Morpheus battled insomnia that night, tossing and turning in a restless struggle. Despite his weariness, sleep eluded him, his mind consumed by thoughts of Persephone.

Unable to divert his focus, he found himself immersed in memories of her. Yet, in the rare moments when her image faded, all that remained was the haunting specter of his life, besieged by bullets. The merciless brutality of the battlefield lingered in his thoughts-the shattered ruins, the blood-soaked drains.

He curled into a ball and closed his eyes, a sharp pain radiating from the depths of his heart. Trembling and breathless, he grappled with the overwhelming anguish.

Morpheus summoned his strength and compelled himself to sit up, seeking solace in the bathroom. Cold water cascaded over his wounds as he cleansed them repeatedly.

Gazing into the mirror, he confronted his reflection, a visual narrative of scars, old and new. Perhaps, he mused, his involvement in the gritty underground arena served as a deliberate choice to overlay fresh wounds upon the scars of the past.

These recent injuries, a stark reminder of his continued existence, seemed to echo the resilience he forged amid the ashes of war.

Morpheus had survived, not only for himself but for those who shared the tumultuous journey through the chaos of battle.

Morpheus only succumbed to slumber as the first light of day began to break.

Upon awakening, he noted the clock on the wall signaling 7:00 a.m.

He went to the balcony and took deep breaths, invigorated by the morning breeze. Surveying the room, he speculated that Persephone was still asleep. He headed to the kitchen with brisk steps to prepare breakfast.

His breakfast had once been a simple affair.

As he was about to place a premade beef sandwich on the dining table, a sudden recollection of Persephone struggling to eat flashed in his mind.

Momentarily perplexed, he pondered what she used to eat at home, realizing it couldn't be a hasty grab from the refrigerator.

He sighed and kept the cold sandwich for himself, deciding to make an unprecedented morning market visit. There, he acquired a fresh croissant and coffee. Once everything was ready, he knocked on the door.

In the absence of any response, he hesitated, concerned that something might be amiss. He tentatively tested the doorknob and discovered that Persephone had not locked the door. Pushing it open gently, he peered through the gap.

To his surprise, Persephone wasn't asleep on the bed but rather at the desk. On closer inspection, she appeared to be sleeping soundly, occasionally smacking her lips and mumbling something. "Sephy..." He tapped her shoulder. "Sephy?"

"Hmm..."

Persephone was dreaming of her parents and brother. Their voices reached her, but before she could engage in conversation, a distant call interrupted the moment.

Suddenly, she was plummeting at lightning speed...

"Ahh!" Her scream echoed as she jolted upright.

She stared blankly at the face before her in her drowsiness for what felt like an eternity.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Morpheus waved a hand to get her attention.

Reality snapped back into focus.

"Oh, I'm okay," she replied softly. "W-Why are you here?"

"You didn't answer the door," he stated flatly. "Come, it's time for breakfast."

She reluctantly rose from her 'bed'. Morpheus noticed the papers under her arms.

"What are these?"

"Oh, I meant to give you these!" She smiled, recalling the purpose, and handed him the papers.

Her handwriting was flamboyant. While handwriting often revealed one's personality, hers didn't quite align. Morpheus glanced at it briefly, his expression changing.

The papers detailed names and prescriptions of traditional medicine.

"You..."

"I wrote these down after thinking all night!" She giggled. "They're traditional medicines... Look, Morpheus!"

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