Brandon
What constituted a dream? If it felt real, was it not reality? Who was to say there was any difference between the two? These were existential questions that the waking world both loved and loathed. This double-edged sword could give you caress with an unrequited love or bring you to a sweaty, emotional tremble in the dark. There was no defense against it. All that drew breath passed through his domain, subconsciously praying this existential boogyman did not notice their presence. When the mind was at its most vulnerable and needed its rest, that was when the Dream Lord would strike. 

This was a less Amara, daughter of Eros, and Champion of the Fear would find out this very evening. She *Thought* She knew fear, but it turned out she was only passing familiar with what a nightmare truly was. 

"Amara, you're on in thirty seconds. Cameras going live in five, four, three.." The count went silent, and after a few seconds, a crowd erupted with thunderous applause beyond a red curtain. She would find she could not move. She was but a passenger on a theme park behind what she knew to be *Her* Eyes. Unbidden, her gaze dropped to observe her attire. From what she could tell, it was thin in material that hugged her heavenly form as if it was designed specifically to drape across her. This highlighted her femininity and drew eyes that were caught in the sparkly cloth that shimmered in the stray beams of light. It was elegant, and as she shifted nervously, the clack of her heel upon a solid surface indicated the difference in height. 

None of this felt like a dream. Fingers pulled by an unknown puppeteer caressed the crimson curtain before her. There was no indication that she could jerk awake. The thought never crossed her mind. It was more so how she had got and what this was all about. What she heard next did not help this in the slightest. 

"I'd like you all to join me in welcoming my next guest." That voice could be so soothing in an intimate setting. If whispered into the right ear, one could imagine the chills it would send down another's spine. Only now was it projected with force and cast to play to a crowd with the confidence of a seasoned showman. "You might know her from sowing chaos and discourse through the mortal realm. You don't want to catch her on a bad day, folks. May I introduce Amara!"

The curtain pulled back, and a hand she would never know the identity of pushed at the center of her back, sending her traitorous legs into motion. All movement was unbidden. Her face turned and waved to a crowd of shadows that did not move. They should have been clapping and cheering, but these featureless faces sat motionless in the crowd. They had no eyes, but she could feel the weight of their gaze on her as oppressive as a bolder upon her chest. A smile and wave played to the shadow patrons before she felt a hand upon her arm. 

When she turned, a handsome figure loomed over her. Dark eyes with a smile that did not reach the distance to give them life. A head of dark curls that looked both perfectly styled and as if he'd just gotten out of bed, all in the same thought. She may not have known the dream god by a glance, but his was the only face she had to draw upon. This figure leaned close, kissing her on the cheek before he motioned to the couch. Only when her legs carried her across and she sat on the couch would she find she had autonomy. Her head could turn, her fingers could grasp, and she could say what she willed. She would find, however, that she could not rise. One leg delicately crossed over the other and would not betray the one who commanded her. 

This host smoothed his hand down along the front of his suit as he shifted back into his chair behind the desk that separated their conversation. Off to his left, she would spy a brightly colored sign that might have given her a bone-chilling conclusion as to where she was. It read**"Late Night Talking with Morpheus"** Set in front of a neon moon. A blatant tell that she was in the viper's nest and she would not be allowed out unless the god across from her felt like he was done with her. 

"Welcome, welcome." He said, tapping his note cards on the desk to give him that personification of being an actual Late Night Host in the same vein as a Conan O'Brien or Craig Fergusson. "It's good to have you on finally. I hear you've been very busy making a mess of things with the mortals." As if on cue, the motionless shadow audience gave a raucous bit of laughter. They were given there time before the host sighed, shook his head, and looked upon her. "Now, why would you go and break little mortals *Like that?*"
Clyde
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*"Amara, you're on in thirty seconds."*

"The fuck? I'm on where? Where am I?" Words she had thought to have spoken, but her lips did not move. Her fingers twitched, and fear struck a chord within as she realized she was immobile. What sorcery was this? She could sense magic within the air, it filled her nostrils and made her sick to her stomach as she had no ability to fight against it. 

