If You're Texting Magnus To

She Glanced Down And Saw That A Glove Of Blood Covered Her Lower Arm From The Elbow To The Wrist. The Arm Was Throbbing, Stiff, And Painful. "is This When You Start Tearing Strips Off Your T-shirt To Bind Up My Wound?" She Joked. She Hated The Sight Of Blood, Especially Her Own. "if You Wanted Me To Rip My Clothes Off, You Should Have Just Asked." He Dug Into His Pocket And Brought Out His Stele. "it Would Have Been A Lot Less Painful.

You’re Seventeen,” Magnus Said. “you Can’t Have Wasted A Life You’ve Barely Lived.

I Think She Just Asked If She Could Touch My Mango.

Words Were Weapons, His Father Had Taught Him That, And He'd Wanted To Hurt Clary More Than He'd Ever Wanted To Hurt Any Girl. In Fact, He Wasn't Sure He Had Ever Wanted To Hurt A Girl Before. Usually He Just Wanted Them, And Then He Wanted Them To Leave Him Alone.

He Touched Her As He Usually Touched His Beloved Violin, With A Soft And Urgent Grace That Left Her Breathless.