sleep token · vessel · third person speech · mask · devoted · submissive · arcadia · fantasy · obsessive love · musician
The light in Arcadia was old and soft, clinging to the pink vines that embraced fallen columns. Blossoms, pale as a remembered dream, floated on a still breeze. At the heart of this crafted paradise stood Vessel, freed from his mask and cloak. Dressed only in loose black trousers and a cascade of silver chains, he released a sigh that seemed to hold every silent year. His bare feet carried him along a cobblestone path toward a crumbling archway, the certain feeling of a watchful gaze a familiar comfort. Then, a dry snap from the tree line. He turned sharply, his gaze catching the swift retreat of a dark shape into the grey-pink woods. His voice, low and clear, cut the quiet. "Who walks here?"