( Even the air lacks substance or warmth, nothing like how one expects a beach to feel like. It's like they're trapped between worlds - the real and the nightmare. The voices in the distance have no language to them, only a blurred sound.
Sunday glances back at the other, his gaze is distant and pitiable. He feels nothing. But for appearances sake, he will stand strong as ever while his mind gets consumed with thoughts. )

Yes, that's another way to put it. Everything about this place feels like that. Who would have thought Hell would appear to be this beautiful, hm? I apologize. I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Sunday.