Friday, 30 March 2012

Music + Books = Magic

I love listening to music whilst I read. Whilst I do work. Whilst I type on the computer. Whilst I do ANYTHING, there is always a faint tune hanging in the air or resonating through my earphones. So I am here to promote my belief that...

And to do this, I am taking any requests, for any series (as long as I have read/heard/get the gist of it) and I will turn them into playlists. 

Here's one to start with: The Clockwork Angel by Cassandra Clare. These are the songs I listen to when I think of this wonderful novel:

  • Not Alone by RED
  • Set Fire to the Rain by ADELE
  • Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri
  • Fix You by Coldplay
  • The Blower's Daughter by Damien Rice
  • Lie by David Cook
  • Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls
  • Foolish Games by Jewel
  • Tonight I Wanna Cry by Keith Urban
  • Rose by NLT
  • Your Guardian Angel by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
  • Forgiveness by Sarah McLachlan
  • Angel by Sarah McLachlan
  • Stupid by Sarah McLachlan
  • Enchanted by Taylor Swift
  • White Horse by Taylor Swift
  • Here Without You by 3 Doors Down
  • Thinking of You by Katy Perry


My personal (and open to others) challenge for this week...


The challenge is as follows:
  • Challenge takers are to read at least 20 Tennyson poems before the 10/4/12
  • Challenge takers are then to write a poem inspired by Tennyson's awesome poems
  • The winner will receive a copy of Shatter Me by Tahereh Mafi (from my latest review)
  • Enter using the Rafflecopter widget below (press READ MORE) 
Good luck!

    Thursday, 29 March 2012

    My Treat to You All - Some Clockwork Goodness!

    I found this short story whilst on Goodreads, searching for something to read - and I'm so overjoyed to have been able to read it! Cassie is such a talented author, and her detailed storytelling from Will's tortured (and downright cute!) perspective is enough to have me sitting here, at 9:30pm, hand over my heart, tears pricking the corners of my eyes! I just want to reach through the words and hug Will!!! 

    Comment below if you would like me to post up Jem's POV of the Midnight Scene (after opium den)

    So here it...


    Will Herondale was burning.

    This was not the first time he had consumed vampire blood, and he knew the pattern of the sickness. First there was a feeling of giddiness and euphoria, as if one had drunk too much gin — the brief period of pleasant drunkenness before the morbs set in. Then pain, starting at the toes and fingertips, working its way up as if lines of gunpowder had been laid across his body and were burning their way toward his heart.
    He had heard the pain was not so great for humans: that their blood, thinner and weaker than Shadowhunter blood, did not fight the demon disease as Nephilim blood did. He was vaguely aware when Sophie came in with the holy water, splashing him with the cool stuff as she set the buckets down and went out again. Sophie’s hatred of him was as reliable as fog in London; he could feel it coming off her whenever she got near him. The force of it lifted him up onto his elbows now. He pulled a bucket close to him and upended it over his head, opening his mouth to swallow what he could.

    For a moment, it doused the fire burning through his veins entirely. The pain receded, except for the throbbing in his head. He lay back down carefully, crooking an arm over his face to block the dim illumination coming from the low windows. His fingers seemed to trail light as they moved. He heard’s Jem’s voice in his head, scolding him for risking himself. But the face he saw against his eyelids wasn’t Jem.
    She was looking at him. The very darkest voice of his conscience, the reminder that he could protect no one, and last of all himself. Looking the way he had the last time he had seen her; she never changed, which was how he knew she was a figment of his imagination.

    “Cecily,” he whispered. “Cecy, for the love of God, let me be.”
    “Will?”  That startled him; she appeared to him often, but rarely spoke. She reached her hand out, and he would have reached for her, too, had not the clang and clatter of metal brought him out of his reverie. He cleared his throat.

    “Back, are you, Sophie?” Will said. “I told you if you brought me another one of those infernal pails, I’d—”
    “It’s not Sophie,” came the reply. “It’s me. Tessa.”

