ave atque vale.

Suddenly my eyes are open,
Everything comes into focus,
We are all illuminated

"You know, when someone prefers their own brother over you, it isn’t a confidence booster. I thought maybe once she realized it would never work out with Jace, she’d give up and come back to me."

Valentine looked steadily at his son. “A cause for rejoicing,” he said in a low, contemplative voice, “I would have thought. Yesterday you were an orphan, Jonathan. And now a father, a mother, a sister, you never knew you had.”
“It isn’t possible,” said Jace again. “Clary isn’t my sister. If she were…”
“Then what?” Valentine said. Jace did not reply, but his sick look of nauseous horror was enough for Clary. Stumbling a little, she came around the table and knelt beside his chair, reaching for his hand.
"Jace—"
He jerked away from her, his fingers knotting in the sodden tablecloth. “Don’t.” Hatred for Valentine burned in her throat like unshed tears. He had held back, and by not saying what he knew—that she was his daughter—made her complicit in his silence. And now, having dropped the truth on them with the weight of a crushing boulder, he sat back to watch the results with a cool consideration. How could Jace not see how hateful he was?
"Tell me it’s not true," Jace said, staring at the tablecloth.
Clary swallowed against the burning in her throat. "I can’t do that."

Valentine reached through the bars of the cell and laid his hand on top of Jace’s. The rough, callused texture of his fingers felt exactly the way it had when Jace had been ten years old. ”I want to trust you, Jonathan,” he said. “Can I?” Jace wanted to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. His chest felt as if an iron band was being slowly tightened around it, cutting off his breath by inches. (…) ”I must go,” said Valentine. “But we’re not done, you and I.” Jace put his hand to the bars. “Unchain me. Whatever it is, I want to be able to fight it.” “Unchaining you would hardly be a kindness now.” Valentine closed his hand around the witchlight stone completely. It winked out, plunging the room into darkness. Jace flung himself against the bars of the cell, his broken hand screaming its protest and pain. “No!” he shouted. “Father, please.” “When you want to find me,” Valentine said, “you will find me.” And then there was only the sound of his footsteps rapidly receding and Jace’s own ragged breathing as he slumped against the bars.

"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.” -
Stephen Crane

TMI | They’re gonna eat US alive

"The Clave isn’t going to like this," said Alec dubiously. "I’m pretty sure turning mundanes into rats is against the Law."

"Technically she didn’t turn him into a rat," Jace pointed out. "The worst she could be accused of is negligence."

"Who cares about the stupid Law?” Clary screamed, grabbing hold of Isabelle’s wrist. “My best friend is a rat!”

Ouch!” Isabelle tried to pull her wrist back. “Let go of me!”

"Not until you tell me where he is." She’d never wanted to smack anyone as much as she wanted to smack Isabelle right at that moment. "I can’t believe you just left him -he’s probably terrified -"

"If he hasn’t been stepped on," Jace pointed out unhelpfully.

"I didn’t leave him. He ran under the bar," Isabelle protested, pointing. "Let go! You’re denting my bracelet."

"Bitch," Clary said savagely, and flung a surprised-looking Isabelle’s hand back at her, hard.

"Does this darkness have a name? This cruelty, this hatred, how did it find us? Did it steal into our lives or did we seek it out and embrace it? What happened to us that we now send our children into the world like we send young men to war, hoping for their safe return, but knowing that some would be lost along the way. When did we lose our way? Consumed by the shadows. Swallowed whole by the darkness. Does this darkness have a name? Is it your name?" [X]

"So what was that all about?" 
"I think," Jace said, "that she asked if she could touch my mango." 
"She said that?” 
Jace shrugged. “Yeah, then she gave me her number.”

“I could have killed you.”

“I would have let you.”

© hawtornes