"Don't turn the lantern out."

Cecil sighed, wishing for the tenth time that Rosa was there to help him deal with the strange quirks and needs that accompanied a seven-year-old child.

"It's night," he explained, again, as he tucked the covers in around her small form. "Night means sleep. And to sleep, it needs to be dark."

"No," Rydia said. Her bottom lip was trembling in a precariously held pout. "I don't want it out."

"But it's night," he said.

"No," she repeated. "It's scary."

"Look," Cecil started, "just close your eyes, and it won't be scary anymore."

"Promise?" she asked, dark eyes wide. Pudgy hands were clutching the thread-bare linen of the Inn– didn't anyone bother to stock the beds with real blankets anymore?– and she seemed on the verge of believing him.

"Yes," he said, withholding a relieved sigh. "Yes, I promise."

"Well, I need a goodnight kiss," she said, huffing. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead where the emerald strands blew across her eyes.

"Goodnight," he said, and tip-toed over to the lantern before she changed her mind. Again.