To Those This May Concern

Nya

The deck to the Bounty shone under to moon light, freshly polished floors glinting from the stars, shining into Lloyd's bleary eyes.

He ran his tongue over the tip of a fang absentmindedly, approaching the railing, looking at it as if he were to fall should he get too close.

The bitter wind whipped at his face, making his hood slip from over his head. It only fueled Lloyd's bad night.

It felt like every small thing was getting to him.

He felt as though he'd break soon.

God, how can he call himself his father's son? No son of the Lord Garmadon would be so weak. No son of Garmadon would have their lip tremble every time someone scolded him.

Pitiful, really.

As he approached the edge of the ship, he found himself less and less concerned with his surroundings, holding onto the wood absentmindedly as he looked at the view below.

It was too dark to make much detail out, the moon hardly reflected enough for him to see.

Distantly he registered it was because his eyes were watery, he ignored this, however.

Staring at a view like this, it was hard not to get lost in it. The way the dark captured his eyes, straining to see any detail that would clue him in on the grounds below. Any sighting worth seeing.

It made him happy to just stand there and zone out. It was something he's started to do recently when he couldn't sleep.

Normally he chose a view from indoors, opting to watch the sky from a window. Tonight, however, he decided to suck up his courage and walk to the rails.

He felt stupid for being afraid before. The railings were sturdy, he wouldn't fall unless he slipped between the posts— something he wasn't dumb enough to do.

He found himself trying to wrack his memory for what his previous dream had been. An activity that always proved to be futile, as he always forgot it the moment he woke up. It was a challenge he enjoyed taking up, though, and it was a tradition at this point.

The only things he remembered from sleep, were nightmares. The skin aching ones that made his eyes sting and his brain go numb. The ones that he's wake up from, and feel as though he were floating, by the sheer anguish he felt, remember all that took place.

The kind of dreams where his flesh would rot off his bones, forcing him to watch his own decay, powerless to help himself. Dream logic was funny like that.

How his brain even came up with these things, he'll never know. It made him sick just thinking about it, so he cut off the rest of that train and moved to a different place of his mind.

___

He didn't know how long he'd been there, daydreaming did that to you. When he blinked back to reality, the moon had moved, and he knew the remaining time out there would be brief.

Sighing, he repositioned the hood onto his head, made his way off the deck.

Just as he entered the hall, to make his way to his storage-closet-room, he— in the full meaning of the word —walked into Nya.

"Sorr.." he stopped himself from apologizing before reminding himself this wasn't Darkley's, "sorry."

He can't be punished for apologizing. He'll be okay.

"What are you doing up?" At least she didn't point out his hesitance when apologizing. Her cold tone sent more shivers down his spine than the cold weather had, though.