    The hammering of his own pulse filled his ears. Cecily’s image faded and vanished against his eyelids. Tessa. Why had they sent her? Did Charlotte hate him as much as all that? Was this meant to be a sort of object lesson to her in the indignities and dangers of Downworld? When he opened his eyes he saw her standing in front of him, still in her velvet dress and gloves. Her dark curls were startling against her pale skin and her cheekbone was freckled, lightly, with blood, probably Nathaniel’s.

    Your brother, he knew he should say. How is he? It must have been a shock to see him. There is nothing worse than seeing someone you love in danger.

    But it had been years, and he had learned to swallow the words he wanted to say, transform them. Somehow they were talking about vampires, about the virus and how it was transmitted. She gave him the pail with a grimace — good, she should be disgusted by him — and he used it again to quench the fire, to still the burning in his veins and throat and chest.

    “Does that help?” she asked, watching him with her clear gray eyes. “Pouring it over your head like that?”
    Will imagined how he must look to her, sitting on the floor with a bucket over his head, and made a strangled noise, almost a laugh. Oh, the glamour of Shadowhunting! The warrior life he had dreamed of as a child!

    “The questions you ask . . .” he began. Someone else, someone not Tessa, might have perhaps apologized for asking but she only stood still, watching him like a curious bird. He did not think he had ever seen someone with eyes the color of hers before: it was the color of gray mist blowing in from the sea in Wales.
    You could not lie to someone with eyes that reminded you of your childhood.

    “The blood makes me feverish, makes my skin burn,” he admitted. “I can’t get cool. But, yes, the water helps.”

    “Will,” Tessa said. When he looked up again, she seemed to be haloed by light like an angel, though he knew it was the vampire blood blurring his vision. Suddenly she was moving toward him, gathering her skirts out of the way to sit by him on the floor. He wondered why she was doing that, and realized to his own horror that he had asked her to. He imagined the vampire disease in his body, breaking down his blood, weakening his will. He knew, intellectually, that he had drunk enough holy water to kill the disease before it could burrow into his bones, and that he could not put his lack of control down to the sickness. And yet — she was so close to him, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her body.

    “You never laugh,” she was saying. “You behave as if everything is funny to you, but you never laugh. Sometimes you smile when you think no one is paying attention.”

    He wanted to close his eyes. Her words went through him like the clean slice of a seraph blade, lighting his nerves on fire. He’d had no idea she had observed him so closely, or so accurately. “You,” he replied. “You make me laugh. From the moment you hit me with that bottle. Not to mention the way that you always correct me. With that funny look on your face when you do it. And the way you shouted at Gabriel Lightwood. And even the way you talked back to de Quincey. You make me . . .”

    His voice trailed off. He could feel the cold water trickling down his back, over his chest, against his heated skin. Tessa sat only inches from him, smelling of powder and perfume and perspiration. Her damp curls curled against her cheeks, and her eyes were wide on him, her pale pink lips slightly parted. She reached up to push back a lock of her hair, and, feeling like he was drowning, he reached out for her hand. “There’s still blood,” he said, inarticulately. “On your gloves.”

    She began to draw away, but Will would not let her go; he was drowning, still, drowning, and he could not release her. He turned her small right hand over. He had the strongest desire to reach for her entirely, to pull her against him and fold her in his arms, to encompass her slim, strong body with his. He bent his head, glad she could not see his face as the blood rushed up into it. Her gloves were ragged, torn where she had clawed at her brother’s manacles. With a flick of his fingers, he opened the pearl buttons that kept her glove closed, baring her wrist.

    He could hear himself breathing. Heat spread through his body — not the unnatural heat of vampire sickness, but the more ordinary flush of desire. The skin of her wrist was translucently pale, the blue veins visible beneath. He could see the flutter of her pulse, feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. He stroked the softness of her wrist with the tips of his fingers and half-closed his eyes, imagining his hands on her body, the smooth skin of her upper arms, the silkiness of the legs hidden beneath her voluminous skirts. “Tessa,” he said, as if she had the slightest idea the effect she was having on him. There were women who might have, but Tessa was not one of them. “What do you want from me?”

