He didn't set her in his lap, or hold her, though she was certainly small enough to do so. He had no younger family, she surmised, and set straight and still as a little doll, feet dangling over the edge of the bed. He listed off names, and she smiled, amused, hiding her fangs.

"Oh? I can't merely be myself?" she asked, softly, playfully. "Or are your dreams always so logical?"

Dreams were not, as she understood it, but she had not made a detailed study of the mortal psyche. She knew already there was no point. She would not understand it.