[It sounds similar to what he dreams about when he chances sleep, at least. The daemons lurching in the dark that bring him trepidation, where they did not in the waking world. The feeling of being suffocated by the night, as it leaked from skin and eyes and mouth as if he were overflowing and choking on the stuff. The cries of those around him, asking why he could not save them. Twisting into disfigured husks of themselves, then swallowed up by the night.

The feeling of not being himself any longer. But that was no different what he felt while awake, so it did not shake him the way it used to.]

That's not so bad.

[He does move this time, walking forward just enough to barely brush past her. He's gesturing out into the dark, though it cannot be seen.]

It could be so much worse. A hundred times worse, nightmares that seem to go on forever -- and when you awaken, you realize that you're living it anyway. A few dreams of monsters, of yourself dissipating, are negligible. Consider yourself fortunate.

[He turns again, facing her back.]

But as I said, you may sever it if you wish. My feelings won't be hurt.