I can’t be forgiven so I am not asking you for forgiveness. We lost each other, and we will never find each other again.

She had taught herself how to knit, and for the mare's scarf - it was green - she had given herself the best grade possible. And ...'
'That's silly!' Micha giggled.
'Well, who is the cliff queen, you or me?' Abel asked. 'It isn't my fault if you're giving yourself grades!

Abel was brushing the snow off his parka while Micha was dancing around him, still balancing the plate of cookies, singing, 'We're staying, we're staying, we're staying overnight! We're drying! We're drying! We're drying on the line!

Possibly, she thought, the pool of answers was limited. There are fewer answers in the world than questions, and if you ask me now why that is so, I must tell you that there is no answer to that question.

That was how she saw the storyteller for the last time - in an absolutely silent world, in a staircase. He'd hit his target.
When she fell into darkness, she knew that she would never see him again.
She'd love him to the very end.

The place in her, though, where her tears should have come from, was rough and dry. No, she didn't find any tears in herself to cry for the storyteller.
The storyteller didn't exist anymore.