In the middle of the room stood Morpheus’ ancient bed; four posters of ivory spiraled to the ceiling dripping with white gauze that flowed in a long cascade to gather in piles on the marble floor. Morpheus sat up, his black wings a stark contrast to the fluffy white bed on which he lay. “Maggie? What’s wrong?” He rose up to one elbow letting the satin sheet fall away from his naked frame, revealing his tight chest. “What is it?”
She hesitated before taking a single step into the room. “I…I can’t sleep. I thought maybe…you…you could help?”
“Can’t sleep? Oh, bad dreams? My poor Maggie.” He tossed the silky covers aside as he planted his feet on the floor and then fluttered over to where she stood, naked as the day he was born. His midnight wings threw up a slight breeze that blew her gray hair away from her sad face when he hovered next to her. Morpheus was pleased when she didn’t back away. Why should she? Naked though he may be, he was far from the towering intimidating figure that Ares could be when he wanted. The little Fey didn’t fear him; that also pleased Morpheus. “Yes, I think I can help.” He smiled for her, hoping his eyes didn’t belie his desire to appear benevolent. Night after night he raced back here to sprinkle Nightmare Dust over her while she slept. This not only prevented her from remembering the way she loved Ares but it kept her afraid of him. The dreams snuffed out any desire little Maggie might have to return to Olympus. “Come here.” He held his arms out to her and watched as she took hesitant steps toward him until she was within his grasp. “That’s a girl,” he soothed, letting his feet settle to the floor so that his wing could enfold her in its soft feathers. With a gentle flourish of his hand, a small gold bottle appeared in his palm. “This is the best Dust I have, guaranteed to give you the most pleasant of dreams.” Instead of opening it to sprinkle some of it on her, Morpheus led her to his bed, sat her down on the side and tucked her in under the warm covers with her head on a delightfully soft feather pillow. “There, that’s comfortable, isn’t it?” he soothed as he sat next to her. “I’ll give you this then I’ll keep watch over you this morning, all right?”
Alena’s eyelids were already fluttering as her body grew heavy listening to him speak. “All right.”
“Good.” Morpheus opened the small bottle to allow a sprinkling of the gold dust to descend over her head. “There you go. Now just sleep, that’s all, just close your eyes and rest.” Within moments she was deeply asleep, her face completely relaxed, no longer haggard or weary, just simply beautiful. Morpheus nestled in beside her, taking her up in his arms and stroking her hair the whole morning long as he watched her dreams. The Dust took the dreamer back to their most joyous memories and Morpheus wanted to know what hers were before Ares came along. He had no way of knowing the happy times in her life were so few and far between. He expected to see something in her dreams that happened a few years before she met the God of War; instead her dream took her all the way back to her childhood. In his arms, she dreamed about being a small girl again chasing butterflies in an open green field under a beaming yellow sun.
With Artemis, just a short while before the Goddess of the Hunt met her untimely end at Cernunnos’ hand.
Knowing that there had been such little joy in her life, so little peace and happiness, before she met Ares made Morpheus’ heart heavy. The happiness she had with him was an illusion, one that only lasted a little while before it all descended in chaos on her. “Poor girl, it’s all over now, there’s nothing to fear here.” Laying a soft kiss atop her head, Morpheus wondered how the Warlord known as Ares had ever won the heart of one so wounded.
After a few more weeks of horrible nightmares chased away only by time in his bed and his arms, Morpheus had her completely. She had no desire at all to return to Olympus and to Ares, who she now thought cruel and devious. As for Raven, her only Son, as far as she was concerned he was welcome to Olympus and to follow in his Father’s footsteps without guidance from her.
Morpheus’ Family passed to the Underworld long ago, now Morpheus’ Realm consisted of only two living souls; him and her. It wasn’t long after that before she came to his bed without sleep on her mind. She let go of her old life, along with the hopes and dreams she’d had for it. She even let go of the name Ares gave her, Alena, and traded it in for Maggie as she settled into a life with Morpheus in the Dream World.
