Her terror only spurred him on - he'd never had proper control of his emotions in the first place, and it didn't take much to push him over the edge; although it wasn't quite as easy to come back from it. "Do you think this is your dream, and I'm nothing more than a figment of your imagination?"
Forget the fact that he'd let her go, forget that part of him knew he should be dead and not here, not with her - all that was forgotten along with his confusion. Bran seized her shoulders, his masked face inches from her own. "Promise me once more," he hissed, his grip iron-tight and unrelenting. "Promise me that you will return again and again, that you will sing for me and only me - no one else." His voice took on an almost pleading tone, although he still refused to let her go. "Well? Will you say it?"