[She isn't in the habit of confessing her fears, much less her nightmares, but it isn't as if Ardyn hasn't experienced this himself. And though she's woken clawing at the sheets and sweat-soaked, her voice doesn't tremble now.]

Sometimes things attack. Monsters . . . I can only assume they're figments of that disease, or victims, perhaps. Sometimes it tears out from under my skin and I become something hideous in turn, mindless and destructive.

And sometimes I simply fade away, my consciousness lost and my individuality gone.