someone so important to both you and Morpheus.

But it's because he's so important to Morpheus, and you've always known him so loyal to the Dreaming, that you think about your words carefully before speaking.

"What are you doing here?" you ask hesitantly, your voice still a bit rough from the fight. "Why have you left the Dreaming when you are so vital to it?"

You wait for the gold to appear in his eyes, but it doesn't appear.

"I am not vital to the Dreaming," Fiddler's Green says. "You and lord Morpheus are, and you were both gone. I left to go search for you, but I stayed for the humans. I do worry for the punishment I will receive. I know lord Morpheus has been calling back his other dreams and nightmares, but I wouldn't exchange it for the knowledge I have learned from the people who visit my glades every night."

You soften at the pureness in Fiddler's Green, but something catches your attention.

"My husband? He's free?"

Fiddler's Green looks surprised. "Why, yes, lady Y/N. He's been back for a few months, I believe. You haven't seen him? I thought that was why you were here. I thought perhaps he sent you after us."

You fight back tears of relief at the news that your husband has managed to break himself free from his cage. Your only regret is not being the one to have helped freed him, and you hope he doesn't resent you for that.

But what if he does? What if he thinks you have abandoned him? What if he thinks you've cast him aside? A hundred years, and he never received a visit from you. Now he's been free for months and you have not received a visit from him.

Why had he not come looking for you?

"There is something else you must know, lady Y/N." Fiddler's Green bends to your height. "The Corinthian is here."

You look at him in panic. How was it possible that you, him, and the Corinthian were all in the same place at the same time? You hadn't meant to come to the convention, yet there you were. Fiddler's Green definitely didn't prepared to se you or the Corinthian, which meant he was unaware too. What could be the reason for three pieces of the Dreaming to be near each other?

"I'm here to help Rose Walker find her little brother, Jed," he continues. "I fear both her and the boy are in danger from him."

"Then you must return to the Dreaming and let my husband know," you say without thinking.

The second the words leave your mouth, gold fills Fiddler's Green's eyes. He straightens and turns on his heel, and despite telling him to stop, he marches out of the hotel without another glance back, leaving you alone with your whispered apology going unheard.

Shit, you think. You try to dismiss your worries by entrusting Fiddler's Green's safety to Morpheus. He would be safer in the Dreaming than here with the Corinthian and no Morpheus.

You grab the piece of paper he had been holding. It's a missing poster for Jed Walker, and contains a picture of him with an older girl — Rose Walker, you presume.

If two mortals were being preyed on by a nightmare, then it was part of your responsibility as lady of the Dreaming to protect them. Morpheus can deal with the Corinthian. You just have to trust he'll come.

Of course he'll come, you think as you pocket the poster. I'm his wife.

In the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a man in a beige suit. There's something charmingly offputting about the man even from a distance — something you've only seen another man possess before.

You head in his direction immediately, only to be stopped by a man with the name tag Fun Land.

"Only guests are allowed in the convention."

"I think—"

"Guests only."

You eye him irritatedly. You glance at the extra name tags on the table, one of which you recognize coldly. Slowly, you look back up at Fun Land, then at the other convention attendees who are also wearing name tags. The conversations you manage to overhear are still talking about collecting. Only now, you're starting to understand what this fucking convention's really about.

"Can you check if I'm on the list?" you ask tightly.

"You're a guest?" he asks dubiously. "Name?"

"Whispers."

His eyes widen. You don't entertain the excitement in his voice as he apologizes and starts to ramble about how he was a fan. You snatch your name tag from his trembling grasp, his palm slightly sweaty, before starting your search for the Walkers in the basement, where you also coincidentally saw the man in the beige suit head down.

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

You push Jed behind you.

He grips onto the back of your shirt, trembling in fear as you and him both look at the Corinthian and the man being stabbed to death by two others behind him.

Even with those dark shades on in the dimly lit room, you know the Corinthian is looking at you. You can feel his stare raking you up and down, taking every inch of you greedily. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

It has been a century since he last saw you, after all. An entire century since he stopped you from entering the basement of Rodrick Burgess and freeing your husband when you were right outside the door, and instead put a bounty on your head.

"Hello, my lady," the Corinthian says, his honey-like drawl drawing shivers from you as always. He dips his head in a bow — more mocking than respectful. He takes a step towards you, and you take three back. "I've missed you."

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝖺 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐-𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋?

𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗂 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗃𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾, 𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎! 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍'𝗌 𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗂 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇!

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 @aurorarevenclaw1927, @hueanhdang

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 @justviktormlolm, @amirahroronoa, @sunna-fangirls, @mrs-captainsteverogers, @absbdbshhs, @urbanbts, @theamuz, @ac-procrastinator-13, @thegreatestsandwich, @julegrav009-blog, @harrypotter55, @blossomedfloweroflove, @lestaikkeullsokka, @thetrashypanda423, @ponyboys-sunsets, @izzicle, @dilfsandtherapy, @mischiefmanaged71, @grippleback-galaxy, @cynic-spirit, @thecrazytealady, @violet-19999, @junobutbored, @avanisbored, @redskull199987, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @ladymoon666, @celestialceremonials, @mm2305, @ttae-yong, @thegreatestsandwich, @notabotiswear, @boofy1998, @crimsonsabbath, @megumimind, @itsnanabun, @spygrrl99, @regulusblacksimpsblog, @maverey, @storm4433, @writerinlearning, @lokigirlszendaya, @thesadvampire, @thestarsanctuary, @floreoo, @pinkpunkdynamite, @jesllianaquilesrolon, @aegeanblues, @anjimimimoo, @imaginativefanatic, @book-place, @littlemoistcarrot, @lorosette, @wondermia69, @commanderfreethatdust

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

HEY GIRL DO YOU WRITE FOR ANY OTHER CHARACTERS IN THE SANDMAN OR JUST DREAM? BC IF YOU DO IM SO SURE THAT MANY PEOPLE WOULD LOVE A LOVE LANGUAGES FIC FOR THE CORINTHIAN BC YOU DID IT SO WELL

𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. — 08.30.22

𝗠𝗜𝗔 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂 𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼, 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖾. 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗈 𝗂 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍. 𝗂 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 (𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂'𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋). 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝗈𝗇 𝗏𝖺𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝗎𝗉𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝖽𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂'𝗆 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇! 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾! 𝙩𝙡;𝙙𝙧 𝗂'𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖬𝖨𝖠 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾!

𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀 𝗂 𝖺𝖽𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗂 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌. 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍, 𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖻𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍 (𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖻𝖺𝗅). 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌. 𝖡𝖴𝖳 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗂 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖽𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌! 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗂𝗍'𝗅𝗅 𝗀𝗈 𝗎𝗉 𝗈𝗇 09.01.22 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂'𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍. 𝗂'𝗅𝗅 𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇! 𝙩𝙡;𝙙𝙧 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽𝗎𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 09.01.22

𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗽𝗵𝗲𝘂𝘀 𝗻𝘀𝗳𝘄 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗍 (𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂'𝗆 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗋𝖾) 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅! 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽𝗎𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝗌 09.05.22

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖺𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗋𝖺, 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝗅𝗎𝗌 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽? 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇? 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋? 𝗐𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗒?

𝗒𝖾𝗌, 𝗂 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗒, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗒. 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝗎𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗂 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗂𝗍: 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 = 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂'𝗅𝗅 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖼.

𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉 𝗎𝗉 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗅 𝗉𝖾𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖾𝖼𝗁 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾! 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗀𝗈 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽. 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗎𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾!