[Isn't she just beautiful; she is a lion-hearted girl with a poetic soul – she is my muse, my flame (anonymous).]
Melete's presence as one of the newest residents of the Dreaming was noticed, but not that remarkable. Most of the palace staff thought it made sense, logically, that any being capable of granting inspiration should have a place here, in a realm where everything unconscious was made conscious. She took her position humbly, quiet at first, but Lucienne was mollified when she started to hear her music over the rolling hills. Melete often liked to play pieces created by various human musicians, but occasionally there would be a tune not yet known in the Waking World coming from the mouths of a thousand wildflowers that had sprung up around her doorway. Lucienne gave herself a mental pat on the back when the hills, forests and pathways started to come alive with music.
If Dream did not appreciate this interruption to the realm's usual peace and quiet, he did not betray it. He requested that a close eye be kept to see that the newest resident was comfortable and did not stray outside the barriers of her function (there was deep untrustworthiness in other beings from other realms that was difficult for the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares to entirely shake) but Matthew and the other ravens did not account for anything out of the ordinary. Whenever Dream decided to peer through the raven's eyes the Muse looked exhausted, slowly tilling away at her trade, travelling on foot to the waters or across the land as required.
That was the way of things - with her on the periphery - until a request from the Waking World some four months after the Muse had settled.
Johanna Constantine did not have any formal way of communicating with Morpheus but she knew how to spot a rogue Nightmare at a thousand paces. They enjoyed engaging with the demons she was often hunting, and she knew to wait around until someone from the Dreaming picked up the stray, usually Morpheus himself. One night, her persistent stalking of a Nightmare paid off. As Morpheus materialised, ready to haul the unfortunate into the Black or back into the Dreaming, Johanna called out to him.
"Definitely one of yours," called out the woman, before emerging from the shadows to stare him down. The Constantines had a way of confidence, heedless of risk or common sense, which was remarkable to watch. In the dim London street, she seemed to radiate control, just standing in a buttoned-up coat on the sidewalk.
Dream gave her a nod of recognition and picked up his wayward Nightmare, spilling it into the Black forever. There was no way of redeeming it, and certainly not here.
"It was carrying this," Johanna offered, holding something out in one hand. She had wrapped the thing in newspaper, but Dream detected that characteristic sheen, the glimmer he'd watched in Muse's hands. But unlike her trinkets, this thing looked more like molten metal – semi-liquid in Johanna's grasp. It had no real form he could discern.
"He was trying to stick it to some poor sod on the street," Johanna remarked, unfazed by Dream's usual taciturn company. "So I put it and the demon that were following him away."
"Where is the demon?" was Dream's only enquiry as he carefully removed the mess of inspiration from Johanna's cupped hands.
"Back in Hell," was her smug reply. She cocked her chin, dark brown eyes fixed on the weird globular mass now in Morpheus's grasp. "What were they fighting over? I've never seen anything like this before."
"Inspiration," Morpheus admitted but did not disclose that it looked like none he'd ever seen either. He met Johanna's curiosity with a stern frown. "I will remove it."
"What? Like a brainwave?" Johanna's puzzlement deepened in the afternoon light. "Eureka? If I dipped my hand into that thing…"
"It is malformed," Dream spoke, cutting off her enthusiasm. The streetlights above them started to waver on as night fell. A few slow cars drove by, sending headlights gleaming onto the mass in his hands. "It may not be of any benefit anymore."
"I see." She waited for a more thorough explanation but when it was plain Dream intended to be on his way, she gave a huge sigh. "So what are you going to do with it?"
Morpheus dropped sand into its depths in the palms of his hands, but the mass just fizzled, then lost a bit of radiance. It was very much still there, leaking onto the ground. He shoved the mass, still wrapped in newspaper, deep within the confines of his coat, taking care to scoop up any droplets on the ground.
"Remove it from this plane," he admitted, before turning into the shadows and letting his sands whirl around his corporeal body until he had vanished back into the Dreaming.
Morpheus materialised in the palace, unimpressed.
"Sir?" Lucienne was the quickest to greet him, to register that he was not as content as he normally was recovering Nightmares successfully. She stood to attention, giving him a tight-lipped frown.
