Illusions and dreams require less knowledge about the person trapped in them than their own mind, at least as far as I understand it. It may be less that this place knows and more that in a small, shared space, our individual thoughts are simply visible together.

[He's in agreement on finding a way out though—even if his experience here makes him hesitate to make the clearest suggestion. Sunday is a new acquaintance, and new to this place besides. It would be terribly rude to just blunder into it.

Besides, he's got to take a moment to process what he's just seen again. The sensations that rake across his skin and drape over limbs...]

Ah.

[He finally manages sound again after Sunday suggests they move on to the building, eyes closing for a moment. A soft inhale, and the priest tries again.]

Just... an unexpected memory. It isn't that it's bad, but it's from a different time.

[Olivine should never be allowed to judge how bad his own memories are. Anyway, running a hand over his forearm briefly, he takes a step toward the tower. All the while, he's increasingly worried that the only options they'll be given will all be... awkward. The doors themselves will open to the grandiose foyer when they get near, the shimmering tiles inside leading to a myriad of corridors and staircases. tallpillars divide the main area into neat sections, and the statue of a distinguished man stands at the center.]

Let's see what we have to work with, then.

[He's trying very hard to not think about his time as a professor here, the issues with the cult and the chaotic tilt of his essence following it.]