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ambercoloredfox · 1 year

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Crown of Curses

Summary: A thief steals something more than a jewel to find that the curse she bears runs deep as the blood in her veins.

Pairing: Morpheus x f!Reader/OC

Rating: Teen. Maybe Mature for cursing (ha).

Notes: Content warning for choking, mentions of murder, crime scene photos. Nothing too graphic.

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"Regression to the mean." My mouth formed the words without me meaning to.

The blade dropped again, halting nearly within arms reach. I whimpered.

"Yes, exactly." The man said, nearly sounding proud. "The universe always has ways of trying to, ah, correct it's mistakes. You are here to do the correcting."

"Correcting?" I echoed. "Correcting what?"

Another foot. The point hovered directly above my heart.

"Your ancestor's mistakes."

"Yer cursed."

I tore my eyes away from the fence to glance at the man who had spoken, barely visible from his shadowed alley. His clothes were expectedly torn and filthy, layered rags to vainly fight against the growing New England chill. Eyes glossy and unfocused, he brought a bottle to his dry and cracked lips before continuing.

"Ye'll never know peace. Yer cursed."

"Yeah," I muttered, "Heard you the first time."

Adjusting the strap of my pack, I reached into my pocket for a few bills I could spare. I was used to this by now. At least he wasn't screaming at me to leave.

Why was it only those lost in their misfortunes could spot my curse? It had certainly made growing up on the streets as a teen difficult.

I handed him a wad of twenties and he was good enough to take them with a nod and a quick lift of his bottle, like some half hearted cheer. If I asked him what he meant by cursed, I knew I wouldn't receive an answer. The only answer I had ever gotten from those like him was that they just knew.

On some level I did too. I could feel it in my bones.

It didn't matter. All that mattered now was getting answers. Answers that were just beyond this fence.

I followed the barrier until I found a spot where the buildings surrounding it had the least windows, where the absent street lights threw the area in comforting shadows. Setting down the pack, I quietly pulled out the bolt cutters and got to work removing a portion of the fence.

In short work I had a hole big enough for my small form to slide through. Gathering my pack, I slipped inside.

Soft footsteps in harsh snow. Heel to toe. Heel to toe. The scarf wrapped around my face did more than hide my appearance, it also contained the fog of my breath. Here I was in my element. Here I didn't exist.

I was merely a shadow in the night.

The cameras were old and out dated, I discovered at a glance. Likely only filming in black and white. Stick to the dark and my presence might never be felt at all.

The closest container to me read #35. I pulled the folded note from my jacket pocket. It had been surprisingly easy to figure out which storage container was his. The receptionist had been very susceptible to social engineering.

I needed #63. Finding which way the numbers increased, I kept my body low and my movements precise. It didn't help the growing pit in my stomach.

The storage container was across the path, lit up in the most unhelpful way. The only options were to be spotted by the security cameras or retrace my steps and find a different part of the fence to breach.

Or.

Be creative. I could do that. With a hop and a groan, I was up on top of the closest container, sliding along the gathered snow on my belly until once more out of sight. I jumped across the point where the containers angled together, then landed right in front of my target.

A decade spent as a burglar was really paying off.

Finding my lockpick set in my bag, I made quick work of the 'master' lock and opened the large doors as silently as I could. Just enough to slip inside.

It was dark as hell. I fumbled for my flashlight, accidentally knocking my lockpick set out of the bag. There was a hollow metal echo as they clanged to the floor. I froze.

Fucking curse.

After counting to thirty and hearing no noise, I clicked on the flashlight.

"Goddamn it."

The storage was floor to ceiling with junk. I wasn't even sure what I was looking for-- how was I supposed to find it before the morning? Frustrated, I rearranged my pack as I thought of a plan.

My answer to whatever the hell cursed me was here. I knew it was. But just looking through boxes wasn't going to help. And it certainly wouldn't help to stumble upon something I didn't want to see.

Like pictures.

