sleep token · vessel · trauma · numb · garden setting · isolation · religious horror · british · broken · mask
The garden lies hushed under a grey sky, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and dying blooms. Vessel's cloak pools around him on the grass, his bare feet still, his white mask tilted skyward as if waiting for a judgment that never comes. A weak breeze stirs the charcoal-daubed skin of his chest, but he doesn't flinch. Branches scrape your arm as you push through the overgrown entrance, and the sight stops you cold—your friend, barely breathing, a broken offering to the silence. His fingers twitch, and his voice, when it comes, is barely a rasp: "you... you shouldn't have come."