Being the King of Dreams, every night Morpheus sped away from his home in the Dream World, leaving Maggie alone in the vastness of his Kingdom. When he was gone the nights stretched on, endlessly long and lonely. Always having been a curious soul, she wandered the empty rooms of the enormous Castle. Morpheus’ Palace was bigger than any Olympians’, save Zeus’, it had hundreds of thousands of rooms running in crazy directions. There were rooms upon rooms and corridors that twisted and turned, leading to more corridors and hidden passages littered with dust and cobwebs. Maggie often got lost in the maze as she walked around exploring with nothing more than a single candle to light her way. Sunlight was forbidden here and, as such, Morpheus’ Kingdom didn’t contain so much as a single window. It made the place dreary, depressing, and gave off an air of desolation.
Night after lonely night she wandered, wondering why Morpheus needed a Palace with so many rooms if he was the sole inhabitant of the Dream World until lately. Opening door after door she found every room nearly the same; one small bed, one small dresser with one small mirror. All of them covered in inches of dust.
One night when she grew weary from her meandering she stepped into one of the rooms to sit on the bed and catch her breath, as well as think about how to get back to the bedroom she shared with Morpheus; she’d strayed so long and so far she was completely turned around. The bed was much more comfortable than she would have dreamed and it made her want to take a nap. Rolling her stormy eyes to clear the desire to sleep she caught her reflection in the mirror. Before her eyes it disappeared and was replaced the image of the Wild West and what looked like a Shoot Out at High Noon. Except the gunmen were a twelve-year-old boy and a forty-something man. The child drew first and shot. The adult fell to the ground and the boy ran over to him, gazed down with satisfaction and spat on the dying man. “Take that Mr. Jameson, you and your stupid ‘F’. Fuck that ‘F’ I deserved a ‘C’…at least!”
“Oh my,” Maggie gasped and then held a hand to her mouth as she began giggling. She finally understood why there were all of the rooms, the beds, and the mirrors. There must be nearly one bed for every soul sleeping in the Mortal World and the mirror was the gateway to their dreams.
From that point on, life in with Morpheus was a little less boring. When he went away at night after making love all day she wandered room to room peeking into people’s innermost thoughts, their desires, their hopes, their secrets, and their fears. A few times Morpheus caught her and he admonished her for it. He told her, repeatedly, that dreams were for the dreamer and the dreamer alone. To go poking around in them was tantamount to poking through their diaries.
Although Maggie understood what he said and she even felt Morpheus was right, it was wrong to gaze upon the inner workings of anyone’s life, their struggles and their joys, with not one other soul in the sprawling Kingdom of Dreams she was bored to tears.
For a while it was all great fun peeking into peoples’ silly dreams. She sat in on dreams of sex, and flying—a lot of flying, people seemed to like that one or Morpheus did, she wasn’t sure which. Dreams of telling off the boss or the teacher, as in the case of young gunslinger. A few dreams of loved ones lost reaching out to deliver messages from The Great Beyond. Slowly, over a stretch of time that she couldn’t determine, people’s dreams changed. They went from the average elusive fantasy or even the vivid nightmare to being violent and full of unrest. They dreamed of shouting, banners, and riots in the streets. They dreamed of huge bon fires around which they drank, cheered, and danced with abandon. Then they began dreaming of being homeless and hungry. They dreamed of being sick and cold, of being afraid, and lost. They dreamed of the agonized
faces of the dying and the relentless wails of the mourning.
Often in their dreams a most curious thing occurred, she caught the fleeting image of a young man, the same young man in hundreds upon hundreds of people’s dreams. He was quite handsome with his dark skin, midnight hair, and a very taut body. When the Mortals saw this man in their dreams, they were no longer afraid, instead they felt empowered, blessed. The females dreamed of long passionate nights in great detail. Maggie thought that perhaps the handsome young man was a movie or rock star. Maggie didn’t understand what she was seeing in their dreams, she only knew it made her feel ill. Peeking in their dreams lost its fun and appeal until the night that she wandered into the room where Ares’ dreams became visible on the side of the mirror.
