life within the tomb

Chatter. Babble. Pratter.

It all sounded the same to him—their feminine voices had finally moulded fully into one, and it seemed as though the volume of them had grown tremendously lighter with each year that had passed. Each word they spoke went in through one ear, and then out of the other almost as fast as it was uttered. There really was not much care left to give, and maybe there was a lot in the very beginning, but there was none anymore. He felt nothing, but he had never felt something before, either. And, they knew, albeit their understanding was represented through silent prayers and dreadful weeping, but they knew.

He knew, too, no matter how hard it was to swallow such a tormenting truth.

The years had all passed with an ache so slow that he found it hard to recognize what time of day it was, which soon had turned into not knowing what month it was, and then finally turned into not wanting to know what century had already been wasted away. It was safe to say that his toes had stopped twitching once they realized that the ground was not as close as it seemed, and the idea of walking, running, standing was eventually considered an impossible wish. That being said, his fingers had also stopped reaching forward as though they were searching for something when his hope dwindled down to a sliver, but they still cracked from time to time with a phantom quiver. It was when his eyes had stopped rolling beneath his eyelids, however, when he started to think that they were now completely useless.

That, he was now useless.

Although he could barely tell the difference between feeling hot and cold anymore, he would frequently desire the warmth of someone else. It would often ignite him on the odd days that were boiling to the touch, with a sun so bright that it would burn the land's grass with a glimpse and would dry up the vastness of the great ocean with but a subtle glance. His first instinct was to try to understand the inner worship of his mind, but he would always question it and promptly curse it as though it was disease that would rot his very heart from deep within its core. He could not fully understand how such a craving for heat could encompass his soul the way it frequently did—despite it being so natural to his kind.

There was a chance that he felt it stronger than most, as the calling never stilled nor did it ever stray. He wondered if there was another being that felt the same, but he assumed that they would believe it to be a sickness with the way it would affect them, like a corruptive flu. They would likely lie awake at night, sweating through their sheets and shredding their throat with a painful, dry cough. That was all he could imagine. It was all he thought he was worth.

And, on the most loneliest of nights, or the calmest of mornings, or even the most boring of afternoons, he would whisper his name through a mere exasperation of bated breath. Morpheus. Through exile, his voice would break free and roam as his spirit cried out in misery. Morpheus. He would hold his chest until he felt his lungs beg for forgiveness, for mercy, for leniency. Morpheus.

He would never be gifted a response besides a shift in weather, and his name became a reminder of what could have been because of it. If he behaved, would he have liked his name? If he behaved, would he have been happy? If he behaved, would he have been betrayed? He did not know the answers, but he knew that his name would forever be stained in the blood of those that haunted him.

There was a trivial part of him that questioned such a strong emotion. He did not believe that he wanted to die, rather, he wanted to live, but not like how he lived before. He did not want to be welcomed by responsibility, branded by the power of his overbearing mother, nor kept captive by expectations. He would have been content to live such a demanding life in the past, but this was now the future, and he did not yet know what to make of it. The imprisonment had tortured him, and he would be forced to spend the rest of his life trying to escape. It was then and there that he deemed his life, as it was, unworthy of even the slightest bit of consciousness.

But, it was morning when she finally came.

Morpheus felt his bones crackle within his intact weight. It was the first sign of life that had stirred him in over a century, after roughly two and then some hundreds of years, and it had slowly startled him awake. The next series of seconds passed with much anticipation as his organs learned how to pump once again, to move naturally, to nourish him.

There was just a flutter of movement that had quickly captivated much of the room, but it was followed by an illumination of a gentle heat that caused his eyelids to twitch uncontrollably. Various shades of light pink, red, and orange flashed across his green eyes as he rolled them until they no longer felt so stiff. They twitched with an uncomfortable sting, but nonetheless, his vision began to dance around the gaze that was filled with the ghost of a fire. His eyes squeezed tighter as he dared not to look at her out of fear that she would vanish before his very soul.

As though his dreams had come true, he began to drown in a scorching heat that enveloped his chest from the outside in. She was here. She was here!

The taste of artificial sweetener captured his lips in an embrace that he had never experienced before, but her plump lips dripped into his mouth like honey and he groaned at the unusual flavour. Morpheus was unable to detail what such a taste entailed, but it was tart enough to make his mouth water and pant for more. He gripped the first thing that he could reach in a desperate effort to tame such a process, becoming engrossed in the feeling of soft, coarse hair being locked into his weakened fist.

Morpheus savoured the moment to the best of his abilities, swiping his tongue across her bottom lip that had naturally jutted out. The second that he felt her pull away, he sighed at the painful flinch of rejection. He let her push him away, but he could sense that she felt the same need, despite hers being riddled with confusion and a slight tingle of disgust. Although the reaction initially hurt him, he was too consumed in the sparks that sputtered back and forth between their heaving bodies to take offence.

He wanted to speak, to ease her worry, but he lacked in both confidence and tenderness. In truth, he had long forgotten about his anger—towards not only his mother, but his cruel punishment, and his regrettable actions—but it was as though he was suddenly struck with an overwhelming feeling of hatred. Her body oozed overpowering sentiments of horror and terror, so much so that he loathed the very concept of it with an uncontrollable passion as it continued to taint her pure essence. He struggled to delay the narrowing of his brows as he imagined how she must feel in such an awful environment, for he believed it to be a place that had restricted and debilitated him past the point of normal.

Morpheus felt the bond wail as he spoke with certainty, with need, with demand.

"Mate."

W O R D C O U N T : 1516

Hello, everyone.

It's been a long while since you have seen me, and certainly vice-versa.

Although it was not my original plan to write this today—I needed to do something that would get me out of my current rut. I'm sure if any of you had been keeping up with me throughout the duration of Mated to Morpheus, or have read over my past notes, then you have definitely been able to detect a certain pattern of mine. I am prone to losing inspiration and lacking motivation, especially during the months where I am both burnt out from school and work, which is more often than not.

Anyway, I have been wishing you all well. And, you may notice throughout this short bit of writing, that this is unedited. In truth, it's just something I sat down and wrote. It will likely stay this way—because I'm just trying to get back into such an environment. In my opinion, it needs to have more of a feral feeling to it and much more romantic when it comes to their first interaction. But, in this moment, I just want to write without overthinking too much.

all my love. and, more.