Sing to me," she said. "That would be valiant, to raise your voice in this dark, lonely place, and it will be useful as well. Sing to me, sing loudly-drown out my dreams, keep me from remembering whatever wants me to remember it. Sing to me, my lord prince, if it please you. It may not seem a hero's task, but I would be glad of it.

Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name.

Unicorns are not to be forgiven." The magician felt himself growing giddy with jealousy, not only of the touch but of something like a secret that was moving between Molly and the unicorn. "Unicorns are for beginnings," he said, "for innocence and purity, for newness. Unicorns are for young girls." Molly was stroking the unicorn's throat as timidly as though she were blind. She dried her grimy tears on the white mane. "You don't know much about unicorns," she said.

I know how to live here, I know how everything smells, and tastes, and is. What could I ever search for in the world, except this again?

Beyond the town, darker than dark, King Haggard's castle teetered like a lunatic on stilts.

I am infected with life and will die of it in time.

Her voice left a flavor of honey and gunpowder on the air.