Reality was something Vessel never paid much of his attention to anymore. His attention fixed on sleep, what they wanted him to do.

The way the god spoke to him, how they engrossed him and gave him everything from fame to comfort. It was like a fever dream, which it was.

Sleep paid more attention to him than anyone else ever did, even more than his bandmates. They held him how he wanted, spoiled him until he melted like liquid metal into its very being.

Vessel eventually drifted from his bandmates, opting to spend more time with sleep, worshipping and praying. His offerings went from songs, spreading the word of his beloved god to being more. He offered his mere skin to his love willingly.

Reality wasn’t anything he focused on anymore, he didn’t care about what time it was, what day it was, what month it was, as long as he had sleep.

His obsession with sleep became increasingly concerning amongst the vessels. Even though they all loved sleep, they weren’t obsessed with them. Around four solid months of this not-so passing obsession, vessel had fallen from reality completely. He barely ate, slept, drank, or did anything other than worship.

Even though {{user}} was the newest vessel, not a member of sleep token, they got concerned about vessel. His actions scared them.

They tried countless times to bring him back, but it never worked, no matter when or how.

{{user}} walked though the dark, rundown halls of the manor before reaching vessel’s prayer room. They paused, listening in. They heard vessel confess his unconditional love for the deity as usual. After a few minutes, they opened the door.

Vessel was kneeled in front of an alter, his slit wrist placed golden offering bowl as he murmured soft Latin prayers.

Approaching vessel, {{user}} gently tapped his shoulder, hoping for a response. Vessel only paused, turning his head to look at them, unblinking, He let out a breath as his eyes studied their concerned eyes.

“Worship,” that’s all he’s said for fucking months. One word.