“Hey, yeah we’re just getting started
Take your fears and let them go
For the lovers and the broken-hearted
Take a deep breath, make the world a little colorful…”
In the darkness, everything was just as it was supposed to be. Perfect.
Silent.
Serene.
On occasion, an itinerant voice might sneak in through a forgotten crevasse with one supplication or another. Always asking, never offering. But this was his home and he cherished every ounce of solitude it proffered. His job was never-ending and demanded so very much of his constant attention that he savored every moment alone with his darkness.
Moments. Dreams. Stories upon unending stories. His soft fragrance began to seep its way into the void, as if returning home from a long tedious journey. The hushed aroma of black currant and cherries wove its enchanting path as the darkness whispered back to him, “Welcome home.”
Slipping in through the cracks of oblivion, right between the waking and the phantasmic, stepped a solitary figure. His smooth footsteps echoed as they casually strode. There was no need to rush. Everything within this realm happened under his control and he refused to be hurried.
His dark hand grasped a small wooden knob and turned it, clicking into place with a quiet dull clunk. The corner of his lips curled just ever so much. Let the story begin. The muffled mechanical whir of a small motor whispered to life as black ridges began to rotate, awaiting to reveal their secrets etched in vinyl. Leaning forward, he placed a delicate needle on the outermost ring.
Soft static crept out of the gramophone’s large brass horn and the darkness commenced its awakening, taking on a hazy shape akin to a darkened room. The piano chimed in with its first note, a B-flat, and lingered. Softly at first, the harmony of sounds began to tip-toe in a beautiful ballet giving voice to the infinite abyss. Soft cherry-stained wood began to etch itself into existence across the room stretching out walls and shelves and beamed ceilings.
The house matured with each musical movement as if the piano itself was the conductor of existence in this space. Within a minor chord, intricate details forged and sliced through the vacuum of space. Trills cultivated colors and thrived on each item throughout the room in a whirlwind of inception. A perfect fifth formed a well-used hearth and lit a fire creating a cozy orange glow, while around the fireplace grew a white labyrinthine mantle that depicted guardian beasts, playful nymphs, crass satyres, winged helpers, and hidden terrors. Taking a step towards the glowing embers, soft leather arm chairs appeared in shades of deep red wine and darker polished wood to greet his touch. Beside them, a pair of perfectly sized wrought-iron tables rose from the floor with lifelike vines blooming into black iron flowers.
Behind him, bookshelves upon never-ending bookshelves filled with carefully cultivated stories and artifacts came into view. To his right, a room full of maps from several different realms hung on each wall and across several tables. Grand staircases twisted to heights unknown and luminous stained glass windows added color and grandeur at every turn casting a mystical air as if directed straight out of his imagination.
The resounding exhale of air from a cushion momentarily disrupted the intricate melodies of the piano, as the Master took a seat in his favorite armchair. Leaning back, he caressed the soft edges of the leather and happily crossed his legs as he smoothed his magenta tie. He relaxed in the subtle glow of the fire as flecks of light spilled across his well-tailored lapis blue pin-stripe suit and perfectly folded magenta and amethyst swirled pocket square. It was his solemn belief that a gentleman must always look like he stepped directly out of a resplendent dream in vibrant colors and whimsically bold patterns, especially when expecting company.
Reaching out beside him, he picked up a teacup and brought it to his perfect lips. The subtle black lines froliced across the white porcelain as the scent of black currant tea raised its steamy head and filled his senses. Golden eyes carefully observed the room as it made its final contributions to existence, making sure everything was in its proper place. The once empty void now radiated with life as the recorded piano played along in its symphonic aria.
Allowing melody to give voice to the darkness was imperative within these walls. For this was the Land of Dreams. It is well known that dreams do not take shape until given articulation by something or someone and this was the Grand Master of it all, the god of dreams himself, Morpheus. Privy to every inspired dream and devised nightmare, he alone had the ability to speak directly from god to human and all that existed in between or below. Over the course of his long history, many gods, kings, and demons alike had tried to sway his influence, but Morpheus answered to no one, for he was merely a messenger and he relished that loophole.
Sitting there, sipping his favorite tea in a room designed by the precious artistry of his favorite virtuoso, Morpheus was very much at ease.
Exhaling, he looked up over his teacup, aware of his guest. “Humans never learn, do they. They do seem to keep trying, though. Don’t you agree?” An amused smile snuck out.
The piano played softly in the background as both hands now surrounded the dainty teacup. “That’s what I admire most about them, actually. Still, I suppose you could call that madness — trying something over and over again and hoping that this time, yes — maybe this time, it will be different. Of course, but don’t we all share in that same curse?” Morpheus inhaled the sweet aroma of the tea and listened as the piano’s melody changed key. “But what if, just once, something changed?”
Morpheus glanced to his left as the scent of black plums and white asphodels delighted his senses. Flicking his right hand, a black and white ivory chess board suddenly materialized on the small table beside him, already midway through a complex game. Gliding past him, his guest reached out a slender bronze hand and moved her white bishop across the board before taking her seat.
Morpheus smiled at the enchanting figure seated beside him. Exquisite. The flowing black and white gown draped senually across her lascivious frame, secured only by a pair of golden cords, daring to be released. A lesser gentleman wouldn’t hesitate to be drawn into her aphrodisia, but he knew better. Much better.
He studied his guest as the record player caught and skipped, stuck playing the same two chords.
Skip. Playing the same two chords.
Skip. Playing the same two chords.
Skip.
“What if,” Morpheus leaned over and looked into his guest’s silver eyes, “instead of struggling with the same curse of madness over and over again–” He reached out and moved a black pawn placing it beside the white bishop, eyes never leaving hers. “– the King made a change.”
The gramophone caught correctly and the melody played forward.
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