Your mom? [ Claude's brow furrows as he tries to put the pieces together. Aerith's vision had been so much smaller, he thinks, more intimate, more steeped in mixed emotions so unlike Claude's own vision of terror and defeat. He idly rubs the palms of his hands together as he thinks, expression as sharp as it ever is. He may be able to play the brainless hedonist around others, but Aerith already knows him better than that; there's no reason to disguise his true thought patterns in front of her. ]

That's interesting. That makes it feel realer, doesn't it? What I saw -- I could make it up, I suppose. Everyone's scared of that sort of thing. But I don't think you'd be able to think of coming up with something like that. That's not a bad trip, it's...

[ Memory. ]

That was my only one. [ He pauses, then amends: ] My first one, if I'm catching what you're putting down. What else did you see?