Esme and Dream went their separate ways. Esme grew older and changed while Dream stayed the same, locked away in his throne room. Being separated from each other hurt, but there was nothing they could do. It was the way things were supposed to be.

Esme kept working as an artist, eventually earning wide acclaim and recognition for her talents. Her paintings and sculptures were sold to museums across America. They went for high prices at auction. It seemed that she'd gotten what she wanted. However, despite her respect in the artist community and financial success, she felt hollow.

She never married, had a family. When asked about it, she always laughed and said that she never had the time. In truth, she really tried. It wasn't that no man wanted her. Several had tried for her affections, but it never worked out. She found that she couldn't love any of them, no matter how badly she wanted to. Her heart remained in the Dreaming with the pale man and his star-eyes.

In Dream's realm, the clouds never really lifted. There were periods when the rain would stop and a relative calm would come over the Dreaming, but it never lasted very long. Dream brooded, never seeming to come out of the world of despair and loneliness that he'd constructed around himself.

He tried many different tactics to assuage his pain. One of the more unusual was the creation of a dream version of Esme. He made her for himself, and, for a brief period, he was happy again. Finally, he had to face the fact that it wasn't really Esme. The dream thing lacked her soul, her spark. It wasn't the same. He didn't have the heart to uncreate her. Instead, Dream changed her and made her part of the castle staff. The dark storm clouds swallowed the Dreaming once again.

Dream resigned himself to watch Esme from afar. He observed her dreams and her nightmares. So many times he wanted to interfere, but he never allowed himself. He knew that Esme wanted nothing more to do with him, and it hurt to watch her pain, which mirrored his own.

Esme became an old woman, sleeping alone in her small bed. Her work surrounded her and engulfed her. Her art had become her life. She tossed and turned in fitful dreams. On nights like this -- on all nights, in truth -- Esme wanted to return to him and his castle. She wanted to accept his gift. It hurt so much to be away from him.

At last, he came to her for the last time....

She felt the cold darkness and remembered it from years before. The face wasn't there, however. Esme reached out, trying to find it. Maybe it was hiding in the vacuum. She grasped and felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. The completeness of the void made her feel so...alone. Then, he stood before her.

"Hello, Esme," he said. Esme had never realized until that moment just how much she missed his voice.

Still, she was angry. He was deliberately going against her wishes. "I thought that I told you to leave me alone!" Esme narrowed her still-youthful eyes at him.

"I...I missed you." Dream reached out for her.

Esme moved just out of his range. "So? I missed you, too, but I never went seeking you out. I thought we had an agreement...." She turned her back to him.

"Please don't be angry with me." He extended an arm and ran his pale fingers through her long hair. It was now a mixture of silver and gold, still just as soft as he remembered.

"Don't do that," she responded harshly.

Dream's hand fell back. "I'm sorry."

She turned her head toward him slightly. "It's okay...."

"No, it isn't." He stood directly behind her but restrained himself from placing his hands on her shoulders, almost as if he were afraid of her.... "I need you. The Dreaming is miserable...."

"Oh, so that's my fault?" Esme's voice was softer now but still caustic enough to make Dream wince slightly.

"No."

She sighed and looked up at him. "Then, what's this about?"

He brought out a small box and clutched it in his hand. "You can still have it."

Esme's eyes widened but her face remained firm. "My answer hasn't changed."

Dream held it out to her. "Please take it. This is the last chance you will ever have."

"You mean...?"

Knowing what she was asking, he nodded sadly.

Esme's green eyes closed. "There were so many things I wanted to do. I was going to see Paris next year.... I was going to travel."

"You can." Dream still held that cursed little wooden container. "All you have to do is open it."

"How many times do I have to say no?"

"You want to die?"

Esme had the sudden urge to slap him, to knock some sense into Dream's head. She didn't. "Look at me. My skin is wrinkled. My bones are brittle. I'm old. It's my time.... If I'm destined to die tonight, then I welcome it." She bit her lip and studied his face. He looked the same. He hadn't changed in the decades since they'd last talked. His face was still pale and handsome. Maybe she was wrong.

"I still love you." Dream hugged her. She gave no struggle.

