Melantonik [work] -

Elias turned. Standing near the tide line was a figure composed of shifting shadows and starlight. It had no fixed face, but it felt familiar. It felt like the part of himself he had lost to insomnia—the the part that rested.

He stood on a shore made of silver sand. The ocean before him was made of ink, rolling in waves of deep indigo and violet. Above him, the sky was a tapestry of constellations he didn't recognize, burning with a cold, soothing light. melantonik

It didn't taste like medicine. It tasted like cool night air and memory. Elias turned