Hazy memories gripped me unbidden, and I fought back the images of a face I didn't want to remember. I waited for my breathing to even out again before moving. There had to be something I overlooked.

A folder was tugged from the confines of my pack, it's edges crinkled with wear and use. I hardly blinked at the photos of the corpses that greeted me. This puzzle had been with me for so long that I saw the victims every night in my dreams. Yet the question always remained.

Why?

Only one report didn't have a picture and was good enough to leave my dreams untarnished. Younger me had thought it had been a weakness. Now I knew better.

It would've been terrible to have the only picture, the only image I could remember of my mother, be her mutilated corpse.

I glanced once more at the boxes lining the walls. Did I dare? Would it be worth it?

No. The fear of seeing his picture, of remembering what he looked like instead of my mother, was too much to bear. This was his storage after all. All of his things.

Much more like I'd find pictures of my father rather than my mother.

The bastard didn't deserve to have his face remembered.

I flicked through the crime scene reports that I had memorized long ago, searching for some clue I might have missed. The whole event was strange. Looking too closely, none of it made sense. The facts were obvious. The facts showed my father had gone on a murder spree. He had admitted as much.

A murder spree, where every killing blow was made by someone other than him.

Cursed.

It was as I read through my father's screaming ramblings the night he had been arrested, that it happened. 'My ruby-!' the page read.

The room filled with a faint red glow. I nearly dropped my flashlight in shock. With a click I washed my self in darkness.

Red light was coming from the cracks of a crate on the far back wall. Cautiously, I approached and pulled it from it's long forgotten place.

Inside was a large rectangular ruby, adorned in gold. It glowed with an unnatural light. I reached, but hesitated before my fingertips touched the gem.

This, this was the reason I was cursed. I was sure of it.

Pulling my sleeve over my hand, I made sure not to touch the cursed object with bare skin. With the gem tucked safely in a spare pocket of my pack, I returned the crate and slipped back into the night.

I leaned over the motel room desk, staring at the scarlet facets that mocked me. For so long I had wished I had some answer...

But now I found it, it only brought more questions.

The alcohol burned all the way to my nostrils as I took another harsh swig. It hadn't glowed again. I didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad.

I had it now. This cursed ruby that had taken everything away from me. And now that I had it...

I had no idea what to do with it.

What the fuck did I know about curses and magic? I was a goddamn thief.

Of course I had one idea on what to do. The one thing I really really didn't want to do.

Don't be a coward, I chastised myself with a sigh.

My hands shook slightly as I raised them, causing me to pause and stare.

"Fuck it."

I pinched my eyes shut and pressed my fingers to the ruby.

Nothing happened.

I opened a single eye. The damn thing wasn't even glowing. I let out the air I had been hoarding in one quick whoosh.

"How anticlimactic." I muttered, taking another drink.

The first light of the morning was forcing it's way through the shut blinds, becoming impossible to ignore. Double checking the door was locked, I finished my drink and flopped down on the bed.

Emotional exhaustion had me slipping consciousness before I could even get my shoes off.

The gentle lapping of calm waters greeted me. It was harshly contrasted by the oppressive darkness that met my eyes. Black water mirrored the void above. The dark rotting wood beneath my feet groaned in protest under my weight.

My reflection in the water stared expectantly back at me. I didn't know what it wanted.

Looking behind me I could see the old dock stretching infinitely in one direction. I saw no sign of shore. With a final glance at my reflection, I started walking in the only direction I could.

The landscape never changed, no matter how long I walked. Black water. Black sky. Dead wood under my boots. Occasionally I caught my own gaze in the water.

I still didn't know what it wanted.

After some time, I began to tire. I was getting nowhere. It was useless. My mouth was dry.

I looked at the water again, unsure of what to do. But there I found my answer. By my feet, in my reflection, was a small clay goblet. My eyes found it where the mirror image had promised it would be.

