The echoes of his brisk footsteps through the halls of his palace rang in his ears. Dream marched from the marbled throned room, past the gallery that this time had a large comfortable chair and a small podium where an artist might perform.

It had taken about a week, and still he couldn't think about Hope without a myriad of impressions of her accosting him; of her soft lips pressed against his, the taste of them, the hesitant yield. He'd hoped time would blur the memory of that kiss. Instead, from the moment he'd all but bolted from her dream, it had grown to mythical levels.

He'd buried himself in work to escape the endless lure, the temptation, to visit her in her dreams. Whispered suggestions of course by his meddling sibling, Desire, but he'd given in only once. And now even that almost kiss haunted him.

Leaving the gallery he traversed the many winding paths of the library until he reached the small open area where Lucienne had taken up office and where the air smelled of leather-bound books, mint tea and polished wood.

"Lucienne?"

His librarian ducked her head from behind one of the many wooden stacks. "Yes, my lord?" she asked him, giving him a questioning look.

He held up a thin volume in his hand. "Is this all we have on Hope? I couldn't find any other volumes."

A faintly puzzled look settled in. "Hope, my lord? Our Hope?"

He kept his eyes on the book, fixated on her name 'Hope Ericks'. "Yes, Lucienne. I noticed a disturbance in her dreaming pattern and I should like to understand it… and solve it."

"Oh, after only, eh, six months?"

He did not appreciate the reminder he'd acted less than gracious to her. And, in his own way he had been trying to make amends. Dream gave Lucienne a look that quickly had her averting her gaze and she nervously pushed her glasses further up her nose.

It wasn't that he set out to be so forbidding, but he was well aware that he was considered to be far more terrifying than his sister. Most people found him disconcerting. It's what he did best, without even trying.

"In that case, that is indeed all we have on her, sir."

"It's so thin," he muttered as he opened up the book. The first years seemed rather normal and he smiled at the childish dreams she'd enjoyed and the nightmares (which hadn't been all that terrifying, yet had still woken her in tears). After her fifth birthday the dreams changed. No more light-hearted childish dreams, not really nightmares either, just very sad, heart-rendering dreams. He leafed towards the last regular dream and inhaled sharply. "Nine years old. She was only nine years old when her regular dreaming pattern stopped?"

Lucienne gave him a calm if somewhat defiant look. "Yes, my lord."

He looked at her sharply and now her lashes fluttered down. "You were aware?"

They fluttered up again. "Yes, my lord."

"Tell me."

His librarian held out her hands in an appeasing manner. "She only mentioned it in passing and she was not complaining, sir. In fact, she thinks her dreams are rather lovely."

Dream simply refused to repeat his request and Lucienne understood the meaning of the gaze he directed at her. "She only has vague memories of her childhood dreams. And she has not made the connection between her skill developing and her dreams… stopping. She believes it was only natural her dreams started to focus on music as it was her only outlet, so to speak. I had my suspicions, but thought it wiser not to mention them."

"Why ever not?" he asked, while leafing through the countless records consisting of a single sentence; the book started to read like a church liturgy detailing the songs of worship.

"Permission to speak freely, my lord?"

She somehow managed to make it sound more like an accusation than a polite request and

he grit his teeth to keep him from snapping at her to mind her tone. Instead, he gave a quick nod.

"During Hope's visits, she couldn't do or say anything without rousing your suspicion that she was angling for a boon. Especially after she rejected the one you did offer her.

When she suggested to your sister she might want to pay you a visit, you–"

"Enough!" he barked, then took a deep breath through his nose. "I understand I was not the kindest of hosts, Lucienne, but things have… changed, recently. Why did you not seek me out then?"

"I'm sorry, my lord. That was, I'm afraid, very much an oversight on my part. I'm afraid I've been a little… distracted."

He nodded at that, then flicked to the last couple of pages. To the fever dreams when she was still so close to… He shuddered, realising what a close call it'd been. His sister had already been there! Ready to collect her and set her on her journey to the afterlife, no matter how much that would have grieved her. And he had only scarcely begun to understand how things had changed because she hadn't died.