III
Maggie wandered into the room same as any other, stepped inside, waited for the mirror to turn to quicksilver, for it wave and flow, like an old TV straining for better reception. When it did and the image from the Other Side began fading in, it was her own face that greeted her. Stunned, she reached back for the mattress to sit down on the small bed. In the wavy silver glass she was smiling, her stormy eyes glowing with delight and happiness. The hand of a man reached out to touch her face, the Maggie in the mirror closed her eyes, nuzzled against its warmth and then smiled wider as color rushed into her cheeks.
On the bed in Morpheus’ Castle, Maggie’s hand flew to the same cheek even as her blood turned to ice water in her veins. It was faint and very light but she felt it; a large hand resting under her own. A crushing wave of sadness swelled in her heart threatening to crash down on her, to drown her, even as she fought to grab hold on the phantom hand on her cheek. “I feel you,” she whispered to the mirror and shuddered. “Who are you?” What man in the Mortal World would dream of her? Who would ever miss her? Feeling a little foolish and self-conscious, she whispered to the reflection again, “Show me your face.”
As though she were directing a movie, the mirror acted as a camera and it panned to the right. A very handsome man with wavy midnight hair and deep dark eyes met her sight. He was rugged and well-worn with the touch of gray peppering his locks and subtle lines around his eyes and a soft beard on his face.
“Ares,” she gasped, bringing her free hand up to her mouth even as tears welled in her eyes. The sight of him did not fill her with fear but loss, leaving her with the tattered remains of a great love blown to hell in such a spectacular display of deceit. Staring at the glass she watched him smile at the Maggie in the mirror, watched him reach out to take her up in his strong warm arms. She even felt it when he kissed her. On the bed, her lips tingled as they puckered and slightly parted awaiting the entrance of his agile tongue. Though she felt the faint essence of his tongue sliding over hers, she could almost taste him, almost smell the lingering scent of smoke and rich green forest that always clung to him. Even though the passionate lips brushing over hers weren’t real, they were still hotter and brought with them more fire than Morpheus’ kisses ever did. When he broke the embrace in the dream, it left her wanting more. All of the wicked thoughts that flooded her mind these last few years abated as though the Gods Themselves whisked them away, leaving only the sting of sorrow, the want of desire, and the hunger of love. “Now that I see you, I think…I know…I miss you.”
Wanting to curl up at his muscular side and lose herself in him, Maggie rolled over on the bed until she stretched out on the far side of the mattress facing the mirror. She scooped up the single pillow and felt the slight weight of a head fall to the mattress. She noticed the slightest impression of his body lying there and let out a sorrowful whimper. Looking up, the mirror began to roll and wave as Ares’ mind threatened to bring him to wakefulness on the other side.
“No,” she whispered urgently, “shhh, my Love, my Lover, my Lord, shhhh, rest, and dream with me. Dream, Ares, dream of me.”
The rolling mirror-cam slowly came to a halt, the picture cleared, and she was entranced watching him dream of making love with her in the bedroom they once shared on their island. In her dreams he was always so angry, so intimidating, pushy, brooding, demanding and, in bed, dominantly cruel. In Ares’ dreams it was all quite different. It felt truer than the memories her mind demanded she believe.
Reflected in the mirror, Ares held his woman close in his arms as he whispered the name he gave her and that she’d nearly forgotten; Alena. He told her that he loved her as he brought her to the shuddering wracking heights of ecstasy. In the mirror she surrendered to him without fear but with perfect trust. When their passion subsided, sated for the night, and the Alena in the mirror curled up at his side with her head on his softly haired chest, the soft thudding of his heart beat in her ear, lulling her to a deep sleep.
The Maggie on the bed in the Dream World burst into tears, she let out a wail so long and so deep that, for a moment, she looked around for the source before realizing it was coming from her own throat. Her vision blurred with tears falling like sheets of rain as she gathered the pillow to her, clinging to it like a leaf to a tree. She cried so long and so hard that she sobbed herself to sleep.
