Jace Likes To Pretend That Everyone Isn’t

Jem Leaned Closer Against The Chair, Staring Into The Fire. “better It Were My Hands,” He Said. Will Shook His Head. Exhaustion Was Muting The Edges Of Everything In The Room, Blurring The Flocked Wallpaper Into A Single Mass Of Dark Color. “no. Not Your Hands. You Need Your Hands For The Violin. What Do I Need Mine For?

Our Hearts, They Need A Mirror, Tessa. We See Our Better Selves In The Eyes Of Those Who Love Us.

They All Have Always Loved You, Will Herondale, For You Cannot Hide What Is Good About Yourself, However Hard You Try.

Will Loved To Gallop.

You Never Cared That I Was Your Sister Before.” “didn’t I?” His Black Eyes Flicked Up And Down Her. “our Father’s Dead,” He Said. “there Are No Other Relatives. You And I, We Are The Last. The Last Of The Morgensterns. You Are The Only One Left Whose Blood Runs In My Veins, Too. You Are My Last Chance.