Wolfgang pauses for a moment, pursing his lips. "I have that dream often. It must have been mine, and I apologise. I am sorry if -- that it disturbed you." He really is; it's bad enough dealing with that on his own, but the thought of having unintentionally inflicted it on someone else troubles him, especially as it dawns on him that that might have been him and not her --

No, that doesn't make sense. He's ill, and none of the symptoms for any mental illness ever documented include projecting your dreams into other people's heads.

(Could be the city fucking with him, though. Wouldn't that be the cherry on the shit sundae his year has been so far.)

"I've never, you know. That never happened, it's not real. I don't... know why I am this way, but." He would like to assure her he's not some kind of homicidal psycho, although to be fair, a very young child who just witnessed his friend being tortured and murdered lashing out at the people responsible is understandable. A grown adult would have trouble containing their emotional response to that. "This city... sometimes it does strange things, especially when you are close to the fog. There is a lot of magic here and it's not always... contained." As unassuring as that is about the city itself -- really, though, it can't get any worse than the kidnapping -- he hopes her knowing that it's not something wrong with her helps.