Of course there is something bad on the other side. The rest of the world tends to qualify, and it pressing in around them like the dark is merely what keeps it at bay, but that just may be Benji's secondhand impression of this place. Painting it vivid, along with the texture of the flood, the dust in the air. It's almost a spell in itself, the powerful childhood belief that this hiding place could stop even the HIT Mark's rain of gunfire; it isn't even heard outside.

"Now..."

Benji supposes that that's a fair question, and one she can answer. She changes without actually changing, losing the urban, dust-tracked practically of wool, replaced with silk and cotton, ruching, stockings, shiny pumps, but as if this were a natural sort of transformation, settling comfortably into self-awareness. "You're from Baedal, aren't you?" she asks.

She isn't even sure if that word will mean anything to Wolfgang, but she doesn't like to snap people into instant lucidity; things can get dangerous for her that way. But the subconscious mind isn't always any better, either, considering the latest few moments.