After those fever dreams the one-sentence dream summaries came back, but now interspersed with the recurring dream that caused her unease. And he read:

Hope watches through Jessamy's eyes as she flaps her wings with urgent desperation, flying through the shadowy corridors of the manor. She takes up hiding between the spindles of the dark oak balustrade, her little heart beating frantically in her chest. When the guards rush out to put out the fire she has started, Jessamy swoops down and flies straight into the basement without hesitation.

For a brief moment, Jessamy pauses on the bars of the wrought iron gate, scanning the darkness for any sign of danger. She catches a glimpse of Dream of the Endless, trapped in the glass orb, recognition sparking in his eyes when he notices her. And in that instant, Jessamy knows she will do anything to get him out.

She takes flight again, her wings beating with renewed vigour, and makes a beeline for the glass prison. As she does, her master rises to his feet, a flicker of hope in his eyes and the most heartbreaking smile of unchecked gratitude gracing his lips. Jessamy can see relief wash over his face and perhaps even a little wonder.

She pecks at the unyielding surface for everything she is worth, though she can soon feel her strength ebbing away. But she refuses to give up.

With every blow of her sharp beak, she feels the glass straining and she knows that each blow is one closer to freeing her beloved master.

Dream moves closer to the glass, his eyes lighting up when his gaze lands on her and she swears she can see love in them.

There is a loud bang.

A shower of blood and feathers.

Now only Hope is left, watching as Dream stumbles back in shock. She's a silent witness to his heart breaking at the sight of his loyal raven, broken and dying on the ground, and she can feel the anguish, the shock, radiating from him. But, as this is merely a flicker of a memory, he does not see her. Nor does he see that her own heart shatters right along with his.

As he read the entry once more, a muscle worked spasmodically in his throat. This was the dream that had tormented her, the one that left her heart raw and tender. It wasn't a memory of a past trauma, but a vision of his own heart breaking at the cruel and senseless loss of Jessamy.

From the very outset, Hope had conferred upon his life a value greater than her own, and he had callously accepted it, as though it were his right.

Yet, after a century of captivity, he was now gradually beginning to understand the worth of life, freedom, and self-governance. But, if he had to be very honest, it was largely because Hope kept forcing him to reassess and revalue everything, from his relationships to his own place in the universe. She was goodness and gentleness and trust. And love.

And that was why, ultimately, her life held more value than he had ever given her credit for, perhaps even more than his own.

He was glad that he had started giving her normal dreams, starting with the one in that world she adored so much, in which they'd shared an almost-kiss that still left him breathless when he thought of it.

Two things were still puzzling him though. How did that Jessamy dream manage to get past her impressive defences? And how had she come by that dream at all?

"My lord, are you all right?"

No, he was not, but that he would not freely admit. "I need to speak with my sister, Lucienne." Without any further explanation he walked swiftly to his gallery.

"Hope's Dream History details exactly what happened when Jessamy was killed. The dream that's been haunting Hope is not a mere dream, but a memory. Jessamy's memory." Dream gave his sister a pointed look.

She was seated in a comfy chair in the gallery, her hands cradling a steaming cup of chamomile tea. Its flowery fragrance had a calming effect and he half-suspected that's why she chose it as refreshment.

He was sitting in another comfortable chair across from her, his steaming mug of tea left untouched on the small decorative table. For some odd reason the walls of his gallery were now of a vibrant orange colour.

"It's possible Jessamy was allowed one final message. Hope was struggling with the decision, to help you or not. She knew what it would cost her. And, she knew there was a high risk of her not surviving the ordeal, whereas you…"

"… would live, no matter what. Do you suppose that Jessamy saw her indecision from beyond the veil, and sent her the memory of that moment to persuade her?"

His sister lightly shrugged her shoulders. "It's possible," she said softly. "She was always so very loyal to you."

"She was," Dream agreed, "and she's still sorely missed, but, if she was only allowed that final message… then why did that dream continue to plague Hope? How did it even manage to get past her mental shield?"

"Isn't it obvious, little brother? How did that dream get past her shield?"

He closed his eyes when he realised. "It didn't. She let it in."

"Hm-mm. Now why would she do something like that? Why would she purposely torture herself with a memory she knows will only bring sorrow?"

Dream gave his sister a warning glare that would have reduced lesser beings to a quivering puddle. Unfortunately his sister was not so easily intimidated. She never was, in fact.

