I could see the girl walking up the street, holding an empty washing basket. I had been glancing through a window in the living room, gazing at the cloud-heavy sky. The leaves outside danced in the piercing wind, and the first few drops of rain began falling like tears. When I saw her making her way towards my home, I quickly drew the curtains. I made up my mind.

As I seated myself on the armchair beside the empty fireplace and gazed at the lifeless logs, I pondered over the apprehensive look which had possessed her features just then. I knew the reason for its existence: she had realised that it was I who had witnessed her stealing a book on the Führer's birthday.

My reverie was broken as the doorbell resounded through the cold, draughty room. But I didn't notice the low temperature; I had grown used to it. I walked quickly towards the front door and opened it. On my doorstop she stood, a small, pale human.

Unbeknownst to her was that I didn't intend to deliver the washing. Instead, I raised my hand and motioned for her to enter. The features of the girl changed, and instead of an impassive demeanour, there was an expression of the utmost terror.

'I'm just here for the washing,' she stuttered.

For the first time, I spoke a word to her. 'Warte – Wait.'

I turned and walked back, and when I returned with a stack of old, leather volumes in my small hands, horror and confusion mingled on her face. I looked at that oval, pretty face of hers, the eyes bordered by long, blonde eyelashes. Too nervous to speak, I attempted to convey with my own eyes what I could not say: come inside. I have something for you.

Slowly, I saw the dread leak from her face, and in its place arrived curiosity. Her eyes widened slightly and she entered. I looked behind to make sure she was following me and led her to a chestnut-coloured door. Beyond it lay something only my husband, my son and I had seen. This girl would be the fourth.

I raised my eyebrows slightly, attempting to convey a question: are you ready?

She nodded and pushed open the door.

'Jesus, Mary…'

~A MEMORY~

For as long as I would live,

I would remember watching her face transform into the sun;

she was the brightest light, warming the room and

eradicating every cold gist of wind. A person with the

exact same love of books I possessed had transfigured

my library into a living entity.

Once the girl had explored every corner of the room and had run her hands over the spines of the majority of books, she even took the ones from my arms and shelved them away. The whole time, there was a smile on her face that did not vanish.

She stood silently afterwards, and then, walked towards me slowly and warily. A few moments of hesitation later: "I should go."

Without waiting for my response, she exited, and closed the door behind her.

Johann. After she left, the name resounded in my head, even though twenty years had passed. Although I mourned him every day, the pain had become easier to bear. Occasionally he would slip from my mind, but then he would return, bringing memories with him like presents; presents which I did not wish to open, because if I did, my heart wouldn't stop hurting.

I had stopped attempting to be a sociable person. The world was in a state of turmoil and its inhabitants didn't understand how I felt. Well, not anyone in Molching, anyway. Not even my husband, who even though had joined me in my sorrows during those first days of darkness, had learned to forget and continue on.

~A QUESTION I STILL CANNOT ANSWER~

So why couldn't I?

Then I saw her after the book burning. Although a thief, she was a girl who appreciated words for what they were: magical entities which managed to wash away all sorrows. That is perhaps the reason why I invited her inside on a whim; to share my prized possessions with someone who would value and cherish them.

I could hear my husband opening the door and entering the library.

'Ilsa?'

'Hello.' I smiled.

He was about to reply when three loud bangs sounded on the front door.

'I'll get it,' he said.

A realization struck me. I stood up suddenly and walked as quickly as I could to where my husband was standing, shielding the visitor. He moved aside.

I was right; it was the girl. She looked at me and spoke raggedly, attempting to catch her breath.

Panting, she said, 'I forgot…I mean…I just…wanted…to…thank you.'

I smiled at her, to make her understand that she was welcome. To thank her for allowing me to show her that she was not alone; that there was someone else who loved books also.

I waited, and then gently shut the door.

Later, my husband had asked me who that was.

I had responded with her name. But I know the true answer now.

The moment I saw the girl doing something no one had ever done before, something clicked inside me. I know now that a puzzle piece had begun falling into place. I had seen for the first time a girl who would become the person I loved most until the end of my life.

That puzzle had been incomplete for many years, for a piece had broken away when Johann died. Then, another had arrived to take its place. It wasn't exactly like my son's; no, it wasn't a true replica. It was a completely different piece that just happened to fit in the empty space.

~THAT PIECE'S NAME~

Liesel Meminger.