“ DREAM KING, ” the Nightmare King calls out.
he would have known the King would have arrived IF HE DREAMED. if he hadn’t PLUCKEDhis thoughts FROM HIS HEAD, and kept them BEFORE HIS MOUTH, he would have seen the Prince of Stories in glimpses. he, who ran through dreams, in the minds of billions and billions upon those who slumbered each night.
but in Gorgossium, night was everlasting, and some never dreamed.
carrion had been tending to a vicious-looking flower, its petals lined with round, human teeth. a scrap of dried flesh had met its eager mouth. in this horrid garden, there grew many a similar flower, more deadly than they were beautiful. they did not wish to meet the Dream King. and neither did the fresh corpses, who had become food for the large, looming crows.
and neither did the crows.
for every horrible thing that had made it home in Gorgossium found solace in only one man’s presence, who had fought of his glance and voice, and that was Christopher.
the Nightmare Man turns to Dream, his own horrid visions swimming before him.
“ i’m frightfully sorry that i couldn’t prepare. how foolish of me. ” no sympathy.
“ but…i do know you. who would i be if i didn’t?
what only escapes me is why you have come to my kingdom. ”
‘ i have heard the appellation of nightmare king used to refer to you , christopher carrion . ‘
this is not the boy motley had reared from a time young , had twisted and perverted as seemed the culture of the midnight isle . a boy’s dreams that morpheus had wandered into on such odd occasions , to see these nightmarish things in the midnight isles that seemed a conjugation of what was created in the twist of dream’s own design , ever oddly . yet , this boy had grown into a nightmarish man , and here they stood , not at odds or evens but perhaps , parallels .
but as walking so was , even the nightmare king in truth sought inspiration . sometimes , mortals thought of the original .
in his cloak ever-black and filled with living nebulae , tracks of fire scathing its hem and the ground behind his feet , the plants do not die and their dreams of life and of verdant emerald blooms in his wake . it is but dreams and their fragrance will not last , but it is here as much as he is . to the living , to the undead , they do not know if he is real or if are asleep and dreaming of him being there within their lives . dream was real and unreal and he ruled over all that that would never truly be .
as it could only be for the prince of stories , the lord of the emerald marches . this was his way and there was no changing the changeless . let them stew in horrors dream can rear as real as those which swim behind glass .
dream unfolded his arms , inclining his head as his sole measure of deference .
‘ few truly expect me who are not forever and immortal , carrion king . i came here to walk among gorgossium’s horrors , and nothing more . for i’ve nightmares to conspire , and it seemed an ideal place of inspiration . ‘ there’s a brief pause , pith eyes and its polar star flashing to the prince .
‘ show me the nightmares you’ve sown . for i hear word you’re a monarch of maladies in your own right . ‘
