"No, don't think so. Not much. It's just a sick thing, I think."

They drop the kettle on the stove, finally, and duck down to open the side. They have used the castle stoves before, all the different kinds--this is an old wood stove. Already filled with wood, thankfully.

"Nothing's wrong with sugar an' tea," they chirp, ignoring the messed-up hum while they get into a nearby drawer, feeling around--there's the matchstick box, good. Frisk lights one, slipping it into the door, and keep crouched as they wait for the fire to get going. It won't take long. There might be magic in it, really, since the matches had a weird gleam to them.