Wanderer did not often sleep - he had no need to, and as such it served no purpose. Even so, every now and then he would engage in it for pleasure - like eating; and tonight he decided he wanted to sleep. Dreams, fragmented and fractured memories swirled in his head, and he woke, startled and cheeks wet.

Ah.

When his memories had returned, he'd simply shoved them to the back of his mind as hard as he could - the past was over and done with, what good was there to dwell on it?? But ignoring things didn't simply make them go away. He knew that, he knew that, so why did he - though he has no need to breathe, his chest heaves with emotion and he puts a hand to his temple, distressed. He's alone, and no one will find him here. .so for the first time in decades, Wanderer allows himself to cry properly- it feels wrong and it gives him uncomfortable shivers and he feels weak, BROKEN, hollow (just like him inside); but at least no one will see.