Fenris stared at Will for a hard moment, lips thin, a muscle in his narrow jaw working.

"It's... when you go to the Fade, it... often involves a sort of spelled sleep. If it's cleverly done, you never even know. You might spend years in the company of demons, wearing the faces of those familiar to you simply so they can leech your warmth." He hesitated there, watching the gala from the corners of his eyes. Mistrustful. But he scanned the crowd too quickly, and it wasn't difficult to tell that he was looking, desperate for some spare edge of familiarity.

He looked down at his hand, and the empty glass in it. "... I think I'll... go outside."