"There was a..." He hesitates. 'Demon' is a little offensive, he thinks, there are people in this city who don't take kindly to it being used as a term to describe malevolent entities. (Which was really alarming to discover in the middle of a crowded bar in Ludmead, yes.) He makes a gesture, shaking one hand from side to side like sort of. "Thing. It was — Flag Hill, Aspic, Howl Barrow. Some other places. That was its shape, the spiral. That was real. It killed a lot of people, it was... pretty bad." He goes on to add, a little too quickly, "I mean, it's fine now, it's gone, I just... it's hard to forget."

And hard to talk about, given how his anxiety ramps up about 200%. That was a good answer, though. About things being real. "When I imagine things, sometimes, it makes them — it gives them power. Dreaming makes it stronger. It makes it hard to tell the difference between real and... not, dreaming and awake." He is staring straight at the tea. There's not a lot of eye contact going on in this conversation.