“My bad luck got tangled up with my bad decisions, and I'm paying for it.”

“The second was some rather bad poetry, but it was short, and I forced my way through by gritting my teeth and occasionally closing one eye so as not to damage the entirety of my brain.”

“To be both rich and handsome was bad enough. But to have a voice like honey over warm bread on top of that was simply inexcusable.”

“...If there's one thing I'm well versed in it's my own good qualities.”

“I decided to dub the room with the good chairs my lutery. Or perhaps my performatory. I would need a while to come up with something suitably pretentious.”

“But it isn’t a rough draft either. The one I turned in several months ago was rough. There were some bad plot holes, some logical inconsistencies, pacing problems, and not nearly enough lesbian unicorns.”

“Auri hopped down from the chimney and skipped over to where I stood, her hair streaming behind her. "Hello Kvothe." She took a half-step back. "You reek."I smiled my best smile of the day. "Hello Auri," I said. "You smell like apretty young girl.""I do," she agreed happily.She stepped sideways a little, then forward again, moving lightly on the balls of her bare feet. "What did you bring me?" she asked."What did you bring me?" I countered.She grinned. "I have an apple that thinks it is a pear," she said, holding it up. "And a bun that thinks it is a cat. And a lettuce that thinks it is a lettuce.""It's a clever lettuce then.""Hardly," she said with a delicate snort. "Why would anything clever think it was a lettuce?""Even if it is a lettuce?" I asked."Especially then," she said. "Bad enough to be a lettuce. How awful to think you are a lettuce too." She shook her head sadly, her hair following the motion as if she were underwater.I unwrapped my bundle. "I brought you some potatoes, half a squash,and a bottle of beer that thinks it is a loaf of bread.""What does the squash think it is?" she asked curiously, looking down at it. She held her hands clasped behind her back"It knows it's a squash," I said. "But it's pretending to be the setting sun.""And the potatoes?" she asked."They're sleeping," I said. "And cold, I'm afraid."She looked up at me, her eyes gentle. "Don't be afraid," she said, and reached out and rested her fingers on my cheek for the space of a heartbeat, her touch lighter than the stroke of a feather. "I'm here. You're safe.”