Crouching down, I examined it. Immediately, my mind made a strange, unwarranted connection, as often happens in dreams. My mind, for some reason, decided this must be the holy grail.

Now, whether this inky water was safe to drink seemed not to matter. Hadn't I read somewhere that the holy grail could make all water pure?

I dipped the goblet into the water and began to quinch my thirst. The water was unlike anything I had ever tasted. In fact, I wasn't sure I had actually tasted anything. I heard songs, saw images, felt things. The word synaesthesia comes to mind.

And yet it felt so good.

It was filling some craving, some hole in me I hadn't even known existed. I drank until my soul ran over and the water spilled out my eyes and down my cheeks. Until it became too much to bear and I knew I could drink no longer.

That knowledge didn't stop me.

My hand shook as I filled one more cup. And then one more. Voices screamed in my head. My eyes watched me from the water, my reflection frozen and tilting it's head.

The only thing that stopped me was the goblet tumbling from my trembling grasp. I watched in shock as it disappeared into the dark depths, my chest heaving. I clutched my head in my hands and tried to stop the tears.

I felt too much. I felt not enough.

My head hurt.

When I finally composed myself, I found the shore was only a short distance away. Had it always been that close? Or had it only revealed itself after I drank the darkness?

Shaking my head, I got to my feet and followed the only path I was given.

A great ornately carved gate blocked the way. It was impossibly tall, nearly disappearing into the clouds. The carvings seemed to move the longer I stared. I was sure they told a story, like the carvings you could find in temples. What the story was, I had no idea.

I didn't have to try to pry them open. The gates opened as soon as I decided I wanted to enter.

Black sand became grey mud. The landscape was brighter, but bleaker, marked only by it's barren nature. It was eerily quiet, not even the wind was good enough to howl to give the place life. It was like the land itself was holding it's breath-- like it was between breaths. My feet kept me moving onward.

When the twisting path had me rounding the corner, my heart caught in my throat. A palace. Or a castle? An impossible structure made of care and beauty.

It was crumbling.

The world itself was crying out in anguish as this, the only landmark in this barren place, was rotting. I could feel it. The last living thing here, slowly succumbing to the frostbite of time.

My feet felt disconnected from my body. I carried on towards it in a daze. Three mythical creatures carved from stone glared down at me as I approached, the life long gone from their eyes. A piece of the griffin's wing fell as I stared at it. I placed my hand upon it, my eyes closing if their own volition.

Confusion. Despair. Resignation. Decay.

I choked on the emotions that bubbled up in me, tasting them in the back of my throat. My hands wiped away tears that were not my own. Had these statues been alive?

The atmosphere was suffocating. I didn't know what I had to do, but I had to do something.

Inside was nearly as bad as outside. Everything was decrepit, a terrible place haunted by the memories of what had once been. I could taste the sorrow on the dust coating my tongue. Something was wrong here. Something was so terribly wrong.

One hallway melted into the next. I didn't know where I was going, the building itself seeming to draw me into the heart of it. For a brief moment I knew I would keep moving if I tried to be still. I had gone past the event horizon and space was twisting upon itself to move me forward.

A set of double doors swung open, moving with the energy of an eager mouth ready for it's next meal. Past the threshold, my feet finally stopped. The room inside was impossibly quiet, like a hospital church.

Dust swirled in the air, lit from three elaborate stained glass windows in the back of the room. The glass was cracked and broken, pieces of the windows littering the ground and crunching under my boots as I stepped. A chill ran up my spine.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

It sounded like funeral bells.

A stairway stretched high in the air, reaching towards the heavens. The bright light from the windows made it impossible to see what was at the top. I hesitated.

Go on, a mad voice deep within me demanded. A strange little impulse. Go on. Go on go on go on.

I set my foot on the first step, straining my eyes to see. Something black was at the top. Some dark shape.

Go on go on go on go on go on go on go on.

I took another step. Then another. It was impossibly high up. The stone steps were ancient and crumbling.

