She retreats further, watching the ice curl from its hands, shell tensed in preparation for a secondary onslaught. Yet it is the Pit-thing's words that disconcert her (emotion, not hers, belonging solely to the shell) the most.

"Impossible," says she, but the words lack their ordinary conviction. Dreaming is - is mortal, and Illyria does not sleep, not in the human definition of the term. The thought of it repulses her.

And yet - here, this Pit-creature, the Morningstar, so clearly not of her world nor of any world she recognizes, and if it is to be believed than it has surely been drawn into this dream when it should not be, not with all its power and Hellfire.

"This shell does not require sleep. How is it that I dream?" The shell is radiating confusion. It is highly distracting.