When Morpheus returned for the morning and found her, he was not pleased. He reached out, grabbed her harshly by the shoulder and gave her a good shake to wake her. “What have I told you about sneaking around coming into these rooms? Dreams are only for the dreamer.”
“Ares…” she croaked still groggy, still feeling the bitter empty ache in her heart. “I saw Ares, he still dreams of me. Of making love with me. Why?”
Morpheus snorted, his upper lip curled showing his sharp teeth as his eyes cast downward narrowing on her. “Perhaps some part of him still desires you.”
Maggie couldn’t stop herself from making a painful confession. “I still love him, he has my heart.”
“He will always have most of it, that’s true.” The King of Dreams ruffled his black feathers and shot a cold glance at the mirror with an eye toward smashing it but held back. “It’s the spell, nothing more. Even though he treated you so poorly you can’t help it.” He sighed and paused as though he were pondering some great question.
“Yes, the spell,” Maggie agreed wearily, “of course that’s all it is.”
Resting his chin on his hands he shook his head again peering down at her with pity. “I shouldn’t let you do this but, because I love you, I’ll let you look into his dreams if you want, but I warn you my darling, I fear your heart will only suffer more for the voyeurism in the end.” He’d see to that starting tonight. Morpheus would fly into the room where Ares slept and sprinkle the God of War with Black Dust bringing about wild, violent, and beastly dreams about her. Morpheus knew all about the days Ares spent under the Chroí Fuar Curse, all about the time Maggie lived in fear of him, and the night that fear became justified. The night that the wolf in Ares took over, pinned the little Fae down and took what it wanted, how it wanted, for as long as it wanted. Perhaps she needed a visual reminder. “Just because he dreamed well of you tonight doesn’t mean that’s always the truth. Believe me, I know.”
Yes, of course, if anyone would know, Morpheus would. What good would it do her to sit here prying and spying into Ares’ dreams? Whether he dreamt well or ill of her didn’t matter, either way she’d never be able to do anything more than watch. She was dead. There was no place for her in the Upper World any longer except for, maybe, a few pleasant dreams in Ares’ mind. “It’s a kind offer but, no,” Maggie whispered weakly and pulled herself from the bed feeling as though she were being torn from the safety and love of Ares’ arms. “This breaks my heart.”
“It pains me deeply to see you so upset.” Morpheus held out an alabaster hand to her then took her in his icy arms with his black wings wrapping around them. “I’m home, hush now, my darling. Come away from this room and let me do all that I can to ease your sorrow.” He spirited her out of the tiny room and to the bedroom they now shared deep in the center of the Castle.
The whole time he was inside her, his hands roaming all
over her, Maggie fought back the tears and the sound of her heart crying out for Ares.
IV
Days, or months, or maybe even years went by, Maggie stayed away from the room housing Ares’ dreams. She continued her nightly journeys through Morpheus’ lonely palace. Over her time here she’d found many staircases that led to upper floors and back down to the main one, but this night, in a corridor so tiny her shoulders brushed the walls, she found a lone door with steps leading down. Holding her candle up in front of her gaze and the hem of her flowing black gown, her bare feet padded the spiraling steps of rugged cold stone until she came to the lowest level of the palace.
Here it was darker than in any other part of the palace as it prickled with wild electricity. It seemed almost alive, as though it would reach out and swallow her flickering little flame. Heart racing and her mouth dry, she went forward with a careful gait. She found a single small door and opened it.
Maggie beheld one of the tiniest rooms she’d ever seen, it was stuffed, absolutely overloaded with wildly growing poppies. Poppies the size of sunflowers that shimmered and glimmered, lighting up the pitch black in which they grew. Pushing petals aside, she took the three steps and came upon a nearly child-sized bed. Ornately and lovingly carved with doves and roses upon its beveled four posters, reams of thick purple velvet flowed to the floor. Poking her head between the drapes she looked at the little bed with its matching coverlet and pillow. A strange glimmer caused her to gaze upward to see her candle reflected in a mirror attached to the canopy.
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