It didn't matter, anyway; even if the candle went out, even if the wick got wet - because neither of them were letting go of the candle. So what if "good" ran out? They'd make it happen all over again; and again and again - until they could finally transfer the flame of that candle to a roaring fire place.

Their cabin in the woods. She still thought about it, sometimes. Without anyone trying to kill them. Without complications.

She settled herself next to Snow, arm half looping around the woman, squeezing the side. "I don't know," she admitted, glancing at the TV. "The movies aren't really like home..."