It's believe or be lost.
And thinking over the little girl in the Chinese garden, there had come into Marco's heart, a thought past enduring.

If little Golden Bells did not believe, then little Golden Bells was lost.

She might have everything in this world, in this life, an emperor for a father, kings for suitors, a great poet for a minstrel, a wizard for an entertainer; but once the little blue shadow left her body, she was lost forever.
And the sight came to him of little Golden Bells going down the dim and lonely alleys of death, and weeping, weeping, weeping...

Her eyes would be shot with panic, and the little mouth twisted, and the little flowery hands twitching at each other.

And it would be cold there for her who was so warm, and it would be dark there for her who loved light, and the Golden Bells of her voice would be lost in the whistling and clanging of the stars as they swung by in their orbits.