NOCTIS - 3/31
<span style="font: 18px arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; color: #005377;"><center>Wakey Wakey</center>
</span>To Noctis, no time at all will have passed from when he laid to rest on the evening of March 9th, up to the morning of April 1st.

But of course, time most certainly has passed. To any companions (or indeed, anyone else he might think to ask), he seemingly disappeared overnight, only to return that morning. It seems no one on the island captured either of those moments, leaving the entire ordeal a complete mystery.

And try as he might, the only recollection Noctis will have is a rather odd dream...
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<center><b>♆ Sleep is for the Weak ♆</b></center>

<i>The first thing to strike you is the smell: the rich, sawdusty reek of fungus and rot. There's no escaping the cling of it, the way it liberally sticks to your fingers, your clothing, your hair. Your head soon starts to spin with the overpowering sting of it. If only you could breathe in, focus, clear your head...but it's so very dark, and no matter how you squint, the most you can make out are the faint whorls and pits of something wooden.

Trying to breathe deeply, as it turns out, is a futile endeavor. Something has you pinned. Something has tightened around you so intently that your arms and legs may as well be caught in the rigor of death. Every inch of you is stiff and sore, as though you have been trapped in this cramped, constricted position for days.

You pull in another breath, shallow and meager, in the preparation to cry out - sheer seconds before something clamps itself around your mouth.</i>