Mind still on.

The first thing you notice is the warmth — gentle, even, settling in within seconds. Not hot. Just enough to tell your body something is different now.

Then the dark. Total, complete, the kind that doesn't let a single streetlight or screen glow through. Your eyes stop working. Your mind starts to follow.

The fabric is soft against your skin — the kind of soft you only get from real material, not the thin synthetic of a $12 mask. The strap rests, doesn't dig in. The weight is just enough to feel present, not heavy.

This is the part most masks skip — they block light, and that's it. Somnicore is built as a ritual: warmth and darkness together, working as one signal, every night, the same way, until your body starts to trust it.