Warning: Plotless Character Ramble
ahead. Dipping a toe into a new fandom.
Disclaimer: Characters are the creation of Neil Gaiman and the property of DC Comics.
Notes: Sandman, Morpheus/Titania, spoilers, takes place ... let's just say, significantly before the events of the series. Rated PG-13.
He dislikes glamours, the Lord Shaper. The Dreamweaver, the Prince of Stories, the Lord of Nightmares, the King of Dreams.
He makes me remove my glamour, he strips me bare of magic and beauty and clothing, and he takes me in his arms...
His eyes see me, and they desire me.
But I will not speak of Desire.
He waits until I have divested myself of charms and enchantments, until I stand before him, skinny and plain. And he loves me, without artifice.
I am sure that he loves me.
I believe it with a simplicty that would drive my courtiers to laughter, if they but knew.
(But they will never know.)
Ah, but we are a simple face, despite our masks of complexity.
Masks and glamours.
We delight in games. (But I cannot speak of Delight.) We are like children, playing at being sophisticated. We have our intrigues, our trysts, our little deceptions, all to hide the fact that we are as infants.
But some trysts are hidden better than others: my husband must not know.
He knows, curse him. He knows what we really are, and I cannot fathom why he likes us in spite of it. But he is older than I, and he sees through our glamours.
He cares little for the illusions that others create. Perhaps he is a jealous craftsman, guarding his privileged status as the Weaver of Dreams.
Or perhaps it's more simple than that.
Perhaps he simple likes to touch reality. Sometimes.
He waits for me, as I strip myself of illusion. Auberon never waited. Rarely savoured.
Auberon will never know of this. I keep it to myself: my liaison with the Lord Shaper, and the starkness of my unglamourous form.
A true form is like a true name. It should be revealed to as few as possible.
I am quite sure that he loves me...
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