Jace Laughed, That Soft Rich Sound Clary

Clary, You're An Artist, Like Your Mother. That Means You See The World In Ways That Other People Don't. It's Your Gift, To See The Beauty And The Horror In Ordinary Things. It Doesn't Make You Crazy — Just Different. There's Nothing Wrong With Being Different.

And When Jace Was Ten Years Old, Valentine Killed Him. Michael, I Mean." "that Sounds Like Something He Would Do," Said Luke. His Tone Was Neutral, But There Was Something In His Voice That Made Clary Look At Him Sideways. Did He Not Believe Her? "jace Saw Him Die, " She Added, As If To Bolster Her Claim. "that's Awful," Said Luke. "poor Messed-up Kid.

She Turned And Looked At Him. "ducks?" She Said Again. A Smile Tugged The Edge Of His Mouth. "i Hate Ducks. Don't Know Why. I Just Always Have.

Your Trusting Idiocy Knows No Bounds

She Had Never Imagined That The Kiss Would Be So Brief And Desperate And Wild. Or That It Would Taste Of Holy Water. Holy Water And Blood.