[ The effort is honestly admirable, and Dokja feels his mood lightening at the absurdity of their conversation. To think that they could come from a hellscape of a nightmare to then talk about the taste of stories.

But he takes a moment to think about it, head tilting to the side as his gaze travels to the ceiling. There's not much to make out there, especially in the darkness, but past that wall above their heads, he imagines the sky littered with stars, each one compromised of stories that had landed them there. He thinks of his own, then the stories that he had refused to eat despite watching the other Constellations enjoy them with great relish. ]

They do, [ he finally says with a small smile. ] The ones I had tasted the best.

[ He keeps it vague, complications of how to describe the taste acting as a barrier, along with the fact that he doesn't want to keep Eustace any longer than he already has. ]

You should really get some sleep, you know. You don't have to do this. I'll be fine.