"Okay, before you storm off to your library, to unearth what you already know deep inside of you, that each time you were an absolute twat to her, she sent that dream to herself to remind herself you actually are capable of feelings… shall we explore the topic of you falling head over heels in love with her?"

He said nothing and he similarly plied his face to betray nothing. Had he really been that transparent? He didn't believe so, unless…

Dream released a deep breath through his nose. "She told you then."

"About the strange dream she had of you in which you gave her a bone-melting kiss? Oh, yeah."

He felt a strange urge to blink a few times, but he didn't. And he wondered, was that really the impression he'd left her with?

"Did she… mention it in those… exact words?"

His sister gave him a wide smile.

"And does she know it wasn't…?"

"No, little brother, she doesn't know that was actually you. I didn't tell her because I want to know your intentions first. For now, she merely thinks she's having fantasies about my brother and, even though it caused her some embarrassment to admit, it doesn't have to be more than that."

"I-I no longer know," he told her honestly… quietly. "I can tell you that when I'm with her, I feel like I am my truest self. I'm not consumed by memories or revenge, or the never-ceasing demands. I am… me. The moments she belongs to the waking world, I impatiently wait for the moment she belongs to the Dreaming. To me. Not being near her feels wrong and it near well consumes me! But, my intentions? What intentions could I possibly have, my sister? You know very well there can be nothing between us."

His sister gave him a vanishingly swift smile. "You really have changed, Dream. Before, you would not even have considered such things."

He gave her a sideways look. "I do not know. Perhaps I have." He then sighed deeply. "I was going to be so much smarter about it this time," he muttered. "Loves barb would not wound me again."

It had been a lesson hard learnt, that love born out of desire, was not his to keep. For his sibling had then full control over it and they flaunted it every opportunity they got.

"Love, Dream?" Death gave him a sad little smile. "I don't think you really know what that means. You think you had a taste of love when all you really had was a taste of desire. Real love, the abiding kind, is eternal. Your friend William wrote a lovely sonnet about it. You should read it sometime."

"He was not my–"

"Not the point, little brother! I'm trying to get it into your thick skull that your love has always been flighty. Love as fickle as yours, is really no love at all. The experience of loving and being loved is quite foreign to you, I can assure you. I doubt you would even recognise the feeling if it hit you over the head!"

"If true love has eluded me, as you claim, why then do I still feel the sting of its removal so keenly?" He offered his sister a tight little smile. "Do you really believe I had no love for Killalla?"

Death inhaled at length, then softly blew out a breath. "Please, don't take this the wrong way, Dream, but when your relationships end, you just… let them go and then you sulk. And then you cling to any fleeting opportunity that comes your way again, declare it love in a desperate attempt to soothe an unhealed wound. In the end you get disappointed when it's not really love after all, and then you get angry, and you… move on."

"I let them go because they wanted to leave. What would you have me do, beg them to stay? If in such moments I ever appeared cold or distant, that was what I had to do. I cased my feelings in ice until they became more bearable. And even then, through the cracks, the entire universe suffered a portion of my heartbreak. Can you imagine the catastrophe had I not frozen my true feelings?"

Apparently his sister did not know how to answer that question and he allowed the silence to stretch. The warmth of the gallery was lulling and quiet, all that was missing was a crackling fire in a fireplace.

Promptly one appeared and his sister didn't even bat an eye.

"After Killalla," he said softly, "I did not know how to handle myself. I believe I stopped functioning properly for a while. After each… parting… I threw myself into my function. I once razed the entire Dreaming. It was a bleak, empty dessert for centuries. So, please, don't tell me I know nothing of love, for I know it hurts."

She merely gave him another sad little smile. "I'm so sorry, Dream. I- I didn't know that. All I ever saw was how the break-ups put you in a bad mood and, yes, I saw the effect it had on the Dreaming. And the dreamers. Why did you never tell me? And don't you dare say I never asked!"

"I guess for the same reason I never called you after Hope set me free."

"Stubborn pride."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"I would!"

They gave each other simultaneous little smiles.

"Fine. You do know what love is. So, now what?"

"Now… nothing," he said, hating how bleak his voice sounded.

Death gave him a poisonous glower. "Nothing? Are you kidding me? After you basically admitted you love her? And don't you even dare deny it!"

Deny it? He didn't have the strength for it.

