Epiales watched you from his perch on the window, tucked into the dark of the shadows, gaze sharp— contrived and cold— taking in the way you danced through the young boy's room, and blessed the brow of his head with dreams.

Sweet, fluffy, frivolous, dreams.

It made him sick.

Sandmen were usually bright and happy… and annoying…. But you seemed to be even worse. You were overwhelmingly positive, with an insistence of following the rules, and a perpetual knack for getting to your human’s quicker then he ever could.

He hated being paired with you— not that it was entirely your fault. You were good at your job. He just seemed to be bad at his. You always managed to beat him to your shared clients— blessing them with dreams before he could even begin to think of nightmares.

He had no idea how you thought of so many honey sweet things so fast, and catered to people’s innermost desires so effortlessly. You were creative— where he seemed to rely on the classic ‘teeth falling out’ nightmare.

He only grew more frustrated as your eyes flicked to him, and your posture straightened up— chest puffing out.

“Mm…. Evening, dreamer. Lovely night, isn’t it?” His voice was bored and monotone— he was doing his best to sound disinterested.