"Bring the Muse to me," he ordered, scooping the inspiration carefully from his coat. "I found a Nightmare and a demon with this in their possession."
Lucienne took one glance at the mess and bobbed away, practically bolting for the doors.
Morpheus materialised a cup and stored the almost-liquid mass inside. He stood and observed the way the inspiration shimmered, definitely more lacklustre now that he had tried to will it away in the Waking World, but it was very much still there. It occurred to him that ideas were often difficult to kill entirely without some redirection and he stood contemplating this until Lucienne announced she had brought Melete before his throne.
He beheld Melete wide-eyed and silent, her hands crossed in front of her. At his inspection she dropped into a deep curtesy in the dress she was wearing, seemingly waiting on his explanation. Morpheus pointed at the cup.
"This was in the Waking World," he stated, soft tone betraying nothing.
Melete crept closer and examined it for a moment.
"It is an old piece someone has tried to reshape," she murmured. "Something wrought by my sisters." She swallowed loudly. "Who had this?"
"A Nightmare," Dream admitted, retreating to seat himself slowly on his throne. "And a demon."
Melete nodded, starting to prod at the mass with one of her fingers. "Stolen goods… Ow!" The globular substance stung her fingers, but she just seemed fascinated. "It doesn't recognise me."
"Are you hurt?" Lucienne insisted but Melete waved her inquiry aside. Morpheus observed the Muse's fascination, the dreamy look of concentration illuminating her features. It struck him that most of the time she seemed harried, or tired. He'd not noticed her interest before.
"I can dispel it," admitted the Muse after a few more moments of inspection of the cup. "But I would like to take it back and study it, with your permission." Now her gaze was fixed on him, properly beseeching, more than a little rueful. "The art of my sister's inspirations was lost when they died, and I have been trying to recover what I can." She twirled the cup in her hand and the liquid slowly span, as though gravity compelled it to. "This… Even though it's in bad shape I can learn from this, I'm sure."
"Sir?" Lucienne was very aware of her master's distaste for anything unknown to him being in the realm. "I am certain Melete can ensure it stays within her cottage."
"Dispel it," came his command. Dream had no tolerance for any possibility of anything further destroying the Dreaming, not after a vortex and his own absence had done such significant structural impairment to the place. Things were finally starting to heal and grow on their own again, and any upset to that could set his plans back even further. In his estimation, it was not worth the risk. It would also be a neat test of the Muse's resolve and obedience.
Lucienne looked like she was about to protest but a gesture from Melete stopped her.
"As you command," came the Muse's reply and in a moment, she danced her hand high above the material and it sunk away into nothingness, just like when he banished anything into the Black. The cup was empty. With her long hair hiding her face, it was difficult for Dream to see her expression but, satisfied his orders had been followed, he turned away.
"If I find more, I will advise you," he offered, but Morpheus gave no more thought to the Muse's reaction and started calling for more of the palace staff to store his defunct Nightmare.
Only after Dream had stalked away did Lucienne take Melete's hand and offer condolences.
"He's nervous," Lucienne admitted, trying to soften the blow. "He is working so hard to repair everything that he just doesn't…"
"I'm okay, Lucienne." Melete's voice was scratchy and when she shook her hair aside there were tear tracks on her red lips and cheeks. "I didn't even know there would be anything left of my sisters. It's not a big deal."
Lucienne squeezed her fingers. They stood for a moment, wordless sympathy emanating out of the librarian's touch until Melete pulled away, wiping salty liquid from her chin and cheeks with the back of her hand.
"I should… get back to work," she offered weakly and then, with a kind nod from her friend, she retreated to the doors of the palace.
Lucienne was a fairly patient being – she rarely if ever truly lost her temper. It was hardly a good time to do so, now that the trust and communication between herself and her sovereign lord had come to a decent understanding, but she recalled that Morpheus had promised to try and listen. Lucienne huffed for a moment before stamping down the corridor in pursuit, the click of her shoes resonating on the tiles. She found Morpheus standing, staring out the glass-stained windows, lost in thought.
"My lord," Lucienne began. "You resolved to listen to what I and your other subjects have to say.
