My people are in the world again. No sorrow will live in me as long as that joy‌ — ‌save one, and I thank you for that, too. - Peter S. Beagle

Only the spider paid no mind when the unicorn called softly to her through the open door. Arachne was busy with a web which looked to her as though the Milky Way had begun to fall like snow. The unicorn whispered, 'Weaver, freedom is better, freedom is better,' but the spider fled unhearing up and down her iron loom.

I've had worse, and I'll have better one day. This is not the end.

As for you and your heart and the things you said and didn't say, she will remember them all when men are fairy tales in books written by rabbits.