She was the breeze on a summer's day, the first drops of rain when the earth was parched, light from the evening star.

She says there are stories everywhere and that people who wait for the right one to come along before setting pen to paper end up with very empty pages.

Nell was not one for friends and had never hidden her distaste for most other humans, their neurotic compulsion for the acquisition of allies.

There's a market for mysteries for adults. That feeling of opening a book and delving inside and not coming out until you've closed the book.

Oh, Grey, no one really likes keeping secrets. The only thing that makes a secret fun is knowing that you weren't supposed to tell it.

She was the breeze on a summer's day, the first drops of rain when the earth was parched, light from the evening star.

We're all unique, just never in the ways we imagine.