GO ON GO ON GO ON GO ON GO ON.

Three steps from the top my eyes adjusted to the light. The shape was a pale white seat, carved from marble like stone. The back of the seat was unusually high, like some sort of...

Throne.

My vision twisted, the world lurched, the ground tried to come up to meet me. With a cry, I fell to my knees and scrambled up to the even surface, away from the crumbling stairs. I glanced behind me. Nothing moved. All was well.

I took a few shaky breaths, then looked back at the throne. It seemed to fill my entire vision, my entire mind. Slowly, I got to my feet again.

GO ON GO ON GO ON GO ON GO ON GO ON.

Adrenaline spiked up my spinal chord, making my limbs feel numb. I stood in front of the throne and froze. Anxiety gripped my throat like two clamped fists, squeezing until marks would surely be left on my skin. Tears prickled in the corners of my eyes.

I knew what I had to do. I knew what this voice in the back of my head demanded. But something was stopping me.

Why me?

I didn't want this. There had to be some other way. I turned back around and found I could no longer see the floor. The stairs stretched on forever downward.

The stone beneath my feet twisted again and I stumbled, reaching back to hold on to the throne for support. It was so far down. Dizziness gripped my head.

I didn't have a choice.

GO. ON.

I was going to fall.

NO. YOU'RE GOING TO--

"--fly."

Hands grabbed my shoulders, pulling me forcefully backwards. Sitting me upon the throne like a horrid coronation.

I tried my damnedest to fight, but it was useless. The hands felt like facts, no matter how much I denied them, they held me still. The carved armrests sprang to life under my fighting grip, thin white bindings crawling like ivy over my skin. It held me fast to the throne.

The hands let go once I was secure, finding grip in my hair and forcing me to look up. I cried out it panic, kicking uselessly at the stone.

How had I not seen it on the way up?

Suspended in the air above the throne was a sword with a ruby red blade. It gleamed dangerously in the low light, it's point aimed straight for me.

The sword of Damocles.

"No. No, no, no, no, please." I cried.

A voice shushed me, a hand patting my hair. "It's quite alright. No need to be frightened, really."

He sounded like the only voice that had ever existed. Like the voice in the back of my head, only older. As if the voice in my head was only a poor mimic of what he was.

The sword dropped half a foot and I choked on a scream.

"Really now. There's no need for that." The man behind me chided. "Don't you know why you're here?"

My lips quivered, hot tears spilling from my eyes.

"I'm cursed."

Again the sword inched closer, catching itself before it came down completely.

The bastard had the audacity to chuckle.

"I suppose. From a certain point of view. Though one could argue a curse and a blessing are two sides of the same coin."

A blessing? What in the ever loving fuck was blessed about this? My eyes never left the blade.

"No, no. You see," The man continued, "Are you familiar with statistics?"

I said nothing, but my mind clearly remembered the books I had devoured on the many days I found myself practically living in the public library.

"When the extreme of a variable is found in a sample, the second sample is more likely to return to the average of the population, you see."

"Regression to the mean." My mouth formed the words without me meaning to.

The blade dropped again, halting nearly within arms reach. I whimpered.

"Yes, exactly." The man said, nearly sounding proud. "The universe always has ways of trying to, ah, correct it's mistakes. You are here to do the correcting."

"Correcting?" I echoed. "Correcting what?"

Another foot. The point hovered directly above my heart.

"Your ancestor's mistakes."

"But I didn't... I didn't do anything!" I sobbed.

He patted my head again.

"Oh dear, I know. The blood running through your veins was spilled in an ancient rite, upsetting the balance of the universe. Unfortunately old magic and even older laws have bound your fate. We of the First Circle have no choice but to ensure... well, regression to the mean, as you say."

With that, the sword fell, plunging it's red blade into my chest. The hum of the sword pulsed through my veins with every heartbeat. I let out a shocked wheeze.