The sound of a crowd filled her ears and Amara felt her throat tighten. Tonight, the daughter of Eros and Champion of fear would unravel what it felt like to be in the passenger seat to the very chaos she caused. As the countdown echoed within her ear, the bright gaze that contrasted her darkness glanced down. Her attire adorned her like a sheer sheet of silk, rippling across an ethereal body that she otherwise flaunted proudly in front of her victims, manipulating them closer with the promise of silken touches to what lay beneath. Yet here she felt naked, a vulnerability that made her throat tighten under the vice grip within her own head. Wishing to cover herself and sink within the shadows. To disappear from the awaiting faces beyond that stage. 
_ _

Whatever this was felt entirely too real, no facade of an illusion as the curtains parted and Amara's legs betrayed her. Slide of skin against the elegance of her dress, heels clicking with a grace and confidence that was absent entirely. This was not her, this was a power that toyed with her every whim to run. Within she was slamming against the walls of control, outward was a cool facade of deathly charm. Every stare within the audience could be felt, Amara wishing to gasp for breath as her lips refused to move. Her chest rising and falling with an ease that felt a betrayal as she internally screamed and gasped for air. She was drowning, but an edge pulled at her lips in the form of a smile when her gaze graced the handsome patron before her. 

There was a magnetic allure to him, his scent the source of the strong power that held her tight within unseen rope. Dark, mysterious eyes penetrated to the very depths of her soul, holding secrets and ancient knowledge beyond her comprehension. His visage one of perfection, chiseled jawline and lips that curved into a smile that could command her knees to weaken. Yet, despite the alluring charm that captivated a response and drew her near, there was a darkness held beneath the surface that left her inactive mind begging for her to flee. 
_ _

The man leaning close, Amara's breath hitched, an unexpected moment of closeness that left an imprint that went beyond the realm they were held within. The kiss held an air of possession, as if by the simple act, he marked her as a player in this twisted game. Less than willing, her body moved to the couch to slide in a comfortable position. A guest that moved with seduction as one leg crossed over the other in deliberate fashion, silken fabric sliding to expose more of what lay beneath. 

Release, sweet release, as her head turned to a sign in bright neon. *Late Night Talking with Morpheus.* Her head snapped to the man before her as realization washed over her in a cold sweat. The dark curls that cascaded around her face started to stick just slightly in an uncontrolled response to the alarm bells ringing within her head. Prince of Dreams, Lord of a Realm most had no control over, and here he was staring at her as if she was the newest toy in his shiny collection. Why? What could Amara have possibly done to bring upon the attention of the King of the Underworld's favorite shadow to use. 
_ _

*"Now, why would you go and break mortals like that?"*

Amara swallowed as the laughter drowned out any ability to think rationally. "Come now, Morpheus." Her voice had an edge of venom, covered by a purr of seduction. "Since when do you care about the mortals? I was simply having a bit of fun with them. Surely, you could care less who I choose to use as my *Play thing*?" Her tone remained suggestive, a hint of cool sarcasm despite the unknowing trepidation that shown within her eyes. 
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𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎:
Brandon
There it was. The look in the eyes of a creature when it realized it was prey. It was intoxicating. Something she knew all too well as an alpha predator. Too many times, she had inhaled that scent of fear-filled pheromones. Even in the dream, he could take a big, dramatic inhale and let out a satisfied sort of smile. His tongue trailed his teeth as the sounds of the crowd froze. It was a break in this little play he was putting on, but it all soon came back into focus. 

"Because I might get jealous."

The crowd let out a flirty "Ohhhhh" Sound as he smiled and looked to the shadows who could give him nothing in return. The man had such a charming face, and when he ordained to smile, he could be so handsome. This was odd, was it not? To know that you were on the verge of unimaginable torture with a man with a face like that? The absurdity of the moment didn't help in the slightest. 

"Well, I'm glad you ask, Amara. I care *Because* Persephone cares a great deal about what is happening with her precious mortals. She loves them, so, isn't that right, Jimmy!" He turned and pointed where more of the shadow figures stood or sat behind the instruments of a house band. "Jimmy" Said nothing, but both the host and the phantom audience burst into laughter. A burst of music as if from a big band sounded out, yet not a fiber of darkness twitched to make it happen. 

The tone she used, however, had tickled something in him. The thrill of desire. God or not, he could be beguiled by beauty, and the painfully slow tour of the slender lines of her neck and the swell in her torso could not be overlooked. There were ways for her to fight fire with fire, but did she want to tempt the god of dreams when she did not have autonomy? Would he give into the dark desires and *Force* Things upon her? What was capable of was impossible to tell behind eyes so dark?

"No, no, no. Amara. You see, I know what you are thinking." The index card was brought to his brow as if he was trying to divine something from it. "You are thinking you will tell me what I want to hear and go back to doing what you were doing. Breaking the minds of mortals and giggling about it on the way to your little house of horrors when the reality is this." Suddenly, his hand slammed into the desk with a resounding thud, and he stood. The lighting in the room shifted to something ominous and backlit him like some demon from the nine hells. "You will stop, or every second in my realm will visit ten the damage upon you that you deal to them."

