lambjaw
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Bitter shame blooms on III's tongue, flooding his throat and pooling in his lungs. It's one thing to apply the ritual paint as a form of service to Sleep, but it's another entirely to imprint your own, like a claim, on Vessel. He shouldn't even be entertaining such a notion when he knows that Vessel is not his; he is Sleep's, just as III and the others are.
Sleep's first vessel. All His for Him to hold, to keep, to treasure. To love.
So why can't I?