Location: Amsterdam, Where Fire Is Called "Vlam

And you may blame me for your feelings, but it isn't fair to blame me for how you've chosen to behave.

Perhaps I can stay by the fire and mend your socks and scream if I hear any strange noises.

And she would protect him as fiercely, if it were ever his need- if a fight ever became too much for him or if he needed shelter, or food, or a fire in the rain. Or anything she could provide. She would protect him from anything.

You cannot measure love by a scale of degrees.

His name was Death. It was pronounced to rhyme with "teeth", but Bitterblue liked to mispronounce it by accident on occassion.

I'd thought once, actually, of taking your mind, if you asked. I'd thought I could help you fall asleep at night." He opened his mouth to say something. Shut it again. His face closed for a moment, his unreadable mask falling into place. He spoke softly. "But that wouldn't be fair; for after I slept you'd be left awake, with no one to help you sleep.