His eyes widen, brows furrowing down over them. His stomach is clenching. He curls his hands into fists, his blunted nails (nails, they're not claws. nails) trying to dig into his palm.
“So it's real... I mean, was. I thought it was just a story—you know, an allegory. ...Don't tell Pop I said that. He hates when I talk like that. But you're telling the truth, I know you are, I can tell. Or you think it's the truth, anyway.”