Rachel Andric swung the black cloak over her shoulders, fastening the clasp with her slender, pale fingers. As she gazed at the image in the mirror, she flicked the cowl over her blonde curls of hair, hiding her clear-blue eyes in the shadows of the cloak. The monochromatic outfit, complete with black breeches and a black blouse, were all part of the position of power she'd been put into—the position of Morpheus, god of sleep. Or goddess now, she supposed, though she wasn't too sure about that.

Pushing any thoughts about her position from her head, Rachel determined that she was just going to enjoy her day. It was, after all, her day. The day of her wedding. For years, she had read all the Story books about the princesses meeting their princes and getting their "happily ever after". In none of those books did the princesses end up marrying the prince who had murdered their parents, but ... well, Rachel didn't claim to be like other girls. And she wasn't a princess anyway.

Rolling her eyes at herself in the mirror, Rachel pushed the cowl back again and turned away from the reflection. It was time for her to go to Nottingham and meet her maid of honor, Red Riding Hood, at the stone mansion that would be her home as Lady Gisborne, wife of Guy of Gisborne. Red and Briar Rose, one of Rachel's bridesmaids, would help her to change from the monochromatic black clothes of Morpheus to the pure white dress of a bride. She simply couldn't wait.

Rachel left the comfortable, three-room house that had been hers for the past year and a half, going into the adjoining temple through the door. The temple, illuminated only by a single torch by the statue of Morpheus—which looked nothing like Rachel—was pleasantly dark and cool in the Greek heat. All of the people who slept in her temple had gone, come daybreak. Morpheus's worshippers came to have one night without their nightmares, by offering them up to Rachel—meaning she experienced them instead of the people. It wasn't a pleasant existence, but it was helping people, and it was far better than the alternative had been. If she hadn't become Morpheus, Rachel would have died.

It was only when Rachel had walked down the white steps of her temple did she have some inkling that something was wrong. The streets of Athens were completely empty; normally, there would have been people bustling around, jostling each other and pushing through the crowded streets to get to where they were trying to go, even this early in the morning. Yet, right now ... there was no one. Not even Hermes, who greeted her every morning with a slightly-annoying and too-chipper commentary for so early in the morning.

Rachel rubbed her arms as she ran through the empty streets. The sound of her footsteps seemed to echo all around her, blood rushing to her ears as she sprinted around. Even when she called out, desperate for someone to hear her, nobody answered. It was like she was the only person left in the entire Story.

Now entirely in panic-mode, Rachel summoned a door to take her to the next Story—to Nottingham. She needed to see another person. She needed to see one of the people she had come to look upon as her closest friends.

Yet when she stepped through the door into the streets of Nottingham, it was as empty as Athens had been. It was impossible! She had just been there the day before, and people had been packed in the streets! They had been assembling for the wedding. How could this be possible?

"Robin!" Rachel screamed, her voice echoing back to her in a distorted manner. "Alan! Will!" There was no answer—just her own voice coming to her ears. "Guy!"

"Rachel Andric." The voice came from all around her, filled with power. It seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere, pounding, distorted, and decidedly cruel. "Or should I call you Morpheus, god of sleep? Do you see this place, this place you would soon have called your home? It fills you with fear to find it not as you left it. To find it tainted, different. Perhaps now you can understand how I felt when you changed my Story. The Stories I dedicated my young life to writing; only for a single girl to change them all."

"You—you're The Editor," Rachel gasped, stumbling back. "You're the one who sent me that letter ... the one about Will!"

"I'm so glad I made an impression on you, Rachel Andric. It is truly an honor to be remembered by someone as ... important as you." Sarcasm lay heavy on The Editor's words. "Look around yourself, girl. See the world around you ... and see the power that I possess. The power I possess to destroy everything that you care about."

Rachel turned around, her eyes wide with fear as she watched the buildings around her begin to just ... disappear. Fade from existence. The buildings she had come to know—Friar Tuck's church, Alan-a-Dale's house, Guy's manor—all just began to fade from sight. Just disappear, like it had never even existed. Years of hard work ...

But that wasn't the only thing disappearing. As Rachel looked down, her eyes seemingly drawn to the ground at her feet, she saw cobblestones vanishing from sight. She took a step back and realized with horrifying certainty that the whole world around her would soon just be ... gone. "Stop this," she begged, her voice trembling. "You can't do this. Stop, please!"

Her pleas fell on deaf ears as the stones beneath her feet disappeared. Her scream was lost in the endless void as she fell, absolutely nothing around her ... only emptiness.