Call it what you will, for there
is no thing that has but one true name. The only place where the
pure sweetness of pain has ever been revealed, where suffering is
not questioned, only accepted, as another trailing river of torment
that bled profusely from the denizens of this place.
Deep within, past places of blood and bone, there were also places
of rock, precariously balanced formations within a seemingly
never-ending canyon. There, atop a butte in the middle of the
glorious horror that was Hell, was Lucifer, lying on the cool stone
with his eyes closed as he listened.
The screams of the damned, hoarse dissonance of sound that was like
a grotesque parody of the Heavenly Choirs, a shrill reminder of what
was never to be heard by him again.
He listened to every echoing tone, despite the pain the knowledge
always brought him, because even a thin shadow of what was once his
was better than nothing at all.
And if he weren't truly a masochist, he wouldn't be in Hell.
There was no sound of approach from behind him, not so unusual in
this place although the source of the silence was. He waited until
he felt the presence at his back before he spoke, softly.
"It is done, then?"
"Yes." Lord Morpheus stepped closer, silent as the shadow that he
did not possess. "I have imprisoned her," he said. His voice was as
old black velvet and almost as touchable. He bowed to the figure
sprawled across the rocks politely, as was his way, cool as the
wintry breezes that those in Hell never felt. "I thank you for your
time."
"I pity her, you know," Lucifer said, his voice raised slightly to
catch the ear of one who was already turning away. "I cannot pity
them," he gestured before him at the multitudes that were hidden
beneath the lip of the precipice, the discordant harmony of their
screams an accent to his idle words. "They only receive what it is
that they want, and in abundance. But her, I may pity."
He had angered the Dream King, although no sign of it could ever
appear in his fathomless eyes. Rather, it was in the tightening of a
fist, the writhing of the ragged edge of his cloak around his
ankles, a shadow made into a living thing by his temper.
"I warned her," said Morpheus, as calm as could be, with only his
cloak still betraying him. He wrapped his arms in it and pulled it
around himself as if he were suddenly chilled, though there was
never an icy chill in Hell, for coldness here burned like a flame.
All the ice within the Infernos was only in the mind.
"I'm not saying that you were wrong," Lucifer said smoothly, running
the tip of a finger over the surface of the rock beneath him,
testing the roughness of its texture. "You did warn her and she
disobeyed you. Certainly you were within your rights. However," and
he rolled over, tilting his head to watch the King of Dreams with
darkly amused eyes. "That does not mean I cannot pity her. After
all, I know how it feels to fall from grace, do I not?"
"Yes, you do." Calm and neutral, just like the third eldest of the
Endless. The prick. Faintly annoyed despite himself, Lucifer shifted
onto his back, closing his eyes and the shrieks below reached a
crescendo, peaking on the ecstatic song of the damned.
Morpheus had turned away again, deigning not to speak as he slunk
away to nurse his wounds of a love lost in private. That would never
do.
"Sit, and chat with me awhile," said Lucifer, lazily undulating
across the cool stone surface beneath him.
"My lord Lucifer, I cannot, I have duties..."
"And I am doing you a favor. Courtesy demands that you do one for me
as well." Polite as ever but with a touch of implicit threat in his
lightly said words. Lucifer had not lost any of his power in his
fall and he did not wear his anger well.
Morpheus was still, eyes of midnight studying the once-angel before
he moved forward, only a touch of his reluctance visible. Lucifer
could grant him that; no doubt Morpheus had better things to do
rather than listening to one who was never quite a friend gabble on
like a toothless old woman, though his reluctance was all Lucifer
would grant. Morpheus had wanted a boon and so owed one in return.
One could not break the Rules, such as they were. There were always
worse things than residing in Hell.
"Lovers lost, your pretty lady love and I have in common," he said
teasingly, as Morpheus sat next to him on the stone, spine stiff and
looking glass-brittle. The Dream King said nothing and then Lucifer
said, softly, "Do you think I'll ever see him again?" He allowed a
trace of wistfulness to enter his voice, one that no one else, dead
or alive, would have been allowed to hear. Morpheus would keep this
secret as he kept all things he knew close to him, hording them
greedily. So few had ever been allowed close enough to touch him and
none close enough to know him.
This, Lucifer knew, as he also knew that the young suicide who was
imprisoned within the cliffs surrounding Weep-not had come closer
than anyone and that her memory of his touch would be as cold as
ice. She would burn here in Hell with the chill remembrance of his
love.
Morpheus moved to clasp pale-fingered hands in his lap as he spoke.
"Perhaps. I do not know the future, Morningstar."
"Morningstar," Lucifer breathed, tasting the name on his own thin
lips. "Yes, that was my name," he said distantly, an illusion of
uncaring that would not have fooled a child. "I've not heard it in a
long time. Shall I thank you or hate you for reminding me of that
name?"
