The calamitous and the quiet, both types of alterations joined by their inevitability.
[It was true that Morpheus had thought himself above change. While mortals lived and died, and gods relied upon the strength of faith, he was simply tied to a biological function of so many beings that stretched out for eons. He had never really considered that having contact with so many dreamers might have an impact on him the way that he did on them. That he might alter, as the beings he served did, in a relationship of reciprocity. In a way seeing it as such was like they held power over him. It had taken his talk with Death after his imprisonment for him to see that perhaps him needing them like they needed him was not a dynamic to be downplayed but rather embraced.
How to put that into words was the question that floundered him as he followed Hob. He gestured for Hob to take the spot that was more in the shade, as the sun didn’t bother Morpheus in the same way it might humans. He settled down next to his friend then, one leg extended and the other with his knee drawn up. One elbow rested upon his knee. His free hand played with the blades of grass that poked upwards around the edge of the blanket. It felt warm and a touch dewey from the rain the previous evening. The air was mingled with the scent of nearby flowers, perspiration, and food carts selling items. He looked curiously at the musicians as they played a contemporary jazz piece of their own making. Chaos and improvisation blending into unexpected harmony.
It was a few long moments before he began to answer Hob.]
Knowing their stories isn’t the same thing as knowing them. I was… detained by a group of them. For a spell of time. [How he hated admitting that.] After I escaped, nothing felt quite the same. Not even my role as overseer of dreams. It was pointed out to me that perhaps my previous understanding of my role was limited, in such a way that wasn’t apparent before now.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2022-09-03 03:56 pm (UTC)[It was true that Morpheus had thought himself above change. While mortals lived and died, and gods relied upon the strength of faith, he was simply tied to a biological function of so many beings that stretched out for eons. He had never really considered that having contact with so many dreamers might have an impact on him the way that he did on them. That he might alter, as the beings he served did, in a relationship of reciprocity. In a way seeing it as such was like they held power over him. It had taken his talk with Death after his imprisonment for him to see that perhaps him needing them like they needed him was not a dynamic to be downplayed but rather embraced.
How to put that into words was the question that floundered him as he followed Hob. He gestured for Hob to take the spot that was more in the shade, as the sun didn’t bother Morpheus in the same way it might humans. He settled down next to his friend then, one leg extended and the other with his knee drawn up. One elbow rested upon his knee. His free hand played with the blades of grass that poked upwards around the edge of the blanket. It felt warm and a touch dewey from the rain the previous evening. The air was mingled with the scent of nearby flowers, perspiration, and food carts selling items. He looked curiously at the musicians as they played a contemporary jazz piece of their own making. Chaos and improvisation blending into unexpected harmony.
It was a few long moments before he began to answer Hob.]
Knowing their stories isn’t the same thing as knowing them. I was… detained by a group of them. For a spell of time. [How he hated admitting that.] After I escaped, nothing felt quite the same. Not even my role as overseer of dreams. It was pointed out to me that perhaps my previous understanding of my role was limited, in such a way that wasn’t apparent before now.