The Law Is Hard But It Is

My Name Is Herondale," The Boy Said Cheerfully. "william Herondale, But Everyone Calls Me Will. Is This Really Your Room? Not Very Nice, Is It?" He Wandered Toward The Window, Pausing To Examine The Stacks Of Books On Her Bedside Table, And Then The Bed Itself. He Waved A Hand At The Ropes. "do You Often Sleep Tied To The Bed?

Achilles Was Murdered With A Poisoned Arrow, And Jason Died Alone, Killed By His Own Rotting Ship. Such Is The Fate Of Heroes.

Her Throat Ached: Adoration, Heartbreak, In Equal Measure. “kiss Me,” She Said. “please.

I've Got A Stele We Can Use. Who Wants To Do Me?" "a Regrettable Choice Of Words," Muttered Magnus.

Time Was Like The Rain, Glittering As It Fell, Changing The World, But Something That Could Also Be Taken For Granted. Until You Love A Mortal. Then Time Became Gold In A Miser's Hands, Every Bright Year Counted Out Carefully, Infinitely Precious, And Each One Slipping Through You Fingers. Cassandra Clare: What Really Happened In Peru