Writing stories is a kind of magic, too.
Didn't books say that too: that there is always price to pay for happiness?
He longed for the deep as she longed for the night sky and for white lilies floating on water -- although she still tried to convince herself that love alone could feed her soul.
Words are immortal - Elinor
Where did the love come from? What was it made of?
It's a good idea to have your own books with you in a strange place