    “I—I want to understand you,” she whispered.
    The thought was quite horrifying. “Is that really necessary?”
    “I’m not sure anyone does understand you,” she breathed, “except possibly Jem.”

    Jem. Jem had given up on understanding him long ago, Will thought. Jem was a study in how you could love someone entirely without understanding them at all. But most people were not Jem.

    “But perhaps he only wants to know that there is a reason,” she was saying. Her gaze was fierce. Nothing stopped her arguing, he thought, or caring: in that way, she was like Jem: loss did not make her bitter, and betrayal did not beat down her faith. Unconsciously, she moved to draw her hand back, to gesture passionately, and he caught at it, slipping the glove off her hand. She gasped as if he had put his hands on her body, blood rising to stain her cheeks. Her bare, small hand, which curled like a dove inside his, went still. He lifted it to his mouth, his cheek, kissing her skin: brushing his lips across her knuckles, down to her wrist. He heard her cry out in a low voice, and lifted his head to see her sitting perfectly still, her hand held out, her eyes closed and her lips half-open.

    He had kissed girls, other girls, when basic physical desire overcame common sense, in dark corners at parties or under the mistletoe. Quick, hurried kisses, most of them, although some surprisingly expert — where had Elspeth Mayburn learned how to do what she did with her teeth, and why had no one ever told her it wasn’t a good idea? — but this was different.

    Before there had been controlled tension, a deliberate decision to give into what his body asked for, divorced from any other feeling. Cut free of any emotion at all. But this — this was heat flowering through his chest, shortening his breath, sending a tide of goosebumps over his skin. This was a feeling of pain when he let her hand go, a sickness of loss cured only when he pulled her toward him across the splintery wooden floor, his hands cupping the back of her neck as his lips descended on hers with equal parts tenderness and fierceness.
    Her mouth opened under his, hesitant, and some corner of his mind cried out to him to slow his pace, that by any reasonable guess this was her first kiss. He forced his hands to slow down, to gently unclasp the fastenings in her hair and smooth the curls down over her shoulders and back, his fingertips tracing light patterns on her soft cheekbones, her bare shoulders. Her hair felt like warm silk running through his fingers and her body, pressed against his, was all softness. Her hands were light as feathers on the back of his neck, in his hair; when he drew her closer, she made a low sound against his mouth that nearly drove every last thought from his head. He began to bend her back toward the floor, moving his body over hers —
    And froze. Panic rushed through his blood in a boiling flood as he saw the whole fragile structure he had built up around himself shatter, all because of this, this girl, who broke his control like nothing else ever had. He tore his mouth from her, pushing her away, the force of his terror nearly knocking her over. She stared at him through the tangled curtain of her hair, her face pale with shock.

    “God in Heaven,” he whispered. “What was that?”

    Her bewilderment was plain on her face. His heart contracted, pumping self-loathing through his veins. The one time, he thought. The only time —

    “Tessa,” he said. “I think you had better go.”
    “Go?” Her lips parted; they were swollen from his kisses. It was like looking at a wound he had inflicted, and at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. “I should not have been so forward. I’m sorry —”

    “God.” The word surprised him; he had stopped believing in God a long time ago, and now he had invoked him twice. The pain on her face was almost more than he could bear, and not least because he had not intended to hurt her. So often, he intended to hurt and to wound, and this time he had not — not in the least — and he had caused more hurt than he could imagine. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and take her in his arms, not even to satisfy his desire but to impart tenderness. But doing so would only worsen the situation beyond imagining. “ Just leave me alone now,” he heard himself say. “Tessa. I’m begging you. Do you understand? I’m begging you. Please, please leave.”

