"I- err . . ." Morgaine mumbled. It was a strange question. Was it a test of some kind? She gave the old man another look, this time more thoroughly. Yet, no matter how she considered him, the only answer she could come up with was the same. This was nothing more than a kind old man. She could trust him. It was almost infuriating, how intrusive that thought had become. Yet, something told her that wasn't what Vicar Harold wanted to hear from her. She had to come up with something, even if it was a bold-faced lie. "Well . . ." She shuffled her feet a bit, trying to look away from him. Trying to stimulate her legs, which tended to have a habit of stimulating her mind as well. "I think . . . that you're . . . a man. That you are old. An old man, sir. And . . . that . . . I feel you're no particular danger to me, I spose. You remind me of my grandpappy, in some ways. Disregarding the love of the hard whiskey, of course."

Yet, a nagging idea tugged at her mind. These flowers, the old vicar, the walls themselves, they were all in concert trying to hide . . . something, somehow. It was like she was near-sighted, having put on her da's spectacles and is stumbling about the open chamber in them, but this was happening not with her eyes, but her mind. She couldn't make sense of it. Something was missing. Did Dietrich see it? Was he keeping silent on the old vicar's orders? What did Dietrich, a big man with a bigger blade, have to fear from this wrinkled bundle of sticks? Morgaine was suddenly struck with a profane shame for thinking of Vicar Harold in that way. She nearly mumbled an apology before stopping halfway through the first word. It felt as if the old man could read her mind, and he wanted her to know as much.

Vicar Harold watched Morgraine attentively as she pondered his question, a gentle, patient smile on his face, as if trying to reassure her wordlessly that whatever she wanted to say, he would be pleased. He seemed not to notice her hesitation and confusion as she pieced together her reply, merely nodding approvingly at her words as she spoke.
Then, once she had finished her somewhat revised version of the impression that seemed to forcibly occupy her mind whenever she thought of this man, he closed his eyes. For just an instant, the sensation of wrongness intensified to a certainty, only to then swiftly abate, fading away until she barely felt anything out of place at all and even the memory of strangeness faded to nothing more than an absurd thought. Nothing strange was going on, after all; he was just a nice, old man that she could definitely trust.

“Thank you very much for the kind words, my girl,” he chuckled happily, clearly and boundlessly satisfied with her answer. “That is high praise indeed. I will certainly work my hardest to earn those words, just as I work to deserve the faith of Yharnam. Gods willing, I hope to one day be it worthy.”
Still kneeling and presenting his sword, Dietrich hesitantly cleared his throat without raising his gaze from the floor. “Milord Vicar, please forgive me, but it is a Night of the Hunt, and...”
“Yes, yes, you are right. Lives are at stake, time is of the essence,” the Vicar nodded, walking the last bit of distance that separated himself and Morgraine to place a hand gently on her shoulder. “I am about to tell you something very important, Morgraine. You may have learned some of this already, but regardless I want you to listen very carefully.
You are what we refer to as a 'Paleblood Hunter'. That means that you are very, very special, and extremely valuable. All the factions will want to sway and control you, but you must remain resolute and remember that we fight for the gods, and for Yharnam and its people. We need you more than you could ever imagine.”
Vicar Harold smiled apologetically. “As a Paleblood Hunter, you have one foot in the realm of the gods. If you fall asleep, lose consciousness or even die, this connection will pull you from the waking world to a place called the Hunter's Dream. In effect, this makes you immortal. You have likely seen small, nightmarish creatures around the city, especially back at the clinic where you awoke; these creatures are drawn to your kind, and only Paleblood Hunters can see them.
Do you understand so far, my girl? I know this is a lot to digest, but the gods need you to understand the power you wield so that you can truly serve as their agent.”