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moonchild-in-blue · 6 months

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The Mist (Sleep Token)

So this is the aftermath of this very cool post by @reveries-of-my-mind. I was supposed to get it done weeks ago, but alas. It is here now I suppose.

Basically is Vessel as a kid (he's adorable here 🥺), wandering around in the woods, and encountering a Magical Clearing with a Strange Mist. Slightly different from my original idea, but it's actually kinda cute?? This was supposed to be much shorter, but once I start writing, it's hard to stop lol. 2k is not too bad though, right?

Anyways, here it is. I hope you like it Kay 🍄 (Also I used your picture for the divider, hope you don't mind!) 🌿🌹

The Mist had been with him ever since he could remember. As Vessel looked over his window, morning coffee in hand, a thin layer of fog covered his garden, speckled with red flowers.

---

It was a Saturday morning like any other. The sun peeked shyly behind grey clouds, extending its warm fingers to the earth bellow, still wet from the earlier rain.

His grandparents’ garden overlooked the great forest behind, lush trees and a sparkling creek impassively waiting behind the white fence. For any eight-year-old boy in the midst of summer holidays, with no friends around and plenty of time to kill, the woods were the perfect playground.

Everyday he would venture into the forest. He knew each and every rock and bush that formed the path to the stream. He knew which berries were the sweetest; which tree provided better shade. His grandfather had taught him to recognize the different singing birds and where they nested – under his bed, a shoebox containing his growing collection of nature findings was filled with all types of feathers, carefully catalogued in a piece of crinkled paper.

Today, he had decided to be a little braver. He would go on an adventure. With a very nice stick in hand, and a backpack full of sandwiches, two tangerines, and a water bottle - lovingly provided by his grandmother - the blonde boy ventured further into the woods.

---

After a little while of walking, his first sandwich long gone, the boy reached a tunnel encrusted on the base of a ridge, no bigger than his little frame, completely dark aside from a very faint light coming from the opposite entrance. It seated inconspicuously behind a curtain of leaves and vines, barely visible to anyone not paying attention.

But to the adventurous boy, nothing escaped his sight. His little blue eyes twinkled with excitement. Finally, something new. He adjusted his backpack straps, took a deep breath, and crawled his way through the hole.

With scrapped knees and spider webs clinging to his hair and clothes, the boy stood in an unfamiliar clearing, tall and quite proud of himself for making it through the dark, scary tunnel.

The first thing he noticed was the silence. Usually the woods were brimming with life, the sounds of birds, shuffling creatures, and buzzing insects, serving as companions to his lone hummings. But here, on the other side of the mysterious passage, the sound seemed to deafen to a low whisper, almost as if the ground itself was vibrating. As if the trees were talking amongst themselves.

Then, there was the mist.

The clearing was a small, rounded meadow, carpeted with soft grass and a shallow brook, towering trees adorning the edges. A gentle shadow, cast by the leafy canopies, draped the enclosure in green light. And hovering over the grass, swirling in intricate, delicate patterns, was a fine layer of white mist.

Whenever a sun beam pierced the strange fog, the mist parted like tiny crystal prisms, painting the glade with translucent rainbows. The boy was elated – he had never seen or imagined something so extraordinary, not even in his wildest dreams. And this place, this enchanted forest, was all his!

The boy suddenly felt very important. He knew this place was special, and it had must be protected, like a closely guarded secret. His little heart thumped with excitement and wonder, sparkling blue eyes drinking in his surroundings. As he walked further inside the clearing, the boy noticed how the mist seemed to halt its movements, as if it could feel his presence.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. I’m an explorer! See?”

He brandished his stick in the air, proving his harmlessness to the Mist.

“Can I seat here?” he asked, pointing to the soft grass bellow. The Mist seemed to respond, swirling ever-so-slightly around his pale ankles.

Satisfied with this reply, the boy slumped down on the ground, glad to be able to rest after what if felt like hours walking. He took off his shoes and socks, and laid back on the grass, singing contently to himself. What an amazing discovery! I should keep this in my notebook.

From the dirty backpack, he produced a colourful sketchpad and a pencil case, along with his water-bottle and snacks. The pad was halfway filled with a myriad of drawings: several birds and leaves, his grandparent’s yard, countless types of mushrooms and insects, and even some strange-looking forest gnomes, no doubt inspired by the bedtime stories his grandfather would read him. Anything he would come across during his adventures was recorded in his notebook, and this mysterious place, this important secret of his, deserved several pages dedicated to it.

After a few hours of drawing the clearing and the swirling fog, and when the last of his food had been consumed, the boy knew it was time to go home. Before leaving, he chose some of the prettiest pebbles he gathered from the brook and made a neat little pile in the place he had been seated earlier, as a thank you to the mist for showing him such a wonderful place.

“Goodbye trees! Goodbye Mist! I’ll come back tomorrow, okay? Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about this place – I’m very good at keeping secrets you know?” he waved his little arms farewell, hoping somehow the forest would hear him.

The Mist twirled over his little rock offering, and the boy left with a grin, very pleased with himself for being able to talk with the magic fog.

---

When he stood in front of the dark tunnel the next day, his stomach felt funny with dread. What if the misty clearing was no longer there? What if it was all his imagination? No, it was there! It’s all here on my notebook. Once again he took a deep breath, adjusted his backpack, and crossed the dark passage to the secluded meadow.