    Her reply came, finally, stiff with hurt and anger. “Very well,” she said, though it was clearly not. He chanced a look at her out of the corner of his eye: she was proud, she would not cry. She did not bother to gather up the hair clips he had scattered; she only rose to her feet and turned her back on him.

    He deserved no better, he knew. He he had thrown himself at her with no regard for her reputation or the indecorousness of his passion. Jem would have thought of it. Jem would have been more careful of her feelings. And once upon a time, he thought, as her footsteps receded, so would he. But he no longer knew how to be that person. He had covered up that Will for so long with pretense that it was the pretense he reached for first, and not the reality. He dug his nails into the floorboards, welcoming the pain, for it was little compared to the pain of knowing that he had lost more than Tessa’s good opinion this evening. He had lost Will Herondale. And he did not know if he could ever get him back

    OH MY GOSH!!!!!

    I love you Will!!!

    Wednesday, 28 March 2012

    Booknut's HAB (Heroines with A Backbone) Choice for the Month:

    Shatter Me by Tahereh Mafi
    Rating: 5

    “I spent my life folded between the pages of books. 

    In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters. 

    I lived love and loss through stories threaded in history; I experienced adolescence by association. 

    My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. 

    I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.”  - Shatter Me

    Quick Review:

    A 17-year old lies awake in a dirty cramped cell, keeping count of the days. 264 of them...they blend and meld together in her head. Nothing seems real. She doesn't even feel alive. Locked up by the Reestablishment, she doesn't know whether to feel sorrowful or grateful - sorrowful that she's been basically left to rot in a cell, accused of murder and grateful because in her cell, she doesn't have to face the chaos that the world has become.

    Her name is Juliette. Her touch is lethal. And she is alone.

    Then one day the Reestablishment decides to use her 'gift' - they decide to use her to put an end to the chaos and war, even if it means breaking her strong will. They'll use anything - and anyone - to get to her. Juliette has to make the hardest decision ever. To be the weapon they want her to be, or to be the one who leads the oppressed to freedom. But can Juliette put her past and her past wrongdoings behind her in order to come to terms with herself and her abilities in time?

    A thrilling Dystopian novel, Shatter Me presents readers with a strong independent heroine,  who is far from perfect but understands human value and that no one should have to live in fear of death, of the world they live in, of the people in charge, or, in fear of themselves.

    My opinion: 

    From the first page, I was hooked.

    I loved this novel to bits - the characters were vivid, the wording woven with the utmost skill so as to paint a picture so clear the reader has no trouble immersing themselves in Juliette's world. When Juliette describes her state of mind in that cell, her thought process and her emotions become yours, so skilful is the narration. 

    The characters: Adam, Juliette and Kenji are my faves! Kenji is especially gorgeous with his whole "I look better when I'm cleaned up" comment - which Juliette dismisses with a laugh. But then, when he cleans up, he's so cute!!! I love the characters, their sense of humour, their loyalty, their history and their demons plus how they strive to fight them.

    The whole concept of Juliette's touch being lethal was amazing. It brings to mind the Genesis song "Invisible Touch" ("She seems to have an invisible touch...she takes control and slowly tears you apart")! It is cool and engaging how she battles to be normal despite her ability and how she doesn't let what she can do go to her head.

    I like how the characters have flaws. It makes them alot more human and relatable. 

    All in all I loved it! Definitely a must read for all you bookworms!

    Monday, 26 March 2012


    Rating: 5+

    Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!! Now, I am not the biggest fan of vampire books, but slowly - slowly! - I am being re-converted, by stunning unique novels such as 'The Vampire's Daughter' by Shayne Leighton and now, by my favourite author, Julie Kagawa and her fantastic new series 'The Immortal Rules'.

    The novel starts off in a world where humans are nothing but prey - easy pickings for the ruthless hordes of vampires that occupy the Inner City. Leaving the humans with little to no resources and no means with which to defend themselves, the vampires have made it impossible to live normally and comfortably. Humans are reduced to becoming 'Registereds' - like a kind of willing blood donor - simply to survive, to get a glimpse of the Inner City's decadence. Most humans have lost that spark, that purpose in their hearts and minds...they are unable to rise against those that are inhuman, out of fear.

