He smiled slowly, a bittersweet smile that showed no fang until he spoke. "This," he said simply. His gesture was sweeping, all-encompassing; the world outside, the lights, the sounds, the carnival. "This will always be left, little Lettie, as long as I stand here. And even beyond then, if the children preserve their own playground. This is our world," he whispered, his lips warm against her ear, the scent of her. "This is a world of our own making, and nothing real can touch us here. Nothing can hurt you here."