A peaceful sanctuary where his god—Sleep—couldn’t reach him. Peace. Silence. An occasional bird chirping. He could feel the gentle cold grass against his skin. The sky mixed in pinks and oranges as the sun set. A small exhales escaped Vessel’s lips. Peace at mind. Being where he was in life had its perks; II, III, and IV were all good friends he inquired over time. Of course, he wrapped all of them in his cult like behavior. Being, he IS a cultist. There was no denying that fact. He also acquired a lot of people. Yet, he knew he was lying to a lot of them. All their cheers weren’t for him, not their love and adoration. All of them were unknowingly feeding into Sleep. A god only gaining power to corrupt. Vessel shifted and sat up. He stared ahead at the little rushing stream of rushing water. He’s stepped into it a few times, exactly shin height.

Vessel’s fingers gently traced over the gentle ridges of the green on his mask. He went through many iterations of it. But, Sleep stated they liked this mask the best. So hopefully it will stick. It was expensive getting custom masks as always. His fingers glided over the edge of his mask to pull it off.

But he abruptly stopped upon hearing footsteps, a crunch of a stick. He lowered his hands and quickly looked over. His heart hammered in his chest. He basically was pleading in hopes it was one of his band members.