"You must do as you see fit."
He laughed then, bitterly. He still allowed himself bitterness
sometimes, as well as the cold, sweet thought of revenge. "Ah, I did
that once and I landed here." He rubbed a bare foot across the rock,
his toes barely brushing the edge of Morpheus' cloak. "Ever his
pawn, even now. I must always be moved across the chessboard at the
order of the King, mustn't I?"
"If you must."
"If I must..." Lucifer mused, thinking, before he shook his head.
"And what of you, my sweet Dream king, if I am a pawn, then what
does that make you?"
"I am not controlled by your Creator," said Morpheus.
"No? No, of course you are not. We are all controlled by our own
Creators, to be done with as they wish and if I am a pawn to be
sacrificed at the whims of my king so that he may win the game, then
you are a toy. What shall you do, I wonder, when the children
outgrow their playthings?"
"There are always other children in need of a toy."
Sweet laughter, the bell-like tones of one who was once an angel,
yet even in his laughter there was a taint; lost innocence dimmed
the resonance of his music until the harsh discord of the shrieks
behind him disguised it as a scream.
"Well said!" said Lucifer, a smile still curving his lips. It faded
slightly as he shook his head, saying, "No. I'll never see him
again. Were this universe to blink out of existence tomorrow or
millennia from now, I will vanish from this plane without ever
having seen him again. My punishment for the rest of eternity, to
exist with him outside my sight." His smile shifted, into a jaded,
cynical mask that should never be worn by an angel and was not now.
"But then, I can always dream, can't I?"
Leaning forward, he kissed cool, pale lips, skimmed over the curious
softness and let the tip of his tongue brush over dry skin,
dampening it before he deepened the kiss further, sampling the mouth
that belonged to the worn-velvet voice. An eternal moment, in which
he tasted the faintest echo of something he'd been missing for ten
billion years, the last thing he'd known before he fell, the gentle
touch of his Creator's lips.
He pulled away quickly, lolling back onto the rock as he ran his
tongue over his lips, searching for the ghost of that elusive taste.
Glancing up at his guest, he saw widened, bottomless eyes gazing
back at him and he realized with some amusement that he had
surprised Morpheus.
Reaching up, he cupped a petal-soft cheek in his hand, Morpheus'
pale skin a stark contrast to his own. "You are as I see you, as I
wish to see you, my Dream..." he murmured, moving to kiss him again
but Morpheus spoke, giving him pause.
"No," he said quietly. "I am as you see me and always will be, this
is true, but I cannot be something I am not."
He gave the third eldest of the Endless a long look and then
released him abruptly, moving away as if the touch of his skin
burned.
"No, you cannot."
He stood, walking to the edge of the cliff where all of Hell was
laid out before him, the inferno that burned with his own hatred,
mingling with the acrid scent of brimstone. A parting gift, in its
way, a darkened mirror of a place that he would never see again in
this existence and he gazed upon it with bitterness seeping blackly
through his heart where once there was only the purity of love.
Still, it was a gift. A token from his lover and Lucifer clutched it
to him as one would a withered flower.
"I pity her, Morpheus," he said, gazing at the horror that
represented what remained of his love. "But I envy her as well. Some
day, a thousand years from now, a hundred thousand, you will forgive
her. You will come to her and release her, and she will see her
lover again. I envy her that." He ducked his head down, closing his
eyes and smiling with the gentle childishness of innocence, the
faintest touch of the hope that he had never lost. "But perhaps I
will see my lover again, as she will. We have so much in common,
after all. Both of our lovers sent us to Hell."
"Pity her, if you must, Lord Lucifer, for whatever reasons you wish,
for the little things you may have in common. And I may pity your
Creator for the same reasons."
He looked down into the recesses of Hell, a sight that would have
driven a mortal insane, but to him it was merely a grim reminder of
a lack of beauty. His hands were behind his back and they tightened
to a white knuckled grip as he looked out over his domain. The
silence between them stretched until Lucifer spoke again, curtly,
"Thank you for staying to talk, Lord Morpheus. It was a pleasure."
A dismissal. When he turned again, Dream of the Endless was gone.
Still, Lucifer was certain that he would see him again, although
perhaps not soon.
He closed his eyes again and listened as the chorus swelled, the
screams of the damned mingling within his memories of Heaven.
Morpheus would return to his home and mourn the loss of his love,
raze the Dreaming as it reflected its Master's suffering and
turmoil, as those in Hell voiced the screams that its ruler could
not.
Shivering slightly, Lucifer wrapped his arms around himself, as if
Morpheus had created a chill in the vacuum of his absence. An
eternity of waiting was all he had left to him. An eternity lost
within the sweetness of pained screams and the frailty of his
dreams.
-finis-
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