"I don't like where my train of thought is going, but that does provide some useful context. Let's split the difference and call it 'marginally better.'" Shen Qingqiu takes a moment to nerve himself up and then places two fingertips on the grinder's metal frame, as if trying to check its pulse -- as far away from both the handle and teeth as he can get.

"Ough, it's wet!" he cries, his voice rising nearly to the point of an undignified squeak as his entire body shudders with cat-like disgust. His long hair even waves slightly against the line of his back. He pulls his hand away, holding it out awkwardly as if reluctant to let it touch any other part of his person. To his senses, it had been as if the entire grinder was coated in a layer of slick, greasy fat, sticky and cloying. "And it's contaminated very thoroughly with something evil," he continues, using the excuse of exposition to try and regain his composure. "Something powerful and...hungry. It doesn't feel as old as the thing attached to you, but...it's the same of sort of entity, isn't it? One of your world's 'Fears.'"