In a blink, the set was back to normal, and everyone, including the host who had just looked so horrifying, was now laughing as if they had just told the funniest joke. "So, let's talk about it. Let's figure out what sort of horror I'm going to have to visit upon you to make you see reason. Are you a snakes kind of gal? Do you hate big crowds?" He tsked and shook his head. "I know what makes your skin crawl, Amara. I want to introduce you to a friend of mine."

From behind his desk, he lifted a marionette puppet by the wooden pieces that controlled the string-attached toys. It would take seconds for her to realize that the doll looked just like her, down to the outfit she was wearing now. "Isn't she beautiful? Why, if she wasn't such a little sadist, maybe I'd have asked her on the date." He laughed falsely along with the rest of the audience. With a flick of the wrist, the doll kicked, and in response, so too did her body. Then he did so again, nearly dragging her off the couch with the force of it all. 

"This is just foreplay, dear. We have *All night* To get to the good stuff. Tell me, audience, would you love to see her *Dance?*"
Clyde
Supress it. Press the fear so far down that it had no choice but to be smothered within the cold endless abyss of darkness. This is what she attempted to do, desperately, as a cheshire cat grin spread across her face. Leaning forward with all the confidence she could muster, Amara hid her shaking hands between her thighs and answered with the promise of lust and sin within her voice. "Morpheus, darling, if you wanted to be my play thing, all you had to do was ask."

*"Persephone."*

So it wasn't the King that she had caught the attention of, but the Queen. The pretty lil' thing that had caught the affections of the underworld, and wrapped it around her finger. Innocent eyes, and manipulative words of false niceities. No one was that sweet, and Persephone was certainly far from Amara's taste. A woman that hid behind power and man, the only reason she was to be feared from any god or goddess amongst the realms. A scoff came from her as she leaned backwards at the name. "So you are Persephone's pet now, *Cute*." Sarcasm dripped from her done up lips, and her eyes studied the darkness beyond. 
_ _

What was this world? She had heard of Morpheus, heard of his ability to hold those he wished into a never ending nightmare of his imagining. It was awe-inspiring, a tantilizing idea of torture that made the hairs along her arms stand on end. Yet fear prickled in the form of beads against her neck as she realized that was entirely the loop she was now threatened to be trapped within. 

Amara's heartbeat echoed a chaotic rhythm within its cage. A shiver crackled down her spine, an unspoken acknowledgement of the perilous game she found herself entangled within. She was within his web now, at his mercy in ways beyond her abilities. Her body was not her own, her mind not her own. Yet, beneath the surface, a spark of defiance flickered in her eyes, a spark of rebellion that challenged the darkness with a tightening of her jaw. 

She was the demigod of fear, chosen to be his champion. What was she, if she folded so easily? Sweat made her legs glisten, her cheeks colored a soft pink and the red paint upon full lips hid the paling of them beneath. She was terrified, she was furious, but she was stubborn all the same. Wishing to show him nothing of the true effect he had upon her, breath hitching in silence as he shown his true intentions.
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*"You will stop, or every second in my realm will visit ten the damage upon you that you deal to them."*

A smile had started to creep along her face at his mediocre suggestions. Fear was seductive for Amara, such things as snakes and crowds did little but plummet her into a reminder of the scent of fear tickling her nose. The face her victims made as they drowned within the dark waves she washed over them. So quickly did it drop, however, as she watched the puppet come to life. 

"I would think sadism was temptation to you." Her voice had lost a hint of its lackluster now. There was a threat, a knife's edge to the cornered wild cat. He had her by the throat. So quickly did he dive into the most intimate depths of her mind. Each word from Morpheus sliced through her resistance, leaving her exposed to the unsettling dance of manipulation she was now in. 

The demigod of fear found herself ensnared in a psychological chess match, the stakes escalating with every move. Her once confident smirk now wavered, the cheshire cat facade chipping away slowly to unveil the raw, unfiltered emotions beneath. Rage. Rage at the lack of control became icy flames in her ocean-blue eyes.

"Morpheus." Her voice was an attempt at a warning, a growl to it that shown she wished for this to stop.
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Brandon
If she thought she could wound his pride with her little jabs, she was wrong. She did not possess the technique nor the knowledge to send haymakers that would even begin to dent his ego in any perceivable way. If he was Persephone's pet, then so be it. A light roll of his wrist asked the rhetorical question without words. *And?* She would need to dig deeper than the tools she had would allow to wake that beast. 

