[Bill knows that face well, in a way it also was once his, back in the days where Stanford allowed him to puppeteer the fleshy form all around the waking world. Those days must seem long gone to a human's small lifespan, not for Bill. For the dream demon it practically feels like yesterday, a mere blink of the eye. As it should. Because, as everyone knows, time isn't real.

For a moment he's tempted to just continue watching, curious as to what new horror the man would conjure for himself. Stanford's belief in him is so strong, Bill practically feels as though he exists in this realm already. Maybe the scientist would even crack enough to dream a fake replica to torture himself with; Bill wouldn't have a lift a finger at all.]

"OBSERVANT as ever IQ!"

[But where would the fun in that be?
Bill takes his time in appearing for once. A glimmer of gold off a shiny surface here, a quick blink of yellow in a reflection there-]

"I MEAN, all the telltale signs are there, that monochrome backdrop, the whimsical music, THAT FACE YOU MAKE whenever I'm IN YOUR THOUGHTS."

[-Before finally eclipsing the grey-scale glow of the triangular portal, peering down to the man at last.]

"But this IS YOUR DREAM. You tell ME, what's REAL."