Love Isnt Mortal Or Immortal. It Just

He Put His Arms About Himself As If He Were Cold. "i Do Not Know Who To Be Without Him.

It Was Like A Bad Movie Except He Didn’t Actually Twirl His Mustache.” -jace To Maryse About Valentine, Pg.122-

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?

The Witchlight Made His Skin Paler, His Eyes More Intently Blue. They Were The Color Of The Water In The North Atlantic, Where The Ice Drifted On Its Blue-black Surface Like The Snow Clinging To The Dark Glass Pane Of A Window.

You Never Really Hate Anyone As Much As Someone You Cared About Once.