And there it was – the strange vapour, the leafy canopies, the soft grass. Just as he had left it. He could hardly contain his excitement, blonde hair bouncing up and down as he skipped over to his pile of rocks. Curiously enough, a single flower bloomed next to it, five deep-red petals sprouting beautifully, filling the air with an intoxicatingly sweet scent. It was the only form of vegetation in the whole clearing, aside from the giant trees and verdant grass.

(Later that night the boy would show his drawing of it to his grandfather, and be met with half disappointment, half curiosity, by learning that the flower had no name, nor had it been sighted anywhere else before.)

He spent the day much like before: drawing, playing in the brook, napping under the giant canopies and the feather-light touches of the dancing cloud. At last, the time to leave had come, and just like the previous day, he left a little offering with sticks for the Mist, this time near the entrance to the tunnel.

---

And so the boy spent his summer. Everyday he would come to the clearing, no longer afraid of the once scary tunnel, and find a new crimson bloom near his offerings. He had learned that the Mist was somewhat sentient – the low rumble he had once thought to be the trees talking seemed to come from the Mist itself. It was almost imperceptible at first, but his curious child ears had become attuned to the quiet murmur.

The boy also learned that the Mist liked to hear him sing. Whenever he started to hum to himself, the swirling intensified, as if dancing along to his music. He couldn’t quite make out what they all meant, but his twinkling blue eyes began to recognise some of the swirling patterns as a language of sorts.

The summer turned into months, into years. The once young child, with colourful sketchpads and scrapped knees, his little heart full of wonder and joy, became a teenager - lanky, brooding, and lonely. Instead of drawings and sticks, he now carried black notebooks, full of poetry, of musings, of songs. Every holiday, and whenever he had a long weekend, he would make the trip to his grandparents’ house and to his secret garden.

Throughout the years, the clearing had become his safe place, a haven from all the pain he had had to endure. He liked to lay back on the grass, as he had so many times before as a kid, and sing to his heart’s content, while the Mist happily twirled around him.

He was certain the Mist could talk, too. Whenever he closed his eyes, now dark blue with hurt, eager to sink into the warm ground beneath him, he could feel it whisper in his ear. Sometimes it was loud and clear as day, others it would be little more than a quiet purr. It wasn’t any language he could recognise, much like the queer symbols and patterns he had now memorized, nimbly scribbled on the margins of his notebooks.

But he heard it all the same.

The Mist knew him like anyone else. In the clearing, he had the freedom to be himself fully. The boy had shared every joy, every pain, every heartbreak with it. And in return, the Mist would grace him with feather-like touches, with new swirling patterns, with long naps and vivid dreams; with bouts of inspiration, whenever his music felt inadequate.

And with flowers. Always those strange flowers, red as blood, and oh so very fragrant.

---

Time passed, and the boy was now a man.

He wasn’t quite sure why he was there. It had been years since he had last been in this clearing, real life catching up on him. He wasn’t even sure he would still be able to find it. The forest had considerably changed since the last time he had been there. The house in which he had once spent long summers in no longer existed.

It was silly, really. To seek comfort in what if felt like an imaginary friend. To run back to childhood safety once things had gone wrong.

Oh, and how they have gone wrong.

He stood there, expecting to see the crimson flowers and sparkling brook. To feel the soft grass beneath his feet once more. But the flowers were gone. The once gloriously green canopies loomed dry and brittle over him. All that remained were the little piles of rocks and sticks he had so carefully arranged many lifetimes ago. Gone was the lush grass and soft ground.

And gone was the Mist.

The man fell to his knees and wept. How did things get this way? How was he supposed to carry on living without a heart? Without her?

He sobbed himself to exhaustion, unconcerned about the impending night time, about his fate. Maybe it was for the best.

Oh child, we know that is not true. Why are you so distressed, my little one?

For the first time in years, the sweet fragrance of the red flowers enveloped him completely. His exposed skin prickled with emotion and fear – he had never heard the Mist this clearly before. Suddenly he was his teenage self again, longing to be embraced and understood by the one who knew him best.

“I’m truly alone now. And I don’t want to be. I’m tired.”

Oh, child.

The Mist chuckled, a low purr vibrating in the man’s chest. Their voice was unlike any other. It was wind, and water, and music combined. Somehow he knew to keep his eyes shut.

I can sense your pain. You don’t have to be alone anymore. I am here, am I not?

“I don’t even know if you are real. Maybe I have gone truly crazy. Clouds don’t talk.”

Humm. Such disbelief. I liked you better when you were young.

“What do you want from me?”

A rush of cold wind swept his blonde hair back. Every cell in his body was screaming to get away, and yet he was unable to move.

I can take your pain away. I can stay with you, make everything better. Would you like that?

“I… Who are you?”

Humm. Another chuckle.

You can call me Sleep.

#oh look at her being whimsical again lol #little vessel is very cute to me okay?#can you tell i so very desperately wanted to expand that ending? had to censor myself - this was NOT supposed to be long #ignore the use of the word adventure like 3 times in a row. i cant be bothered to edit further #sleep token #sleep token fanfiction #darya is unhinged

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