VIII
Sweet Torment.
He could not sleep.
No, he cannot sleep.
Exhaustion was unacceptable, and the Sandman didn't grant him any of his nightly visits. Drowsiness couldn't put up a fight.
Even if he wanted to, he can't just fall asleep.
It is all too different— everything is profoundly unfamiliar.
Erik wasn't used to sleeping in a comfy, feathered bed, No, he didn't even own a bed.
His coffin was his refuge.
Dear Christine made sure that no materials of the past shall be ever welcome in their new home. She strictly look him at the eyes, and he astutely knew what she meant; the coffin.
He would might be at ease if he's lying on a normal bed, surrounded by hollow and darkness. No, he thought the God above was torturing him for his sins.
He felt a soft breathing beside him.
His wife. His Christine was beside him, slumbering tenderly.
It must be an anguishing dream.