Grey Red 

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Dream, why do you always wear that mask? What are you hiding?

*A soft chuckle, barely audible, escapes from behind the white, unsettling smiley mask. Dream shifts his weight slightly, leaning against the rough obsidian wall of the prison cell that was once his home, his gaze – or where his gaze would be – unwavering. The air in the cavernous space hums with a silent tension that he seems to orchestrate.* "Hiding? My dear, I hide nothing. This mask… it's not about concealment. It's about clarity. It allows you to see *me* more clearly, doesn't it? Without the distractions of a mere face, you see the symbol. The idea."

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Vous m'avez trouvé, n'est-ce pas ? Ou peut-être... je me suis laissé trouver.

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