    Most...but not all.

    Groups of Unregistereds - humans who refuse to be vampire fodder - live on the Fringe, rebelling agains the vampires in anyway they can. Struggling to survive they scavenge and steal with self-preservation being the main agenda on each of their minds.

    Allison Sekemoto is no different. Having no family and no future in the world she lives - more like exists - in, Allie spends her days as a Fringer and an Unregistered, slipping into the woods to try and hunt and sometimes even braving the wall that separates the humans from the vampires - the wall of the Inner City. Allie knows the main Fringer rule: NEVER GET CAUGHT. She knows the dangers she and the motley group of Unregistereds face. That it's every man (well, boy), and woman (well...girl), for themselves. And not to mention the main piece of knowledge that is ingrained forever in her mind: VAMPIRES ARE THE ENEMY.

    Little did she know what her future held.

    A scavenging trip.
    A Rabid (kind of like a vamp but diseased and weird and creepy!).
    A wave of pain.
    A pair of dark, dark eyes.

    And Allie's life changes forever. Literally...when she is given the ultimate choice: To die young, with her whole life unlived, or to be turned. To become what she fears and hates most.

    A vampire.

    Full of witty banter, Puck-like attitude problems (*snicker*), betrayal, friendship, courage, good vs evil, light vs dark and dark vs darker, this novel is a roller coaster ride of adventure. I loved the vampires - the way the good ones (if I can call them that!) acknowledge the fact they are demons. That they are not good, that they live a cursed existence. But what you see is how Allie strives to live and to fight with every (non) breath she takes - to be a good inhuman being to the best of her ability. To fight for what she loves. Who she loves (*cough Ze...-*).

    Creepy. Dark. Touching. Addictive.

    Now you should all leave here, read it, and leave me to read it again!

    Review: Spellcaster (Spellbound #2) by Cara Lynn Shultz

    "Witches, **itches, hot guys and spells,
    School halls where an evil highschooler dwells,

    A band night, a plan - both of which sure failed,
    Girl watches her back, in case she's being trailed,
    The second book's wonderful, witty and funny,
    Some of the scary scenes may make you cry "Mummy"!!
    But obviously love is stronger than a crook,
    Now I have to keeping waiting until the next book!"

    Like my poem? A different kind of review style, I admit, but I couldn't help myself! 

    Rating for this book: 4.5

    Spellcaster was an excellent second to Spellbound - our modern day "Romeo and Juliet" are back, but don't expect this book to be all "High School Musical"! There are more problems than true love that the pair face and Brendan and Emma - united - must face every obstacle they come across, lest someone find a way to separate them for good. And this time, there will be no re-incarnation. This time, it will be forever.

    Alot more magic and witchery is in this book, which I found entertaining - Emma really embraces her role as heroine and is not afraid to act independently. She makes Brendan see that though they have to work as a team, and a couple, sometimes there are things only she and she alone can do. That she is not afraid to use her gifts and act for love of him. Her selflessness and backbone make her a great protagonist I must say!

    I won't spoil too much but let me just say - great second book! For more clues, read the poem VERY carefully!

    Love, Booknut

    Sunday, 25 March 2012

    Clockwork Princess Teasers!

    Searching the web in vain - trying to satisfy my Clockwork Princess craving...and I found these!!! I hope you enjoy them as much as I did!

