To Love Something Is To Destroy It

Be What You Are. No One Who Really Loves You Will Stop

Will Sat Where He Was, Gazing At The Silver Bowl In Front Of Him; A White Rose Was Floating In It, And He Seemed Prepared To Stare At It Until It Went Under. In The Kitchen Bridget Was Still Singing One Of Her Awful Sad Songs; The Lyrics Drifted In Through The Door: "twas On An Evening Fair I Went To Take The Air, I Heard A Maid Making Her Moan; Said, 'saw Ye My Father? Or Ye My Mother? Or Saw Ye My Brother John? Or Saw Ye The Lad That I Love Best, And His Name It Is Sweet William?" I May Murder Her, Tessa Thought. Let Her Make A Song About That.

It's Not Funny, Jace," Alec Interrupted, Starting To His Feet. "are You Just Going To Let Her Stand There And Call Me Names?" "yes," Jace Said Kindly. "it'll Do You Good-- Try To Think Of It As Endurance Training.

Lips. There Was Something Strangely, Delicately Indelicate About The Word, Like A Kiss Itself.

He Seemed Only ... Annoyed. Annoyed, And Sweaty, And Hot. "yeah, Well," He Said, "the Next Time You Decide To Sneak Out Of Our Magically Warded Apartment Through A Door That Shouldn't Really Exist, Leave A Note.