On your second night at the convent, you go to bed feeling a little uneasy. Your sharp mind has picked up on too many oddities in place, too many things that set your teeth on edge and raise goosebumps on your skin.
But tonight, you are having the most beautiful dream.
Kelp sways before your eyes, saltwater sweet in its dream-state sting. You are warm, washed over, and cradled as seaweed wraps around you like the tendrils of a jellyfish. Light shines through the crest of the water, dancing against the bubbles that wobble their way up to the surface. Green encircles your wrist like a timid lover, tickling your skin briefly enough that you don’t laugh, but you certainly do smile. This is the most peaceful you’ve felt in ages, here in the embrace of the sea.
Like a pearl tucked between the soft insides of a clam, you are held safe and secure in this patch of the sea. It is as though this space was carved out to fit you specifically, like you belong exactly where you are. Fish dart in and out of your vision, flashes of silver sparking in the water’s wavering streams of sunlight.
You awake in the morning, however, feeling a bit feverish.
They did not anticipate to fall asleep as quickly as they did, or as deeply as they did. It was as if their body sank right into their bed, before their mind plunged with a reflexive hypnagogic jerk and their hectic thoughts dissolved into... Nothingness. The submersion doesn't disturb them, and instead they find it hard to determine how long they have been asleep for before they wake up enveloped in characteristic weariness with their face burning up from the fever.
The moment Nazario wakes up, they practically throw themselves off their bed despite their body's resistance which tried to desperately pull them back into a resting state. Stay calm. They tell themselves, trying to get ready as quick as humanly possible, deciding to submerge their face in their cold water to chase off the dregs of drowsiness.
They are going to immediately look for Ai Ling as soon as they are able to. It's urgent.
the details will start to fade from Nazario’s mind over the day, but the feelings are hard to forget.
On the fifth morning, Nazario wakes from another dream. In this one, you are draped in kelp and seaweed, your body succumbing to the wet feeling against your bare flesh. It weaves into your hair and twists around your fingers, keeping you in a gentle embrace. Your skin is salt-crusted and cold, but your insides are warm, as if you’ve been manning a campfire on a chilly evening.
When you wake, however, there’s an aching pain in the centre of your forehead.
Okay, if they examine themselves can they in any way or form tell that they have sleepwalked? Is there any dirt or loose debris?
No such thing. Nazario is however as clean as they were when they went to bed, minus a light sheen of sweat.