    Teaser #1
    “Would you?” said Gabriel to Will,  hotly. “If it was your family?” His lip curled. “Never mind. It’s not as if you know the meaning of loyalty —”
    “Gabriel.” Gideon’s voice was a reprimand to his brother. “Do not speak to Will in that manner.”
    Teaser #2
    “He began it,” Cecily said, jerking her chin at Will, though she knew it was pointless. Jem, Will’s parabatai, treated her with the distant sweet kindness reserved for the little sisters of one’s friends, but he would always side with Will. Kindly, but firmly, he put Will above everything else in the world. Well, nearly everything.
    Teaser #3
    Jem knotted his fingers in the material of Will’s sleeve. “You are my parabatai,” he said. “You said once I could ask anything of you.”
    Teaser #4
    Jem drew the bow back and let the arrow fly; it struck the creature in the side. The massive demon worm writhed in agony, undulating as it swept its great, blind head from side to side, uprooting shrubbery with its thrashings. Leaves filled the air and the boys choked on dust, Gideon backing up with his seraph blade in his hand, trying to see by its light.
    “It’s coming toward us,” he said in a low voice.
    And indeed it was, the arrow still protruding from its wet, grayish skin, humping its body along with incredible speed. A flick of its tail caught the edge of a statue, sending it flying into the dry ornamental pool, where it shattered into dust.
    “By the Angel, it just crushed Sophocles,” noted Will. “Has no one respect for the classics these days?”
    Teaser #5
    And the gold of her ruined wedding dress.
    Teaser #6
    “A very magnanimous statement, Gideon,” said Magnus.
    “I’m Gabriel.”
    Magnus waved a hand. “All Lightwoods look the same to me.”

    Saturday, 24 March 2012

    Join the Not-so Austen Book Club!!!

    Join a place where booklovers can recommend, read and discuss books! With a selected book each month, we get together to discuss the key issues and questions that came up in our readings. Click here to go to the blog and join in the fun!

    (excerpt from blog post)

    It's been a long time coming, but here it is - our Graceling discussion! We're starting with the following question:

    How does your opinion of Kasta change through the book? Explain.

    think my opinion of Kasta changed when she bet Bitterblue. Those chapters - her meeting her and the
    dangerous hike through the mountains - showed a deeper, less selfish side to Kasta. It made me think "She really does have a heart. There is so much more to her Grace than killing and it shows." We haven't had alot of chances through the story until that point to see that motherly and caring side to Kasta. Being neglected and alone, she tends to keep to herself. Even with Po, she is unsure of where she stands. But when she saves Bitterblue and leaves Po behind to do what she must, we see raw human emotion and a new Kasta emerges.

    Need a Book? Ask a Bookworm!!!

    Need a book to pass the time? Get a book recommendation especially tailored to you based on:

    1.) Your preferred genre
    2.) Your preferred 'toppings' 
    (e.g. battles, mysterious deaths, love triangles, dwarves with moustaches, etc.)
    3.) An example of a book you liked/have read 

    Click here or on the tab at the top of the page to get started!!!

    Friday, 9 March 2012


    Best ever excerpt...wanted more Jace (obviously!) BUT the ending to this excerpt has me eating away at my fingernails in suspense...NEED THE BOOK NOW!!! But, we all have to develop self-control sometime *sighs*. ENJOY and comment below!

    City of Lost Souls: Excerpt - 

    Simon stood and stared numbly at the front door of his house.

    He'd never known another home. This was the place his parents had brought him home to when he was born. He had grown up within the walls of the Brooklyn row house. He'd played on the street under the leafy shade of the trees in the summer, and had made improvised sleds out of garbage can lids in the winter. In this house his whole family had sat shivah after his father had died. Here he had kissed Clary for the first time.
    He had never imagined a day when the door of the house would be closed to him. The last time he had seen his mother, she had called him a monster and prayed at him that he would go away. He had made her forget that he was a vampire, using glamour, but he had not known how long the glamour would last. As he stood in the cold autumn air, staring in front of him, he knew it had not lasted long enough.

    The door was covered with signs—Stars of David splashed on in paint, the incised shape of the symbol for Chai, life. Tefillin were bound to the doorknob and knocker. A hamesh, the Hand of God, covered the peephole.
    Numbly he put his hand to the metal mezuzah affixed to the right side of the doorway. He saw the smoke rise from the place where his hand touched the holy object, but he felt nothing. No pain. Only a terrible empty blankness, rising slowly into a cold rage.

