Aziraphale frowns tightly. She's still very much under the sway of the beast. He can sense no real transformation in her, though - this is a dream, after all. It smacks of truth, a torturous memory perhaps, but even so. It's painful, seeing someone so wounded, and it awakens another old instinct, the deep, devoted love that he still harbors for these fragile, foolish little people. What a profoundly brave woman, to have made it through something like this, and how unfair that she should experience it again, now.

"They are," he insists, and takes them firmly, turning the palms upward. His touch is enough to excise the poisonous influence, fizzling it out of her extremeties and hopefully her mind as well. It's enough, but he's been so showy thus far, he doesn't mind adding a little touch of magnanimous comfort, leaning down to first one hand, then the other, bestowing upon each a gentle, platonic sort of kiss. Just a little brush, nothing more. Something to feel. He tilts his head to look up at her, still holding her hands.

"See?" he says. "All better."