Power. Intoxicating. Like A Fine Wine.

Where Did The Love Come From? What Was It Made Of?

Sometimes It's A Good Thing We Don't Remember Things Half As Well As Books Do.

Dustfinger Inspected His Reddened Fingers And Felt The Taut Skin. ‘he Might Tell Me How My Story Ends,’ He Murmured. Meggie Looked At Him In Astonishment. ‘you Mean You Don’t Know?’ Dustfinger Smiled. Meggie Still Didn’t Particularly Like His Smile. It Seemed To Appear Only To Hide Something Else. ‘what’s So Unusual About That, Princess?’ He Asked Quietly. ‘do You Know How Your Story Ends?’ Meggie Had No Answer For That.

If You Keep Pretending You're In That Book, It Will Make You Not Want To Live In The Life You're In.

Everyone Is Small At Night.