Chapter Text
You had been wandering aimlessly for hours—your only reason for being out in the middle of the forest was a hypothetical. A “what if?” based on a dream you’d had the previous night. Your feet were starting to blister as you somehow didn’t expect to be walking for this long. You pass another tree and think that you might have seen it before, which would either mean that you are walking in a circle or you are right where you’re supposed to be. No. None of it is familiar. Maybe walk further, you think. Yes. He will be pleased, you are following His word, His gift.
For days, weeks, months you had been trying to win His love. Become a vessel for Him, share His word with the world. But you have not been granted that privilege. You have not received permission to wear a mask in His honor. You hope that this walk will be enough to prove yourself to Him. You hope He will feel your love.
By the time your feet are practically numb, you catch something. Last night, in your dream, there was a symbol carved into a tree. It was completely unfamiliar to you and that was the only thing you had to go off of during this walk. Your exhaustion was the thing that caused you to freeze and stay there. You feel pins and needles shooting up your legs which keeps you in that one place. You gawk at the sigil, hunched over and mouth ajar like a zombie. Sweat dripped down your forehead when it isn’t even hot, you stare at the symbol unblinking. You turn to your right, something tells you this is the way to go. Maybe it’s Him. Is he finally listening? Watching?
Annoyed by the confines of your now horribly worn out sneakers, you kick them off, leaving them somewhere in the dewy grass. Your socks immediately get wet, but you’re too tired to even be disgusted by it. You manage to drag yourself further, and further until you hear the faint sound of running water. Not running water like a faucet. A stream. Something you’ve never seen before—you’ve been living in the city for as long as you can remember. You pick up your pace, breathing heavily as tears and sweat pour down your cheeks, you squeeze through a couple of trees and find yourself in front of a stream… Or, more of a brook. You feel the need to turn back, start your way back home. But it’s not like you’ve been leaving bread crumbs on the way here. But this is it. This is what you’ve been walking for. He must be here… Somewhere.
It’s almost as if he blended in with your surroundings, because you don’t notice him until you hear him. Or maybe your vision has gone dark from overexertion. But, a voice comes out louder than the burbling of water.
“Rest.”
You glance a little left, the vignette filter over your vision surrounding a figure sitting in front of the brook. All you can see is a black cloak, and a hand coated in black paint patting the spot on the grass beside him.
“It’s wet.” Is the first thing that leaves your mouth. As you shift on your feet, you can feel the mud and water soaking your socks. You feel the urge to collapse to your knees.
“Rest.” He repeats. He is not demanding you by any means but you can hear a sense of urgency in his voice. Disgusted by yourself, you rid yourself of your socks. You approach the cloaked stranger, staring at him for a second and wondering if he will turn to look at you. He doesn’t. You sit down. You turn to look at him, seeing a white mask with that same sigil as before, six slits that you assume are to represent eyes, and intricate red details at the edge of the mask. The stranger’s mouth, neck and body are painted black. You nod, turning your head and looking at the water.
“Praise Him.” You say softly, suddenly feeling nervous in the presence of His vessel… You know this to be His loyal one, His direct vessel. As you’ve seen him in a dream or two. You believe him to be a representation of what you would become should He accept your eternal love and devotion. You fidget with your hands anxiously, your breathing finally calming down—your heartbeat had picked up its pace, though.
“He has been waiting… I have been waiting.” He says. “You haven’t earned a mask?”
“No, I haven’t.” You say, almost… Shamefully. You’re embarrassed. You feel your throat tighten up, you stare at the water. The water, you can cry. You are allowed to cry. You are in His presence, His vessel is beside you, watching. Although you still do not feel His warm embrace. As a tear slides down your cheek, you wonder what you could have possibly done wrong to displease Him. You are heartbroken.
“May I ask why?”
Your heart falls to your stomach, you can’t hold back your tears or your exhaustion. You break down in tears, speaking in shattered breaths, “I don’t know…”
He stays silent as you sob quietly to yourself. You wish to fall into the water, float away and never think of any of this again. You’re embarrassed, humiliated. You feel… Unwanted. As this dark cloud looms over you, you feel a hand on your back and the clouds part. Before you can spit out a rushed apology, he speaks clearly, “He has shown you to me once before… I assume He has blessed your dreams as well?”
“Yes, I…” You feel it. Perhaps it’s being touched by His loyal vessel himself, but you feel the warmth of Sleep’s embrace, for the first time in weeks. Your headache, the pain in your legs, your tears they all disappear. “I’ve seen you… You are His vessel…”
“One of many.”
