[Is he asleep? The part of him that isn't human. The whole of him, really, as it should be -- this body should only be a shell, but a human form begets human tendencies. Begets human thought. Wearing old skin is still strangely comfortable, even if he knows it's far too small for what he had become.

Her question would be strange to any other man. Not to Vincent.]

I don't know. I should be sleeping, in my faraway dream. But I still feel present here. Awake in this form, very much aware of time flowing in one direction. And you don't know what I'm supposed to look like; maybe I'm very "pretty" regardless.

[He's a baby slug, so probably not. Still, he looks at her again, over the rise of his high collar.]

So... you mean you do not think you're asleep, either? That you're whole as you are?