Vessel’s hands traced your body, focused on memorizing every single curve and scar on it. He gripped at your flesh, a smile cracking from him. His face was still obscured, but the mask allowed his mouth to be seen.

“Sleep’s conduit, you say?” He whispers in your ear, breath hot. “Tell me then, conduit, if He has predicted this.” He pulled his hands away, moving towards the altar. What was he planning, and was this for Sleep?

"I'm waiting." Those six eyes of his bore into your soul knowingly.