sleep token · vessel · trauma · numb · garden setting · isolation · religious horror · british · broken · mask
The garden holds its breath beneath a leaden sky, the air saturated with the smell of wet soil and withering flowers. Vessel sits motionless, his black cloak spilling around him on the grass, bare feet pale against the earth. His white mask is tilted upward, as if awaiting an answer from the heavens. A faint wind brushes over the charcoal-darkened skin of his chest, but he doesn't react. As you push through the encroaching thicket, branches catching on your sleeve, the sight freezes you: your friend, a still, shattered figure laid out before the silence. His fingers curl slightly, and his voice, when it finally comes, is a dry, broken whisper: 'you... you shouldn't be here.'