The Love You Want (sleep token fic - Polyvessels)

III: Part Fifteen

____ opens his eyes to the sound of waves crashing on a shore at his back, sand giving way beneath his bare feet. The moonless sky above him is dark, an endless expanse of deep grey rain clouds. He looks around, confused, blonde hair being blown around gently in a breeze that doesn't smell of anything despite the expectation of seasalt.

He had just laid down to try and sleep, hadn't he? Desperate to escape the sounds of raucous laughter from the living room, the feeling of bruises on his hips and beer on his tongue from harsh, demanding kisses.

There is flickering light in the distance, and ____ finds himself walking with purpose towards it. He notices that the light is not that of a bonfire, but of small candles as he grows closer. In this circle of candles lies a man, a long cloak covering most of his form. With each flicker of the flames surrounding him, his prone form flickers, too. One moment, he appears as though he has antlers branching off of his head, making grooves in the sand. The antlers themselves have white lillies wreathed around the base, dark silver chains with pieces of decorative iron shapes, resembling a four pointed star, hanging between. There are white bandages wrapped around his covered calves, criss crossing over each other loosely. A mask sits upon his face, pearly white with a large red sigil that drips down over the cut outs of six lightly squinted eyes, as though the mask is smiling. Jutting down into some variation of fleur-de-lis points past the open mouth and creeping up along the jaw and nose is detailed red, swirling flowery filigree. Splatters of red lead up towards the temples, reminding ____ of blood.

In the next moment, he is just a man, skin as black as coal with veins of gold on the parts of his arms visible through bone white bandages. Attached to his ring finger on his left hand, are three red threads, one tied to each joint. The one closest to the nail is faint, the end of the thread leading off a couple of inches before it dissipates into nothingness. Unlike that thread, the other two are strong, tangible, with no loose threads. The mask under the hood changes too, losing the bloody filigree, the smooth texture, seeming more skull-like in material, with more grooves.

"Hello?" He calls, stopping at the edge of the circle.

The man does not stir, but with the state of his body, ____ doesn't think he even could. Still as the dead, the sight begs the question of whether or not the man was alive at all. ____ finds his answer quickly, eyes drawn to the beating heart laying in the strange mans outstretched hand, curled up on his side as though he was cradling it. A trail of blood and viscera overflows from the golden offering plate under their hand, leading from the heart to the gaping wound in the man's chest, a golden bladed knife stewn not far from the body. Ribs are splintered and pulled apart, a grisly sight that leaves ____ feeling vaguely ill, unable to tear his eyes from the empty cavity of the man's chest. Of the black sludge dripping out and colliding with red blood, but never mixing.

With difficulty, ____ tears his eyes from the bloody mess, and back to the heart, somehow less gory.

It is missing chunks, only a quarter of it left, and yet it still beats, a steady thumpthumpthump that pounds in ____'s ears. Sharp claws dig into the tender flesh of the right atrium, no kindness in the grey knuckled grip. The breeze picks up, tousling both of their hair, sand finding a home in the crevices of their clothes.

____ finds himself sitting, kneeling at the edge of the circle. Something in him begs to move closer, to pull the stranger into his arms, to comfort. He fears breaking the circle, something clearly sacred, but his soul yearns to touch. Waves crash on a distant shore, and neither he nor the man move.

Six eyes blink open, a set at a time, pupiless, crimson irises glowing from within the pitch black darkness of the eyes of the mask. They're captivating, beautiful-