Eilidh

“You promise." "I swear on the angel. The hell with that. I swear on us." "Why us?" "Because there isn't anything I believe in more.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Fallen Angels

“His hands lay flat on either side of him, his arms at his sides. He seemed barely to be breathing; she wasn't sure she was breathing herself. She slid her own hand across the bedsheet, just far enough that their fingers touched-so lightly that she would have probably hardly been aware of it had she been touching anyone but Jace; as it was, the nerve endings in her fingertips pricked softly, as if she were holding them over a low flame. She felt him tense beside her and then relax. He had shut his eyes, and his lashes cast fine shadows against the curve of his cheekbones. His mouth curled into a smile as if he sensed her watching him, and she wondered how he would look in the morning, with his hair messed and sleep circles under his eyes. Despite everything, the thought gave her a jolt of happiness.
She laced her fingers through his. "Good night," she whispered. With their hands clasped like children in a fairy tale, she fell asleep beside him in the dark.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Glass

“I wasn't going to kill him, you buffoon.”
― Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass

“And next time you're planning to injure yourself to get me attention, just remember that a little sweet talk works wonders.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Bones