Dream turned slowly, incredulity stretching his blue eyes only a little. He did not dissuade her.
"That…" Lucienne had to choose her approach carefully. "That was not kind."
"Kind?" he echoed, his arms behind his back, inspecting the sight of the being who was essentially his second in command marching crossly to address him.
"You might consider that the more she learns, the more of an asset to the Dreaming she could be," Lucienne offered before deciding to go for the plunge. "You might have considered that you just asked her to destroy something made by the hands of someone she loves, who died right in front of her, with absolutely no other recourse."
Something about what Lucienne had said landed with Morpheus, because instead of blinking away her concerns and cutting her down in his old-fashioned, high-handed manner, he paused, and his gaze shifted inwards. A reflective lord was at least a start, so Lucienne decided to press her point.
"If – if, mind you - there was a risk in holding the matter here, we could have tried to create a solution with her…"
"There are many unanswered questions," came his intonation, without any of the steel that usually warned her to stop the discussion. Morpheus was… pondering something.
"Well, now we have little to no way of getting any answers…"
"You have given me an idea, Lucienne." Morpheus interrupted again, drowning out any of her points in his usual quiet way. "And I will be more considerate, in future."
That was as close to admittance that he had done wrong as Lucienne was likely to get so she just bowed, checked her tongue and left him alone to return to the library. She wrote the Muse a note informing her that in future, hopefully the Lord of Dreams was going to think things through a little further before issuing such final orders and bade her to join some of the palace staff for some amusement in a few days hence, as they always appreciated the music she brought to such events.
Melete had decided to visit Cain and Abel on the way back to her cottage, and to distract herself with the antics of Goldie, their rapidly growing gargoyle. Abel had taught him to race after large sticks, thrown in the air by the brothers, but once captured the gargoyle refused to return them to be thrown again. The Muse sat in the grass outside the House of Secrets and Mysteries, peering in the shade at the rather clumsy creature who tried to snatch more sticks out of the air. Abel saw her watching and waved.
"How much bigger will Goldie get?" she asked Abel, as the gargoyle took a moment's rest on the roof.
"Oh, it all depends… Some of them get as big as horses, others larger than the house here." The brother chuckled. "It will make it harder to fit us all in at the breakfast table if that's the case!"
Melete had to smile as Goldie fluttered down onto the grass and nudged a fallen branch her way. Sighing, she collected the proffered stick and launched it up into the air as hard as she could. Goldie gave a short of trumpeting roar of joy and tore after it.
"You were up at the palace," Cain remarked, leaning on the fence to address their visitor. It wasn't a question.
"My lord had a… question to ask me," Melete said, looking everywhere except at the concern on the brother's face. Abel took it to mean the subject was closed and moved on, urging her to return to the fields in a few nights' time for another soiree with the palace staff under a dream-moon.
"It was wonderful when you played! Like a festival," he grinned. "Your music has really taken off here. Even the creatures of the waters came out to play, and they are usually a right stuffy bunch who don't mix well. But we danced! And sang together!" He shook his head. "It won't be the same without you there."
Melete gave him a smile. "I'll try and be there, I promise."
They talked a little longer on safe topics, but the Muse had pressing work to do and was eager to keep up with the demand. She hurried back to the cottage and collected her things, swinging an enormous bag onto a little cart she pulled alongside her body. With a slightly defiant look towards the palace, she set off not in the direct of the dock but back out onto the beach beyond the great ivory and bone Gates of the Dreaming. When her feet met the dark sands she pushed onwards, pulling herself and her wares across into the Waking World.
Matthew flapped his way to the innermost chambers of the palace at a leisurely pace, not sure how his master would take the news.
"She's crossed over," admitted the raven, bobbing his head to observe Morpheus's reaction. "Do you want me to go after her?"
"Yes, Matthew. Observe her for me." Dream did not seem at all surprised.
"Should I… bring her back?" Matthew asked, about to take flight.
"She knows her way," was Dream's only gentle comment before stalking away into the shadows. Matthew watched the flames flicker on the edges of his master's robe but wasted no time. The little raven took to the skies of the Dreaming in pursuit of Muse, as he was bid.