[Think on it, the kindness in touch but do not get too comfortable – you're never to know what else those arms hold, that heart knows, that mouth feels (anonymous).]
She wasn't entirely conscious but she was aware of some small things. Morpheus was moving them both, while she leaned her weight onto his chest and hoped that he didn't mind. Melete just kept breathing as the dark clouds of unconsciousness hovered in her vision. Or was that just the shape of Morpheus? It was difficult to tell. His deep voice reverberated in his chest. Or was that his heart beating, so close to her ear?
They stopped, and then there was icy tile beneath her legs. Melete sighed, noticing she was bleeding onto the floor. The floor of the palace shimmered purple from the galaxies overhead. There was no mistaking that distinctive glow.
New hands, reaching under her arms. The flavour of dirt, stale cigar smoke, and rough homemade soap were potent against her face. Another strong, gravelly voice trying to reassure her everything was going to be alright. A bright orange orb, the scratchy feeling of denim and flannelette. Mervyn?
Melete was tugged into this person's arms, high in the air. As they carried her deftly across the tiled floor, she heard the tapping of boots, the call of Dream's servants for their master.
Steps, going down. So many steps that Melete felt like she was going to be sick. She begged the person carrying her to give her a moment and they paused. Melete fought nausea and clamped her teeth shut.
"It's alright," murmured her carrier. "If you're gonna be sick, be sick. I clean up here anyways…"
But it passed and eventually, they were moving again down further into the bowels of the palace. There was a moment when they crossed paths with someone else, there was low conversation and Mervyn changed direction. A door was unlocked, and then soft steam gently enveloped her.
She was lowered into a warm, smooth surface. Panting, her eyelids drooping, she spotted flashes of luminescence – that characteristic blue-green mystical glow. Water lapped up against her legs and it stung at first but when the smarting faded, she gasped at the relief.
"Lotsa folks dream of healing themselves here," came Mervyn's gruff voice. "This should fix you right up."
His words echoed strangely, bouncing for what felt like forever around them. They were in some sort of cave structure. Melete heard the trickle of that miraculous healing water and with Mervyn's help submerged further. But she was scared at how close she was to losing consciousness and urged Mervyn not to let go of her. His branch arms sat comfortably under her arms as the pool drew higher. With shaking hands, she splashed some of the water onto her head, across her neck and face. Moments after the stinging came sweet, sweet reprieve from her pain. Melete lay back and floated, Mervyn holding her steady, immersing her injuries in that glowing green-blue liquid.
The silence of her ears underwater was deafening and soothing. Melete heard and felt her heartbeat slowing gradually, pounding the blood in her ears at a more reasonable rhythm. She took a hesitant sip of the waters and that same cooling, the searing sensation of healing went down her sore throat. Her muscles unwound one at a time. But as she felt better, the realisation of what had happened and what might currently be happening drew her upright.
"Are we under attack?" she whispered to Mervyn, opening her eyes fully to see the pumpkin-headed man sitting alongside the pool, reaching out to keep her close to the edge. "The Dreaming?"
"Doesn't look like it," he admitted, tilting his head up to eye the ceiling. Melete followed his gaze and noticed a vast mural across the roof, shimmering in light reflected from the waters she swam in.
"Can you hold yourself up now?" Mervyn asked and she nodded. He let go and settled back onto the smooth rock of the cave, just watching. Melete lay her head on the edge, marvelling at the water creeping along her back, feeling her bruises flatten at its touch. She took a long, gradual breath.
"Master's orders, you're to stay here anyway," remarked Mervyn, settling himself into a comfortable position on the floor. "These waters heal all sorts, you'll see."
"I'm going to duck under a moment," Melete held her breath and dove for a minute, pushing her hair back as she resurfaced. Blinking away the water, admiring the way it had stopped the cut on her head, she didn't realise at first that there was someone else on the edge of the pools.
"Lucienne!" Melete called out, recognising the dark figure with her hands behind her back. "Is everything...?"
"All fine," Lucienne reassured her with a wave of her hand. Through her glasses, she took in the sight of the bedraggled Muse, slick with water. "You seem to have been the only target."
"I'll leave you ladies to it," Mervyn growled, suddenly standing to his full height. "Loosh, be seeing you."
Melete pushed herself back to the edge. "Thank you," she told him with all sincerity. "Thank you for all your help."
It was hard to read his expression, but he just gave a snort of dismissal and walked away, taking no time at all to cross the room and depart. Melete realised watching his progress that the caves were much larger than she had thought and wound deeper the further from the door you swam.