Morpheus gazed upon her as if he could cut not only through the cloth but every single atom that was her being. There were no secrets. Nothing she could hide. In the same breath, even in his own realm, she would be able to note the curious way his eyes drank in her exceptional figure. Like all gods, he knew temptation. The pounding pulse that redistributed blood flow. He was simply better at hiding it and suppressing desires than most. Of all the gods, save for perhaps Death himself, he was the least likely to have a child. 

For the most part, the realm around them had gone silent to the point of a pin drop. There was no shuffling or steps of a production crew. Eyeless voids simply directed their attention only on her. Only their back and forth broke the monotony of the void. She spoke of sadism and temptation, and the owner of this realm could only shake his head. "You know not the god you deal with. You should educate yourself when your eyes are open. You will be seeing me quite often."

It was only natural that as the cage walls closed in around her, she would start biting back. When one could not seduce or bargain, they would threaten. By now, all of these encounters have played out in about the same way. This was why Morpheus liked to jazz up the meetings with scenarios he deemed entertaining. It was part of his plan to forever keep his opponent off balance. For every move she made, he countered. This may have been chess, but he was playing in a dimension she did not have access to. 

*Morpheus* The low growl in her voice suddenly shifted something in the dream god. She would blink once, and suddenly the scene shifted. He was standing over her, and the studio was gone. It was just them, the couch, and the blackened void. The hands that had been liberated mere moments before were suddenly yanked out to both sides by shadowy tendrils, crucifying her upon the couch. She could strain, but no part of her would reply. The melancholy man grasped her by the throat, his thumb pressing into the artery in such a way that it would create a lightheaded sensation. None of this felt like a dream. It felt as real as anything she'd ever felt. 

"What.." He began in a menacing yet patient sort of tone. "..Do you think you could possibly do to me, half-blood?" There was violence in his quiet. A threat implied that he could pull and disconnect her pretty little head from her neck. "You are but an ant under a magnifying glass in the mid-day sun. I will burn the sanity from your bones and leave you a stark, raving mad beggar in an ally. And I *Will* Do it slowly. You do not understand sadism as I do. Not -even- close.."

Leaning in, he sniffed, and when he adjusted his thumb, it was so his tongue could gently drag over where it had just been pressing. "You're afraid.." He began, chuckling as he drew back. "I can taste it. I can smell it.." Nodding, the tip of his nose brushed her own. "This is where the fun starts.."

In the darkness, a piano sounded like a chorus of noise. In another blink, she was back in the studio. Morpheus was behind his desk, and she was standing on the couch, her legs launching her into a performance. Words left lips that were not her own. If she could sing or not didn't matter. If she closed her mouth, the sound still echoed as if her lips were forming the world. The music carried on, and she, in turn, danced to his tune.

"I could have danced all night. I could have danced all night. And still have begged for more. I could have spread my wings and done a thousand things I've never done before." In a spin, she could see that the marionette puppet he had conjured before was mimicking her movements. Or was she mimicking it? It was a paradoxical question that did not matter. The crowd made no sound, but she could see Morpheus plain as day, feet kicked up on his desk as if this were a commercial break with a smoldering cigarette hanging out of the corner of his lips. With each tap of his foot, a clap sounded from the crowd despite there being no movement. 

Perhaps she thought she knew hell. 

Morpheus would redefine what that meant.
Clyde
"Quite often? Are those words of threat or promise, Prince of Dreams." Amara purred in a mocking tone. Cornered and yet her feet bounced in casual manner and tongue ran over teeth. Eyes everywhere could be felt upon her, but her steel gaze could feel the weight of only his. Focused entirely on his and the way it flickered between desire and sadistic nature. He could claim retribution in the name of his Queen all he wanted, but Amara could not help but wonder the true beast that roamed beneath. If he wasn't so far off from his victim before him.

In answer to her piqued interest he was upon her. His breath tickling the small hairs upon her neck and his hands taking every chance of breath away. It was just them now. Just the two of them in his realm and Amara felt infinitely more vulnerable as he explored her closely. Hands brushing places she hadn't dared let people venture close to in what felt like years. 
_ _

"And what if I am?" There was a bite in her words. An attempt to hide the quickening of her pulse beneath his tongue, as he brushed nerves that felt far too alive in this dreamscape. Damn him, and damn Persephone for sending her hell hound upon her like a rabid dog who's teeth were baring with glee at her throat. "Fear is something I constantly dwell within as you wander through dreams. Do not tempt me with a fun time Morpheus. We could play together for *Centuries* Before you have me upon my knees."

