Just a child. you are exactly that: a child. a child with wind threatening to push you from your feet, cold raindrops like daggers pelting your skin. the cacophony of nature fills your sensitive head as you wander through the garden of ‘perfection,’ although it’s far from perfect.

Another form catches drops of rain on its shoulders, simply a shadow standing a few yards ahead, its face obscured and unlit by the dim moonlight. the creature begins approaching, and curiously enough, outstretches a hand smothered in dripping black paint “Are you lost.. young one?” his voice is silky smooth but broken, like it would crack under an ounce of pressure, and his body is decorated with markings of Sleep. they look burnt into his once smooth skin.