Disclaimer: this is a very short story featuring characters copyrighted and owned by Marvel Comics and DC/Vertigo/Neil Gaiman.....or whoever really owns Morpheus. (You there, God?) I don´t make squat out of this (except for the Power and the Glory, Ohahahamwuahah!!!) so don´t sue me, please, pretty please?
A SUMMERS´ DREAM
It is night in the house in Westchester, and Jean Grey-Summers sleeps.........not the peaceful sleep of the just.
She twist and moans fitfully, her dreams filled of images of a vast bird made of sparkling fire, and of a woman, her hair red, mirroring the blood on her hands.
She is beautiful and terrible, fierce, but her eyes are green and calm, twin pools of serenity that belies the inferno behind them.
She beckons, and Jean sees a child, innocent, a man whose arm is made of metal flesh, being lowered onto an alter.
Ugly demon faces grins from the shadows, their twisted faces half-familliar and loved.
Behind them, vast and dark, the pale man stands, the ruby on his forehead glinting coldly.
He smiles horribly, and hold out his arms and whispers; I love you Jean/Madelyne, come to me, and I´ll make you whole. I love you like Scott never will, because I made you.
In his eyes are the bird made of fire, crucified with alien machinery, it´s fiery wings crippled and bound.
There is a cry from the alter, where lies a girl, a young woman with red hair and green eyes, her face criss-crossed with scars. She screams, older now, ancient, her hair white.
The pale man smiles (cold oh so cold) again and reach out, his hand a harbinger of death.
A voice that is not a voice sounds; Enough. Return from the realms of nightmare to peaceful sleep, Jean Grey.
The dream changes.
She turns, as the dream fades, hoping to glimpse the truth. She sees, in an instant, a man, tall and kingly, dressed all in white, his eyes like twin stars, the bird of fire on his shoulder.
The dream ends.
It is night in the house in Westchester, and Jean Grey-Summers sleeps the sleep of the just......
The End
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