Servant of Morpheus

"Sleep,” it said. "Sleep."

And so he slept. A deep, inescapable, yet fitful sleep.

The voice persisted in his dreams. At times cooing, at others growling and screeching.

And then, a pair of inhuman eyes opened in the dark – glowing bright spots of light in an abyss of black.

Derek stood there, unmoving, yet somehow coming closer.

“Who are you?” He thought and the words bounced around him before fading away.

“I am the one who summoned you here.” The eyes blinked slowly, deliberately.

“Here?”

“To your subconscious. I am the god of dreams.” The voice, haunting and endlessly powerful, thundered in Derek’s mind.

“So I am asleep,” he accepted, “What do you want with me?”

“I have need of you. You must find me. In the real world.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You do not remember now, but you will in time. You are not who you think you are. You are much more. You are a servant of my will.”

The man tried to back away, but couldn’t move his feet... couldn’t move anything. “I don’t…what?”

Suddenly, the entity was before him. Though Derek could not see him, he knew if he only reached out, he would touch him. He looked up to find the eyes towering above him now. Something… a series of things soft and smooth surrounded him in a suffocating embrace. 'Feathers' were the first thing that came to mind.

Derek's heart pounded. His knees grew weak, no longer able to hold him, but even as they gave, he still found himself standing.

A gentle hand touched his cheek as the eyes bent down and the voice, now light and unbearably seductive, caressed his ear.

“Find me, Cyir. Free me from this cage.”

The wings’ hold on him tightened, seeping the air from his lungs and crushing his ribs.

“I’m going to die,” was his final thought.

-

His eyes snapped open to the bright light of the TV in a dark room and Derek realized he’d fallen asleep on the couch. With a groan, he felt for the remote and clicked it off.

The words echoed in his head, pulsing in time with an ache he was sure hadn't been there before.

Find me, Cyir. Free me from this cage….Find me….Free me….Cyir

It was all he could think about.

He didn’t know who this…man was. He didn’t know why he dreamt of him, why he'd called him "Cyir", or if it was really any more than a dream, but he was determined to find out. An unmistakable need consumed him. He had to find him. He had to.

-

In a cold iron prison, Morpheus woke from his meditation with a smirk.

Despite the chains wrapped around his arms and legs, despite the shackles binding him to the floor and scarring his flesh, he was pleased.

The guard posted by the door took notice and glared at him.

“What’re you smiling about?” he grumbled.

“You shall see.”