I Do Not Understand How You Humans

He Found Himself Wanting To Write Poetry About How Her Blue Eyes Were Like Starlight And Her Hair Like Night, Because "night" And "starlight" Rhymed, But He Had A Feeling The Poem Wouldn't Turn Out That Well.

I Have A Plan.” He Groaned. “i Was Afraid Of That.” “my Plans Are Not Terrible.” “isabelle’s Plans Are Terrible.” He Pointed A Finger At Her. “your Plans Are Suicidal. At Best.” She Sat Back, Her Arms Crossed Over Her Chest. “do You Want To Hear It Or Not? You Have To Keep It A Secret.” “i Would Pluck Out My Own Eyes With A Fork Before I Would Give Away Your Secrets,” Simon Said, Then Looked Anxious. “wait A Second. Do You Think That’s Likely To Be Required?

Though Alec Had Never Seen The Occupants Of The First Floor Loft, They Seemed To Be Engaged In A Tempestuous Romance. Once There Had Been A Bunch Of Someone's Belongings Strewn All Over The Landing With A Note Attached To A Jacket Lapel Addressed To "a Lying Liar Who Lies." Right Now There Was A Bouquet Of Flowers Taped To The Door With A Card Tucked Among The Blooms That Read I'm Sorry. That Was The Thing About New York: You Always Knew More About Your Neighbors' Business Than You Wanted To.

Come In. And Try Not To Murder Any Of My Guests.

Years Later Magnus Would Return To London And Camille Belcourt's Side, And Find It Not All That He Had Dreamed. Years Later Another Desperate Herondale Boy With Blue, Blue Eyes Would Come To His Door, Shaking With The Cold Of The Rain And His Own Wretchedness, And This One Magnus Would Be Able To Help.