I live in Hamburg; that's in the north. And I live on the outskirts of town. It looks like countryside.

All books are in safe hands with me. They're my children, my inky children, and I look after them well. I keep the sunlight away from their pages, I dust and protect them from hungry hookworms and grubby human fingers.

The Fairy's dress rustled as she turned. Human women dressed like flowers, layers of petals around a mortal, rotting core.

Why do grown-ups think it's easier for children to bear secrets than the truth? Don't they know about the horror stories we imagine to explain the secrets?

She is a real bookworm. I think she lives on print. Her whole house is full of books - looks as if she likes them better than human company.

Words,words filled the night like the fragrance of invisible flowers.

Mo could paint pictures in the empty air with his voice alone.