Neil Gaiman

She was, as yet, unmarried, although she was very much in love

It was chilly that April, with the awkward changeability of English spring

I have a cottage on the edge of my father’s land,”

The spring moon was high and bright, and the night was clear

Bromios had set up a wine-tent and was selling wines and pasties to the village folk, who were often tempted by the foods being sold by the folk from Beyond the Wall but had been told by their grandparents, who had got it from their grandparents, that it was deeply, utterly wrong to eat fairy food, to eat fairy fruit, to drink fairy water and sip fairy wine.

There were wonders for sale, and marvels, and miracles; there were things undreamed-of and objects unimagined

It was festooned with flowers: bluebells and foxgloves and harebells and daffodils, but also with violets and lilies, with tiny crimson dog-roses, pale snowdrops, blue forget-me-nots and a profusion of other flowers Dunstan could not name

“So where do these flowers come from?” he asked.

She smiled knowingly. “On the side of Mount Calamon a grove of glass flowers grows. The journey there is perilous, and the journey back is more so.”

I gain my freedom on the day the moon loses her daughter

I no longer have a name. I am a slave, and the name I had was taken from me