door slammed shut. I nodded to him. He took another sip of his tea. "I understand you're having an existential crisis."

Well, didn't he just know everything. I guess the normal boundaries to the regular acquisition of knowledge didn't have to exist in a dream.

"I sympathize."

And I didn't know what he gained from this conversation. Scoping out the situation, most likely, finding out what he could exploit. I liked Crowley's attitude, and could appreciate his methods, but I did not want those methods exercised on me.

"You know if you die in the dream, you die permanently, don't you?"

I sighed, unable to withhold any longer. "What is it to you, Crowley?"

"I just feel so....compelled....to point out that people are quicker to protect the people they don't think hate them."

"I don't hate anybody," I scoffed.

But he'd disappeared.

I ran a hand down my face, suddenly tired.

I had been right in the bony hours of this morning, when we'd been choking on the floor at Pestilence's feet. I had to die the proper way.

And according to the lore, through suicide, one could disrupt the dream. They would wake up.

(p92)