#In the scene where she remembers Gideon there's even a (I assume intentional) callback to the conversation-falling-down-the-stairs gag

[procrastinationaccount]

Harrow and heat

"She hadn't come on purpose; the scrap of black meat had asked for it - the chain of a kiss: the ice that burnt the flesh of the mouth that had stuck to the mouth that was frozen." (NtN, 472)

"Within the incinerator, [Pyrrha] looked at you ... There was no bloom of necromantic powers, nor move to save [her]self: the third saint to serve the King Undying stared at you with something very like helplessness, lying there with [her] heart exploded, a man before the flame ... It was the first time, as a Lyctor, exploding such tonnage of bone into an incinerator's flame, that you looked upon the limit of your power: and that limit still stretched so far out into the goddamn distance that it was out of your sight." (HtN, 289-290)

"The sky was the ceiling, and the ceiling was a decrepit room in Canaan House, veiled with the hot white breath from her own throat. When the world finally landed its long wound-up sucker punch, a tangled howl came out of her throat, and she was shocked that she was able to make such a noise. Memory hit Harrowhark Nonagesimus with the inexorable gravity of a satellite sucked from orbit, flinging itself to die on the surface of its bounded planet; the world hit her like a fall ... she was not shocked, after all. She was consumed. She was the kindling for the arson taking place in her heart, her brain dry wedding for the flames, her soul so much incandescent gas." (HtN, 3879-380)

"Harrow floundered, not toward the shore, but to the island in the centre - to the black mausoleum of glass and ice ... She hauled herself to shore and lay there, skin crawling, frozen half-solid, shivering and numb in that strange heat predating hypothermic death. And yet Harrow felt no pain; she felt nothing, in fact, but a welcome sense of homecoming - the strange, tiny, pleased familiarity of finding an old book once beloved, or some other antique of childhood ... The ice felt kind and warm; the stone gave as though it were cotton. Harrow lay where the Body had lain, perfectly at her ease, perfectly comfortable" (HtN, 503 - 504)