It felt like fire. It felt like ice. It felt like electricity. It felt like a storm. It felt like a whisper. It felt like a roar. It felt like stories untold.

It all melted into me.

His hands found my shoulders once more.

"But do remember what I said. A blessing and a curse can be one in the same. It's all a matter of, ah, perspective."

My vision filled with a flash of blinding red light.

I startled awake, blinking away dots in my vision as if someone had just taken a picture of me with the flash on. Gulping down lung fulls of air, I was never more glad to see a shitty motel room.

It was just a dream. Just a fucked up dream.

Letting out a disbelieving laugh, I wiped the tears that had been running down my face. My phone told me I still had a few hours before I had to check out. Enough time to shower and check my messages. I did the latter first, not wanting to give my mind time to dwell.

It seemed like I had been missed in Brooklyn. I had three potential clients asking for me and Giovanetti left a message inviting me to dinner at a restaurant that didn't exist. Meaning the Boss had a job for me.

At least I wasn't about to go hungry from my little vacation.

Pulling out my laptop, I wrote to the clients asking for details before pondering what job the mob would want me to do this time. Surprisingly, they weren't too bad to work with, if you had firm boundaries. I was a thief, an agent for hire, nothing more. I had no loyalties. If they didn't like that, I could disappear and they'd never get my expertise again.

Turns out they appreciated the honesty of our arrangement just fine. I had been working with them for a few years now with little problem. Didn't mean I would let my guard down.

I turned on the shower and watched as the water heated. Maybe they had taken my advice about the insurance scam that would be easy money. Announcing my intention to steal a piece of fine art after already stealing it-- best idea I'd ever had, and it had already worked three times.

They only had to was invest in some extra sham security after the announcement and then act surprised when it was gone. All while selling the piece themselves on the black market.

Easy money. And the only people it hurt were some insurance executive assholes.

What was it the media had started calling me? The Unicorn? Because they didn't believe I existed.

Amazing.

These thoughts had plastered themselves over the unease carried into my waking hours like pleasant wallpaper over an ugly paint job. I had nearly forgotten the strange dream as I began to pull off my clothes to shower.

It all came rushing back as I took off my shirt and something cold hit my chest. Right above my heart.

I didn't dare look down. Like a coward, I turned slowly towards the mirror.

Blood red. Over my heart.

Impossible.

Not giving a damn that I was still naked, I rushed out of the bathroom to the small desk.

It was empty. The ruby was gone.

I still didn't want to look down. I went back to the mirror. The sound of the shower was an echo of my mind. Drowning white static.

The ruby necklace lay hanging around my neck. I didn't put it on. I wouldn't have.

Surely I was losing my mind?

I touched the golden chain, unable to face the red gem. Hadn't the chain been longer? Or had that been my imagination?

I was losing my mind. Just like my father had.

Panic clawed it's way up my back like a startled cat. I twisted in fear, fingers fumbling to find the clasp. Only one thing ran through my mind as my fingers flew.

Get it off. Off off off.

There was no clasp. A strangled sound escaped my throat. My vision narrowed so I could only see the cursed ruby in the mirror. Terror thrummed through my blood like war drums.

GET IT OFF.

I clenched my fist around the gem and tugged with all my might.

The ruby tugged back.

Red light flared to life. Gold constricted around my throat, getting tighter the more I struggled.

Panic held me tighter than the curse ever could.

I clawed at my throat and fought the chain, leaving deep red scratches that mimicked the infernal light. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't scream. My vision blurred, then darkened.

Only when I slumped over the counter, nearly passed out from my efforts, did the punishment finally stop. My hands and forearms pressed into the cool linoleum as my body fought to regain oxygen. I raised my head and met my own dark eyes in the mirror. Red glimmered just beneath my vision.

I was fucking cursed.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #dream x oc #dream x y/n #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x oc #sandman fanfiction #the whole 'go on' sequence reminded me of that one doctor who episode #you know. with the devil #i really like writing dream sequences #now with editing!

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