chapter 3: dreams and popcorn

Even the lightning need gentleness and tonight, in a cinema of stars,
fear found a hug, and the queen… a moment to be a child.

The tower slept.

There were no more lightning bolts tonight. no screams in the walls. No explosive laughter. Not even the timid crackle of a page turning on its own.
The Blue Tower, immense and ancient, seemed to float between two breaths.
And at the top, in a room with liquid curtains and walls full of stories, Saphira Noctielle slept.

Her bed was made of blue clouds, woven from warm mist and nameless stars.
At her feet, Élya, her doll, also slept.
She held in her arms a little dimensional teddy bear a prize won between two floating shops and her cotton face seemed to be dreaming too.

All was calm.
But in that calm… something descended.

A golden mist, slow, soft as a happy silence.

It swirled above the bed, curling into the sheets, and soon a silhouette took shape.
It needed no introduction.
Her hair floated like a cascade of stars.
Her voice whispered like a fireplace in a night full of stories.
Morphée.

He knelt at the edge of the bed, and his eyes filled with cosmic tenderness.

— “Good evening, little goddess,” he said softly. “Tonight, you dream with me.”

Saphira half-opened her eyelids. Not with fear, nor surprise.
As if she had been waiting for him.
As if she recognized him, beyond sleep.

— “I dreamed… about the movie It,” she murmured. “And pennywise was dancing in my mirror.”

Morphée smiled, amused but never mocking.

— “You want to visit your dream? reshape it your way?”

She slowly nodded.
But there was something else in her voice when she added:

— “I would also… like to tell it. not just dream it.”

Then another light descended.
Not golden, but pearly.
A scent of mythical flowers spread, and the air became denser,
as if it remembered something sacred.
A woman appeared, gentle and upright, clothed in a toga woven from clouds.

Héra.

Mother of mothers.

The one who watches over even the children of gods.

She opened her arms.

— “My little Saphira… come tell me your movie.”

And Saphira, without even hesitating, left her bed, ran, and nestled into that embrace.

She spoke softly, with those phrases that can only be said in dreams.
Those that are born in the margins and forgotten upon waking.

— “The clown… he didn’t just want to scare.
He wanted… to be seen.
To not be forgotten.
But he hurt… so we defended ourselves.”

Héra ran her fingers through her hair, in a gesture as old as the world.

— “And you would’ve wanted to talk to him, wouldn’t you?”

— “Yes.
I think… I would have wanted to calm him. With a hug.”

Morphée laughed gently, a rain of stars in his throat.

— “You’re the only child in the world who wants to hug terrors.”

The scene changed.

Without rupture. without transition.
The dream flowed from one scene to another like a clear stream.

They were now in a dreamlike cinema, suspended between two constellations.
The seats were giant fluffy creatures, halfway between celestial sheep and interstellar sloths.
And there, in one of them… Pennywise.

Not the monster.
Not the demon.
A small pale being, hunched in a corner, ice cream cone in hand.
He was crying softly.
Without a sound.
Like someone who had been badly written for far too long.

Saphira approached.
She felt no fear, no anger.
Just a tissue.

She handed it to him.
He took it.
And in a pink shiver, he slowly melted… into a small cloud.

When the dream came to an end, Morphée approached.

He covered Saphira with a blanket woven from constellations.
Héra, still leaning above her, placed a light kiss on her forehead.

— “Rest now, my light.
Tomorrow, you’ll shine again.
But tonight… dream gently.”

Saphira closed her eyes, arms wrapped around Élya.

And in a final breath, between two worlds, she whispered:

— “Thank you, mom.
Thank you, Morphée.”

The dream closed.
And that night, fear had devoured nothing.
It had received a hug.

End of Chapter 3 — Dreams and Popcorn,