Lucienne noticed her marvelling at the place. "It goes on underneath the palace," remarked the librarian, pointing into the darker recesses of the caves. "And emerges into a spring in the woods. Mortals have had healing dreams for aeons, but these are the palace's private reserves. They will heal your wounds the fastest, without requiring any payment in return."
"They already have," Melete said, glancing at her now smooth arms. There was hardly anything to show for the way the metal had bit into her skin or chewed ugly injuries across her hands. The bracelet had miraculously survived undamaged. "Lucienne…"
But her friend shook her head. "Do not start this now, Mel. You're not a liability. We're not about to turn you out."
The Muse squeezed her eyes shut, trying to believe the words she heard. Melete's clothes floated upwards, saturated beneath the healing water. More droplets cascaded down her face as they started to run from her sopping hair.
"They knew I was coming…"
Lucienne tucked her arms behind her once again, listening closely.
"But they didn't know who would come for me… And now they've seen Morpheus."
"Which I am sure he intended," Lucienne cut in smartly, stifling the rest of Melete's frightened words. "I have never known the master to do anything he did not see as his duty, but even then, he can be remarkably selective when it comes to how he fulfils his purpose." The librarian sighed, flicked out her coat tails and seated herself where Mervyn had been moments before, back up against the cave wall. "These protests are fruitless Mel. You are his instrument to figure out what his sibling is trying next. The sooner you realise that and that you have a place here…" Lucienne sighed and shook her head again, the light glimmering off her round spectacles as she moved about. "If there was ever a prize for stubbornness, I don't know whether I'd back you or our lord as the frontrunner."
Melete gave a spluttered laugh. "Are you sure you're not just saying that because he's your boss?" She rested her head on her arms, leaning against the edge of the pool. The tepid stone was delightfully cool against her flesh - it soothed the headache born of stress and confusion she was fast developing.
They traded anecdotes in the murky caverns for a while. Melete mostly liked to listen to Lucienne's stories – about finding the vortex, about the way she'd managed the realm with Dream gone, about her joy when the books in the library were no longer bound blank piles of paper. She closed her eyes and let the sound of the water and Lucienne's soft tones lull her into relaxation.
"You are not falling asleep in the pool like that," Lucienne remarked and then suddenly she was overhead, holding out her hands. "Let's get you dressed and into a guest room."
Exhaustion seemed to have pressed its advantage while Melete had been enjoying the healing properties of the pool – somehow, she was bone-weary, unable to stop yawning.
"Come on," Lucienne hauled Melete out of the pool with a firm grip on both arms. To Melete's surprise laughter started to bubble in her throat, shaking her frame, making extracting her from the pools more difficult. Slipping on the slick water she was dripping onto the floor, Melete fought the slaphappy urge and followed Lucienne's instructions. The librarian produced a dark grey towel from somewhere and Melete tried to mop up. Her clothing was saturated however, and this wasn't very successful. In the end, Lucienne wrapped her up as warmly as she could, took Melete's hand in an iron grip and tugged the Muse across the stony floor.
Lucienne had never really completed a full tour for the Muse of the palace and its environs; certainly, Melete had never seen any of the guest rooms. Navigating Dream's palace would have been an impossible task for anyone except the palace staff – Lucienne did not hesitate to lead the Muse up a staircase and down what felt like endless winding corridors. Melete trotted along behind, aware she was trailing puddles, resolved to mop up after she got a decent rest. The yawns were almost intolerable now and her vision was growing hazy again.
"Here you are," Lucienne announced, opening a door for Melete. "Amenities are just through that white door. I'll check in on you later."
"Thank you," Melete managed before Lucienne had closed the door firmly behind her and left the Muse ankle-deep in a thick carpet.
It was a very green room – that was her first impression. Everything from the wallpaper to the bed trimmings, to the colour of the carpet, was a deep emerald colour. A chandelier sparkled overhead, reflected in the two enormous mirrors on the far wall. Melete couldn't help creeping closer, admiring the way the water had erased nearly all indicators of her physical struggle. She was very pale, but there was no other sign of hurt that the mirror could show her. In her reflection she spotted the white door – somewhere she could leave her soaked clothes behind, dry properly and change into a dressing-gown to sleep in.
The bed was high and ornate; it took the rest of her energy to clamber up high enough to wriggle under the covers. But soon enough Melete's head hit the pillow and the warmth suffused her, and then she was deep within a dreamless slumber.