City of Lost Souls

But the actions we take in the name of love, those are moral or immoral.

Forever does not make loss forgettable, only bearable.

But it was not Valentine’s name. It was his son’s.

Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern.

She held it out now to Brother Zachariah. He took it from her fingers and opened it, reading, as she had, the single word of Ancient Greek scrawled in elaborate script across the top of the page.

Erchomai, it said.

I am coming.

Her faerie ring

“My heart is your heart,” he said. “My hands are your hands.”

“No, you don’t need to help me. But if you don’t, there’s nothing stopping me from calling you up again and again, now that I know you can’t kill me. Think of it as me leaning against your Heavenly doorbell… forever.”

she saw the gleam of the gold leaf-ring on her finger. It sobered her slightly. Don’t get distracted; don’t get lost in this. This isn’t Jace, isn’t Jace, isn’t Jace.

“I don’t think I can,” she said. “They’ll send hunters after him. Set a trap for him. He’s just a boy.”

He was never just a boy,

. “And what favor do you want from me?”

“It’s very simple,” she said. “I want you to kill Raphael Santiago.”

I love you as one loves certain dark things

—Pablo Neruda, “Sonnet XVII”