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Things readers leave in books: a violet from a spring walk, a four-leaf clover, a strip of washi tape holding a ticket stub.
Four houses, one library, and a crown of quills for whoever reads the most this term.
Every regressor remembers the fire. The phoenix only remembers who walked out of it.
The sky over the other world is never still. Neither are the people who crossed into it.
Some flowers only open for the things that walk at night. They are very polite about it.
Old masters say the ninth form is not a technique. It's weather.
The academy library catalogues falling stars. Some of them are still warm.
Every pearl is a promise the tide keeps. The sea-kingdom's heirs wear theirs on the outside.
Admission by exam, rank by constellation. The F-class student sits in the back row and reads everything.
The demon king retired to read web novels. His throne still hums and his crown still fits.
Year 3047. The colony ship reads aloud to its sleepers. You woke early, and the story is not finished.
Under the mountain the gold remembers every hand that touched it. The dragon lends it only to readers.