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74 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 11, 2018
"I sometimes think there is nothing more painful than love denied. To love someone you cannot have, to stand beside your heart’s desire and be unable to take them in your arms. A love that cannot be requited. I can think of nothing more painful than that."

“They’d both given a piece of their hearts to a Herondale. And they both loved someone they could not have.”
"But who would she be, without pain? What was strength, if not the endurance of suffering?"
“She would have rhapsodized about gothic spires spearing the clouds, cobblestone streets shimmering with rain, sunlight dancing on the Seine, and, bien sûr, the infinite varieties of cheese. She would have pointed out that Paris had been home to Baudelaire and Rimbaud, Monet and Gauguin, Descartes and Voltaire, that this was the city that had birthed a new way of speaking, seeing, thinking, being—drawing even the most mundane of mundanes a little closer to the angels.
In every way, Paris was la ville de la lumière. The City of Light. If you ask me, Céline would have said, nothing could be more beautiful than that.”
“Under the midnight moon, it came alive with Downworlders, a bacchanalia of faerie fruits and wines, gargoyles enchanted by warlock magic, waltzing werewolves, vampires in berets painting portraits in blood, an ifrit accordionist who could make you weep yourself to death. It was the Paris Shadow Market, and from the moment Céline first saw it, she felt herself finally home.”
"But do you know why you prefer it? Why you chase the pain?"
“I sometimes think there is nothing more painful than love denied. To love someone you cannot have, to stand beside your heart’s desire and be unable to take them in your arms. A love that cannot be requited. I can think of nothing more painful than that.”
“They’d both given a piece of their hearts to a Herondale. And they both loved someone they could not have.”
“Brother Zachariah’s love was a pale imitation of the real, raw, human thing.”