"This does not feel like a dream," Greta says, her tone faintly accusatory, though it's not clear whether it's the young man she's scolding for being uncooperative, or the dream itself. Dreams are supposed to be mild and nonsensical, not vivid and dangerous. But what's stranger: the thought of the Woods hiding such a bizarre staircase, or the thought of this being another oddly realistic dream? Now that she thinks about it, it has happened before.

Andrew had said it happens a lot, in fact. Greta sighs, allowing the young man - Johnny, is it? - to take her hand and lead her down the winding staircase.

"Greta," she replies, squinting to make out the stairs' edges in the dim, inconstant light. "Greta Baker."

After a few moments of silent, careful descent, she ventures, "These odd dreams happen a lot, then?" She guesses they must, if he's so in the habit of altering them.