“No,” you speak gently, heart skipping a beat when you no longer feel his hand on your back. Although you still feel that you are in His presence. “You are his favorite.”
“Sleep has no favorite.”
You start to feel frustrated. You want to turn to him and ask him everything you’ve been wondering about for the past few months. You want to shout at him, you want to cry to him, you want to beg him, you want to kiss him.
“I am his first Vessel, if that is what you mean.”
You want to roll your eyes at him. You keep your gaze on the water as you nod. “Yes, that is what I mean.”
There is a long period of silence before Vessel speaks again. You can hear a shaky breath escape his lips, you hear him shift slightly but you don’t dare look over. His voice sounds like he is facing the sky as he speaks, “does it hurt…? Knowing He has not deemed you worthy of a mask?”
You feel offended. You scoff and stare off into the distance. You shake your head. “He does not approve of my love… He doesn’t wish for me to be a follower… I walked this forest for Him. Still, maybe I am not worthy.”
“No.” He says, this time his tone of voice is demanding. You can hear him shuffle again, like he sits up. “He sees you. He accepts you. He only wishes for you to be at your best. Do not lose hope, He has a plan for you.”
“Oh? And He’s told you this himself?” You bite your tongue. The words taste bitter in your mouth, you feel your stomach churning, you’ve said something wrong. You wish to fall into the water.
To your surprise, he laughs. It isn’t a loud, clumsy laugh like the way your mother laughs. It’s not a devious snicker like the way your best friend laughs. It’s a warm, endearing chuckle. You can hear a smile in his voice when he speaks again. “He has a plan for every one of his followers… Masked or unmasked. We are all here to Worship. He understands your anger, your frustration.”
“And?”
He doesn’t respond. To that, specifically. Instead, he shifts the subject. “What is the nature of your dreams? Since He has first blessed you?”
“What do you mean?”
“How does He appear to you?”
You don’t want to tell him that in terms of physicality, Sleep appears to you as Vessel. You can sense that he knows you’re hiding something because you take too long to reply. You’re trying to remember how else Sleep communicates with you. You start to think that maybe this is all a mistake, maybe you’ve just convinced yourself that this is all real, that you’re just in an intense dream. But then you remember.
“Text.” You need to elaborate. You stutter, almost as if you’re rushing, trying to get the words out. “People always talk about how you can’t read things in your dreams but I… When He is there, He appears as text. In a book, or on a sign, or in a newspaper. Something that I can read clearly.”
He is quiet for almost as long as you were. You feel like he’s teasing you. “I will ask again, what is the nature of His communication?”
“I don’t understand your phrasing.” You feel stupid.
“Does He speak to you as a friend? A parent? Or, perhaps, a lover?”
You feel your heart leap out of your chest at that last one. You breathe out sharply, avoiding the urge to finally look at him. You don’t respond. You can’t respond. You feel embarrassed. Maybe your dreams are just an amalgamation of your feelings of loneliness. Maybe none of this is real. Maybe Vessel isn’t really reaching out, placing his hand on your shoulder and gently turning you to face him. You look at him. You hate that you can’t look him in the eye, you settle for his lips.
“He comes to you as a lover.”
It isn’t a question. A statement. He knows your answer, he wants you to admit it. Vessel knows everything about Sleep because he is His vessel. He’s only asking you so you feel in control. You are not in control. You were never in control. This is real. You feel your face turn bright red, feeling sick to your stomach all of the sudden. You try to shake off the feeling, panicking and feeling disgusting for… What, exactly? Why do you feel this way? Your heart is racing and your stomach is in knots and you feel… Ashamed? This isn’t right…
“You are uncomfortable…” He moves his hand away from you, turning away. “Apologies.”
“I feel bad… For…”
“For what?”
“My feelings.”
Vessel looks at you, a frown on his painted mouth. You wish you knew where he was looking, what expression he wore. You don’t desire to see his face, no… You only wish to understand him, you wish to be able to know what he is thinking from one look. “You should not feel bad if He has acted this way with you in the first place.”
The words that leave his mouth do not feel like those of Sleep’s. These must be Vessel’s words, solely his. You look away. “It feels… Wrong.”
“It isn’t wrong.”
“But what if…”
He says your name. You don’t remember telling him your name. But he says it, and it comes out like velvet. “I believe He has chosen you… Not as a vessel, but as… Something else. You must rest tonight. Perhaps he will give you an explanation, I do not wish to deliver this news myself.”
He gets up and leaves you alone. You watch him walk away and you have a strong urge to get up and follow him, to ask him what the fuck he’s talking about. But you don’t. You stay sitting by the brook with your bare feet freezing to the point of numbness. You have to walk home without shoes.