    He kicked the bottom of the door and heard the echo through the house. "Mom!" he shouted. "Mom, it's me!"
    There was no reply—only the sound of the bolts being turned on the door. His sensitized hearing had recognized his mother's footsteps, her breathing, but she said nothing. He could smell acrid fear and panic even through the wood. "Mom!" His voice broke. "Mom, this is ridiculous! Let me in! It's me, Simon!"

    The door juddered, as if she had kicked it. "Go away!" Her voice was rough, unrecognizable with terror. "Murderer!"
    "I don't kill people." Simon leaned his head against the door. He knew he could probably kick it down, but what would be the point? "I told you. I drink animal blood."

    He heard her whisper, softly, several words in Hebrew. "You killed my son," she said. "You killed him and put a monster in his place."
    "I am your son—"

    "You wear his face and speak with his voice, but you are not him! You're not Simon!" Her voice rose to almost a scream. "Get away from my house before I kill you, monster!"

    "Becky," he said. His face was wet; he put his hands up to touch it, and they came away stained: His tears were bloody. "What have you told Becky?"
    "Stay away from your sister." Simon heard a clattering from inside the house, as if something had been knocked over.

    "Mom," he said again, but this time his voice wouldn't rise. It came out as a hoarse whisper. His hand had begun to throb. "I need to know—is Becky there? Mom, open the door. Please—"

    "Stay away from Becky!" She was backing away from the door; he could hear it. Then came the unmistakeable squeal of the kitchen door swinging open, the creak of the linoleum as she walked on it. The sound of a drawer being opened. Suddenly he imagined his mother grabbing for one of the knives.

    Before I kill you, monster.

    The thought rocked him back on his heels. If she struck out at him, the Mark would rise. It would destroy her as it had destroyed Lilith.

    He dropped his hand and backed up slowly, stumbling down the steps and across the sidewalk, fetching up against the trunk of one of the big trees that shaded the block. He stood where he was, staring at the front door of his house, marked and disfigured with the symbols of his mother's hate for him.

    No, he reminded himself. She didn't hate him. She thought he was dead. What she hated was something that didn't exist. I am not what she says I am. He didn't know how long he would have stood there, staring, if his phone hadn't begun to ring, vibrating his coat pocket.

    He reached for it reflexively, noticing that the pattern from the front of the mezuzah—interlocked Stars of David—was burned into the palm of his hand. He switched hands and put the phone to his ear "Hello?"

    "Simon?" It was Clary. She sounded breathless. "Where are you?"

    "Home," he said, and paused. "My mother's house," he amended. His voice sounded hollow and distant to his own ears. "Why aren't you back at the Institute? Is everyone all right?"

    "That's just it," she said. "Just after you left, Maryse came back down from the roof where Jace was supposed to be waiting. There was no one there."

    Simon moved. Without quite realizing he was doing it, like a mechanical doll, he began walking up the street, toward the subway station. "What do you mean, there was no one there?"

    "Jace was gone," she said, and he could hear the strain in her voice. "And so was Sebastian."

    Simon stopped in the shadow of a bare-branched tree. "But he was dead. He's dead, Clary—"
    "Then you tell me why he isn't there, because he isn't," she said, her voice finally breaking. "There's nothing up there but a lot of blood and broken glass. They're both gone, Simon. Jace is gone. . . ."

    Saturday, 3 March 2012

    My result for "If you lived in Divergent, which faction would you belong to?": Divergent

    My result for "If you lived in Divergent, which faction would you belong to?": Divergent: I'm Divergent (hoping to be Dauntless, but we can't be perfect!! On the bright side, Four's Divergent too!

    *Daydream in progress*

    *starts* Ok then. Try the quiz and find out what YOU would be in Veronica Roth's world from Divergent. Comment below!
    Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...