For a terrifying moment he thinks she's gonna figure it out, he's going to shatter what is clearly a very nice dream, and he'll have to explain that he's dead now, for good this time. But she seems to recover, and then she's back to leading him around, lulling him along. This is better. Just let this happen. It won't last forever.

He sits where invited, pulling the chair in and sitting stiffly, uneasily. He can't stop looking around the kitchen, taking in how absurdly real it is, the smells and textures, everything perfectly rendered - the shared dreams he's experienced before are no different, but this feels different somehow, this is a private dream he's just invaded.

He refocuses his attention on Greta, his stomach twisting, questioning his conviction to keep the truth from her almost as soon as he's arrived at it. Which is crueler, to break the illusion, or to let her have this temporary peace? He's not a good judge.