“Next to that dragon Micha had wirtten: 'KIS EacH OthER'. Abel looked at Anna. Anna looked at Abel.'She is the little queen,' said Abel, 'in our fairy tale, at least.''One must obey the queen,' said Anna.”

“And she imagined how things could be later. It was stupid, but the picture just appeared in her mind. Abel and Magnus shoveling snow together... in twenty years, in thirty. Magnus had grown old, his broad back still strong but bent from time, his hair nearly white at the temples. And Abel... Abel was a different Abel, an adult one, one who was absolutely self-confident and didn't let his eyes dart around the room at lunch, as if he were caught in trap. "Nonsense," she whispered. "Thirty years? You don't stay with the person you meet at seventeen... what kind of fairy tale are you living in, Anna Leemann?" And still the picture seemed right.”

“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!”

“Anna watched as Abel walked across the empty schoolyard, she wondered whether there was a limit to desolation or whether it grew endlessly, infinitely. Desolation with a hundred faces and more, desolation of a hundred different kinds and more, like the color blue.”

“And the snow that fell onto the roof in winter... it fell softly... softly... and it covered the house, the armchair, the books, the children's voices. It covered Anna and Abel, covered their parallel world, and everything was finally, very, very quiet.”

“I am not staying with the murderer," she said, her words muffled by his jacket. "I am not staying with the victim Abel Tannatek or the culprit Abel Tannatek. I am staying with the storyteller.”