The longer her attention is set on himself, the more downright depressing Pomarr's very being appears to be. It's almost odd, in a way, because as little more than a bystander to this all with no faces to put to these names, Dipper had imagined she would be much more malevolent in her intentions. Now that he looks at her, however, up close and personal like this, it feels like anything but.

Pomarr is simply sad and desperate, clouded by her own emotions into doing what she feels is the right—and only—way.

Dipper's mouth purses into a thin line as she listens to the exchange, eyes falling toward the wet sand briefly.

"Yeah," he finally chimes in with agreement. "They're not wrong. They might not be the same." With a hand, Dipper gestures at himself. "Take it from the guy who's also raised a bunch of the undead before. Bad idea. I don't recommend it to anyone."