Sarcasm oozed from her silver tongue as her teeth playfully nipped in his direction. She would not give him such easy satisfaction. She refused to be a blubbering mess before him, despite her head swimming with the sight of stars, as her stomach tightened in knots from him looming above her. 
_ _

"Does Deimos know you are here?" Her head tilted in curious fashion. An idle threat, silent in action if he knew anything of their relationship. Deimos had used her, played with her, and then discarded her when he grew bored. Morpheus was nothing upon the same levels as the first man who tore her heart from her chest and stomped upon it. A close look showing the hatred of being one's play thing already, as she remained beneath his thumb and at his whim for power alone. 

An answer wouldn't be given yet. Not when she was sent upon his whim to dance for him. Play along in his twisted game with no control. A performance for the infinite darkness and him, his messy hair and smug smile seen from the shadows. Smoke exhaling from his lips and cascading around him in an alluring scene of nightmarish intoxication. 
_ _

On and on she performed. On and on she danced for him until her chest heaved and sweat beaded from her body in a different sort of glow. The makeup and hair that had been done up now threatened to fall and smudge, and her eyes spoke of nothing but sheer hatred. "Do you think you are accomplishing anything here?" She mocked him in her anger, her heartbeat ramming against its cage and her subconscious demanding her mouth to quiet. 

"I could do this all night long." In the little control she had, she let a strap fall from her shoulder and changed her gaze to one of sarcastic lust. Her smile twisted in a tease of temptation. "...Though I think you are wasting time when we could be doing... Far more entertaining things." Any closer to her, just close enough, and she would attack. Even in this dreamscape, one slip up and she would sick her teeth within his skin and hope it would allow the momentary lapse for ability to wake from this hellish nightmare.
_ _
Brandon
"Demios.." Oh, that wicked devil's smile that appeared on his lips as she said the name, as if she had just said something funny. "And what would Demios do to me? You one dimensional lots with your narrow spheres." Two fingers held up inches in front of his face. "Fears can be conquered. My realm cannot. It is timeless, and the basis of all things save for air and whatever. What hope could he have against me? Especially given that our mutual lord and lady told me to bring you in line. He will fall in line, too, or he will end up on the same set, dancing for the same crowd while I enjoy myself. 

The hierarchy in the Underworld was strict, and Lord Hades held to it with an iron first. It was how he operated with such impunity. Demios would fall in line just like Morpheus knew he would in some situation in the future. "I will let him know if you like. I will let him know who's little plaything you are now." She would be able to see his tongue trace over his lips as if the taste of her on them was delicious. A flavor he wished to savor and commit to memory. 

The dance continued, the cheering sounded, and still, she spun her words. Never did that amused look upon his features fade. A cool drag of the smoke between his lips allowed him to exhale a fountain of smoke that further shrouded him in mist. Something happened, though, at the fall of her dress. A subtle shift in his brow indicated a look THAT she knew all too well. A nibble on the hook from some unsuspecting fish too hungry to properly check if it was bait. 

Morpheus stood quickly and rounded the desk like he was going to charge head-first into her arms to end her punishment at the pause. The dancing stopped, and Morephus was upon her. A hand searching to paw as his lips devoured into hers. A full-on, heated press of tongues, lips, and hands. She bit him, however, hard, and rather than blood, she tasted only parched, dry sand. 

The version of the man that had just lit fire within her melted away into the shape of a stomped stand castle beneath her feet, and Morpehus sat at the desk as if he'd never moved in the first place. "Interesting.." He said, moving slowly to stand, and he stamped his cigarette on the desk. "You -would- give yourself to me begrudgingly if it meant you could be released. A fine place to start, but we can do better." With that, he turned and started to walk off stage. One by one, the lights in the studio died away, leaving her in nothing but a spotlight she could not see beyond. The voice of the dream lord called out. 

*"When you give yourself to me, you will be willing, eager, and thankful. Soon, my pet. Very soon." 

Then she was alone. A woman with no music under a hot, bright light, dancing to tuneless silence until she mercifully woke some hours later, feeling as if she had not rested at all. And every day for a week, it would be the same. She would not see the God of Dreams until she saw him in the corporeal world. It seemed he had discovered something worse than taking away her free will. It was taking her free will and leaving her absolutely alone.