⟪ north wind, huh. it’s fine. dream’s dad is time, so. nothing to faze the prince of stories — if he’s ever told — though something kieran says does rattle him, his nerves, unbound by their usual self-made shackles but still struggling to find their footing. a part of him feels so desperately empty, and almost too full at the same time; he grapples with the feeling, watching kieran’s unease shake his body as his own visibly stiffens.

killed. powers. dreams.

his head tilts slow-motion, further towards kieran, desolated stars sweeping his face like searchlights. celestial fires no longer burn behind the thinnest scrim of blue, but it doesn’t keep him from glowering, stunned into dismayed paralysis; his knuckles have gone white around the cup. ⟫

Dreams. ⟪ a snarl, toneless whispered. of course dream would think himself the main target of whoever’s in charge here, an usurper, but is it really that far-fetched. he is powerless, amongst equally powerless dreamers, and a stranger gives them powers through dreams. ⟫

You will tell me where she dwells.