"I know, and you'd do best to forget me." A small, ironic smile came to her lips. "I'm obviously not good for you."

At last giving up the fight, Dream tucked the box into his white robes. "I will be there when you go. To escort you."

"I'm...I'm sorry. I wish there was a way."

Dream leaned down and kissed her creased forehead.

She pushed him away. "Don't." Esme lightly touched the still-warm spot on her forehead. "You don't want to kiss me."

He looked at her sadly. "Yes, I do."

"You always were stubborn." It didn't come out as an insult. Instead, it seemed as if she was calling him by an affectionate pet name. Esme took his hand. It was still just as cold as she remembered. "I love you...."

He closed his eyes, as if in pain. "It is time to end this dream. I'm afraid that you won't awaken."

"I know." She kissed him gently on the cheek. "I look forward to seeing you again."

Dream smiled for the first time since he'd appeared to her. "As do I."

Then, it was over. Esme remained asleep for several more hours, flitting in and out of dreams. Her last dreams were different. Solid. She could see them, hear them, smell them... She knew it was a gift, and she knew who to thank for it.

At last, the moment came. Esme's heart simply stopped. Her breathing ceased. And she was dead.

"Time to go, Esme," came a voice, seemingly from far away. Esme opened her eyes to see a pale girl dressed in black, dark make-up around her eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

Esme stood up. "Sure, I do."

Death grinned slightly. It was a friendly smile. "Chose me over my brother, huh?"

She lowered her head. "Uh-huh..." As she looked down at her hands, she saw the wrinkles drop away. She became young again, in a strange sense. She ran her fingers over her cheek. It was smoother than it had been in decades. Esme looked back at her old body on the bed. The shell that she'd occupied all her life was still curled up in the sheets, growing cold. She had shed it, and now she was going to move on. It felt strange, not like she'd imagined it. She didn't feel sad. Or angry. Or regretful. She felt numb.

Death took her hand. "It's time."

"No," she said suddenly, a surge of urgency overtaking her, "not yet. He said that he'd come."

The ghost felt something take her other hand, and she looked up. Dream's strange eyes met hers.

"I am here." Esme grinned at his usual concise way of saying things.

"I see you." She took her hand from Death and threw her arms around Dream. "I guess this is really good-bye, huh?" Her voice was muffled by the fabric of his white shirt.

Not saying a word, Dream lifted her face up with his hand and kissed her. She returned it eagerly.

Death looked away, embarrassed. Finally, she put her hands in their shoulders. Reluctantly, they broke away from each other, still keeping their hands clasped tightly. Death hated breaking them up like this, but it was what she had to do. "Little brother, I really have to take her now. I have others waiting."

Feeling Death take her arm, Esme released Dream's hands from hers and stepped beside his sister. "May I ask a question?" she said to no one in particular. "Do the dead dream?" asked Esme shakily.

Dream answered, "That is entirely up to the deceased in question."

"Oh?" There was hope in her voice.

Death sighed. "Dream..."

A suddenly regretful look came over Dream's unnaturally pale face. "I apologize. You must perform your duty." He looked over at the ghost girl, loneliness already beginning to drown the twin stars in his eyes. "Good-bye."

Death pulled her close. "Good-bye..." Esme's voice faded away, replaced by the gentle beating of mighty wings.

His sister looked at him almost apologetically. "I'm sorry, li'l brother. I have to go."

"Go." He turned away from her and stood by the bed, studying the empty body that had once been Esme. No. It had never really been her. All that she ever had been was gone. To the sunless lands. Not even Death remained anymore. He was alone.

And it hurt.

Copyright Diana Marsh, 2000 (Dream and all Sandman characters are the creations of Neil Gaiman and Mike Dringenberg and trademarks of DC Comics and Vertigo. Tethys belongs to The Dreaming comic series. Esme and Tranquil are my creations and not to be used in any stories without my permission. This is a labor of love, and no money is being made off of it. Yadda, yadda, yadda...)

Thanks to queenB and Eden for their help and encouragement on this story. Hi, guys! Also, a huge thanks to the late and great John Lennon and his musical talents.