"Good hunter, you've done well. The night is near its end."
Tension melts into relief.
"Now, I will show you mercy."
Relief twists into confusion.
"You will die, forget the dream, and awake under the morning sun."
Confusion explodes into alarm.
"You will be freed..."
Alarm tightens into fear.
"... from this terrible hunter's dream..."
Fear blazes into outrage.
Against the old, defenseless man sitting in a wheelchair, I draw my weapons, stir my beastly blood to boiling, and open wide all the eyes lining my brain.
"Dear oh dear, what was it? The hunt, the blood, or the horrible dream?" Speaking without a care in the world, the decrepit wretch begins to rise laboriously from his chair. Beastly instinct, otherworldly insight, and hard-won experience raise the hairs on the back of my neck.
"Oh, it doesn't matter," he says to himself, amused.
Outage banks into mischievous, wry mirth.
"I beg your pardon," I drawl, as Gehrman stands to his full height and reaches behind to lay a hand against the weapon now plainly visible upon his back. "I take some offense, and rather believe my reason matters very much indeed."
"Oh, indeed?"
"Indeed. Not the hunt, not the blood, nor the dream... I could leave all of those far behind. There is but one thing I fear to lose. Even - or, perhaps, especially - if I truly would merely wake up, forget, and wander off."
"And what is that, good hunter? What is it for which you wish to keep dreaming?"
I laugh; a warm, full-chested "hmhmhm!" chuckle, as sincerely joyful as it is deliberately mocking.
I look my former mentor square in the eye, and deadpan:
"The Doll."
Gehrman freezes. Doesn't sway, doesn't breath, doesn't take his incredulous eyes off of mine.
My smile curls impishly. "She pleases me!"
A doll has no blood with which to flush pale cheeks.
But then, neither could a doll have tears to shed.
The Doll places fluttering hands upon her warming face, as a laughing, joyful hunter crosses blades with a roaring, irate ghoul.