Back then he'd already known. He'd known that if he dared look too closely, he'd find something so wonderful it would bring him to his knees. He'd looked anyway. And he'd found himself so mesmerised by her, that he'd scarcely been able to think straight since then.

"You are right," he admitted. "I do love her. More than I have a right to. But, it's a love unsanctioned by the entire universe. I will not have her become a victim of my feelings for her."

It was the first time he allowed to let that realisation take hold of him, and the moment it did, he could feel a bleakness rolling towards him. A ferocious emptiness that hollowed out his chest until there was nothing left.

Until he was nothing.

And right in the midst of that black void, a radiant bloom emerged and it grew and grew until it burst open, pollinating every dark recess of his being, sprouting love, fury and sorrow. He did not know what to do with any of it.

"Little brother? I think you forget who I am."

"You are my sister." He said it almost automatically.

"I am. And I am Death. If the universe decrees you cannot love a mortal, than we just have to make sure Hope becomes immortal. All that really needs to happen, is me agreeing not to take her. Ever! But, I will not do this against her wishes. She has to want it."

His head shot up. Oh, irony of ironies. His sister could offer Hope a boon!

The next words came out before he could stop them. "Would you consider…"

"I'm way ahead of you there, Dream. I tried to offer her. Twice.

"What happened?" he asked her carefully.

"What do you think happened? She rejected. Didn't even give me the chance to offer. And, I hate to tell you this, but when you blamed her of duplicity, you made sure she'll never accept anything from us… ever. At least nothing that cannot be considered a normal gift."

"She did accept a Stradivari masterpiece."

"Really? Watch what happens when you tell her it's a boon."

He was not fool enough to try.

"Then… how?" he asked his sister carefully.

Her gaze softened and she took his hand in hers. He noted again how warm her skin felt against his. How alive. He still forgot to mind such details.

"I believe she loves you too, though she would only admit to falling in love–"

His other hand shot to his chest, to the spot a heart would have been beating had he been human, and amidst love, sorrow and fury, a fickle flower–hope–bloomed brilliantly.

"–and therein, I think, lies your solution. If you can get her admit to that, and then make her realise you can never be together as long as she is mortal… It could be my gift to you, to the both of you, Dream! That way it would not be a boon."

"It–" He thought for a long moment. And he knew there was one last thing that could potentially ruin everything. "What if her love was inspired by Desire? They would love nothing more than to twist and turn it into something ugly. Again."

Death squeezed his hand. "Talk to her, Dream. You have nothing to lose if you do, and everything to lose if you don't."

Dream slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers, hearing the finality in her voice, but her eyes warned him not to press the subject. He nodded his head.

"You should go now, little brother. I don't want her to be alone right now, and, tell her I was on my way to see her when you summoned me."

"Is something the matter?"

Now worry bloomed in his chest.

"Today was my death-day."

His sister gave him an annoyed huff when he failed to offer any kind of response.

"Honestly! I forgive you only because you've been trapped in that glass bowl for over a century, but I did tell you. How I resolved to take one day, every hundred years, to live and–"

"Die as a mortal," he finished for her. "I remember. Why do you call it your death-day, my sister?"

"What should I call it then? My live-as-a-mortal-and-then-die-to-see-how-I-would-like-it-day? That's a bit of a mouthful. I live as a mortal. See what I can learn. Then I die. So, death-day."

He could feel his lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile.

"Today was your death-day. What of it?"

"We agreed that I would spend it with her this time. I don't think she quite understood that the aspect of me would be me, yet not me. That, when that aspect died, I didn't die but just a… point of view. That even this manifestation of me, is just that… a manifestation, a point of view."

Understanding dawned on him.

"It upset her."

"Yes. And not just a little. It completely rattled her. You see, little brother, I too forget sometimes that mortals are not like us. I just barely took the aspect back to me to learn about her experiences when you summoned. So, if you don't mind, you should hurry up."

"I will. If this ploy works, I will owe you my thanks, my sister, inadequate thanks. For how could I ever–"

"Just promise me you'll make her happy and never hurt her! If you do, I promise you won't like me!"

He couldn't help but smile at her.

"Look at you," she then said with a grin. "Who's doing the underhanded manipulating now to gain a boon?" She released a throaty laugh, leaned in for a quick kiss on his cheek and then she was gone.