In Fiction, The Actions Of A Villain,

When I Was A Little Kid, I Realized That If You Say Any Word Over And Over Fast Enough, It Loses All Meaning. I'd Lie Awake Saying The Words Over And Over To Myself--'sugar,' 'mirror,' 'whisper,' 'dark.' 'sister,'" He Said Softly. "you're My Sister." "it Doesn't Matter How Many Times You Say It. It'll Still Be True." "and It Doesn't Matter What You Won't Let Me Say, That'll Still Be True Too.

They’re Not Hideous,” Said Tessa. Will Blinked At Her. “what?” “gideon And Gabriel,” Said Tessa. “they’re Really Quite Good-looking, Not Hideous At All.” “i Spoke,” Said Will, In Sepulchral Tones, “of The Pitch-black Inner Depths Of Their Souls.” Tessa Snorted. “and What Color Do You Suppose The Inner Depths Of Your Soul Are, Will Herondale?” “mauve,” Said Will.

She Had Never Thought About Her Name Much Before, But When He Said It, It Was As If She Were Hearing It For The First Time - The Hard T, The Caress Of The Double S, The Way It Seemed To End On A Breath.

Demon Pox. There's Always Demon Pox.

He (jace) Glanced Down At His Bound Hands. His Wrists And Shoulders Had Gone From Aching To Hard, Stabbing Pain, But He Didn’t Wince As The Inquisitor Regarded One Of The Blades, Named It Jophiel, And Plunged It Into The Polished Wooden Floorboards At Her Feet. He Waited, But Nothing Happened. “boom,” He Said Eventually. “was Something Supposed To Happen There?” ~pg.303~