In the world of material objects, only death lasts.
Darling, trust me, I know. I have seen the wealthy fall from their pedestals; I have witnessed the mighty crash into the mud with a resounding thud. The oppressed have broken free from their chains time and time again; the weak have risen to the pinnacle of society.
There is only one thing that binds them all together: they have all met Father. He can be cold and uninviting, or warm and hospitable. He can take your hand slowly, or strike you down like a flash of lightning. But he comes to all regardless.
I know only death lasts. But dreams can also last forever.
Mother embraces the world with her ashen hands, bringing both cold and the warmth of repose. Father ends all. Sister burns with a fiery passion, disregarding all who fall to her whimsy. We are a careless family, me most of all. I can afford to be careless.
I can take away everything you hold, making you throw it all away. Make you destroy everything you hold dear with a flick of my hand. Torment and bliss both fall into my control, oh, and yearning most of all. I extend my hands to everybody. Will you take take them?
To dream is to see things as they are, and as they are not. My domain is eternal yet fleeting, infinite yet ephemeral; a universe on its own. It follows my rules (or perhaps, none at all). Here, everything you can only dream of is within the reach of your fingertips.
I can make everything come true: dreams, wildest fantasies, deepest desires, darkest fears. Everything you are and will ever be, I command. A wish? A request? Darling, be careful what you wish for. You may not get exactly what you wanted (it is after all me you are talking about).
They call me a lot of things. My mother’s prized horse (I think not) the weaver, the seed; it all tends to blur over millennia. Never mistake me for father though. It tends to end badly for those who do (it will never end).
Reality proves to be daunting for those who dare and those who don’t let go. You see them on the streets, in the corners, ever speaking to me. In the white rooms, never always there. Adorable, are they not?
Reality is coming. I must tarry not.
I’ll see you later then. Farewell, love.
You wake up…. or you never do, darling.