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“Are you talking to yourself again, dear heart?” “Usually,” said Sera. “Such a good habit,” Matilda said approvingly.
Meanwhile, across the country, a certain innkeeper was about to discover that when you hold tight to the little magic you find, when years go by and the world loses much of its colour and still you refuse to forget the magic, magic will go out of its way to show you that it remembers you too.
“Well. Well. Did it hurt? When you fell out of whichever Norse myth you came from?”
“Do you still drink your sugar with a splash of tea?”
“Hygge. Cosiness and contentment.”
“I know you think you’re responsible for everybody here—” “I am responsible,” Sera replied at once. “I didn’t plan it, or ask for it, but I’m the gargoyle of this particular castle. It’s my job to keep everybody in it safe.” “But you don’t have to do it alone,” Jasmine insisted.
Don’t we want to get out of the snow globes we’ve trapped ourselves in?” Yes, Sera wanted to say, but she couldn’t help thinking that you could only get out of a snow globe by shattering the glass, and shattered glass always hurt.
