Aileen

“Because time is cruel to all, and crueler still to artists. Because visions weakens, and voices wither, and talent fades.... Because happiness is brief, and history is lasting, and in the end... everyone wants to be remembered”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

“But remember that anyone who tells you you’re “too” anything is using the word because they are threatened by your capacity to grow, evolve and express your emotions.”
― Florence Given, Women Don't Owe You Pretty

“In one hallway, the floor gleaming parquet and the ceiling festooned with golden cherubs, there was a boy in a grumpy cat mask and biker boots, not involved in any sexual activity, legs crossed and leaning against the wall. As a bevy of faeries passed the boy, giggling and groping, the boy scooted away.
Alec remembered being younger, and how overwhelming large groups of people had seemed. He came over and leaned against the wall beside the boy. He saw the boy texting, PARTIES WERE INVENTED TO ANNOY ME. THEY FEATURE MY LEAST FAVORITE THING: PEOPLE, ALL INTENT ON MY LEAST FAVORITE ACTIVITY: SOCIAL INTERACTION.
“I don’t really like parties either,” Alec said sympathetically.
“No hablo italiano,” the boy mumbled without looking up.
“Er,” said Alec. “This conversation is happening in English.”
“No hablo ingles,” he said without missing a beat.
“Oh, come on. Really?”
“Worth a shot,” said the boy.
Alec considered going away. The boy wrote another text to a contact he had saved as RF. Alec could not help but notice that the conversation was entirely one-sided, the boy sending text after text with no response. The last text read VENICE SMELLS LIKE A TOILET. AS A NEW YORKER, I DO NOT SAY THIS LIGHTLY.
The weird coincidence emboldened Alec to try again.
“I get shy when there are strangers too,” Alec told the kid.
“I’m not shy,” the boy sneered. “I just hate everyone around me and everything that is happening.”
“Well.” Alec shrugged. “Those feel like similar things sometimes.”
The boy lifted his curly head, pushing the grumpy cat mask off his face, and froze. Alec froze too, at the twin shock of fangs and familiarity. This was a vampire, and Alec knew him.
“Raphael?” he asked. “Raphael Santiago?”
He wondered what the second-in-command of the New York clan was doing here. Downworlders might be flooding in from all over the world, but Raphael had never struck Alec as a party animal.
Of course, he was not exactly coming off as a party animal now.
“Oh no, it’s you,” said Raphael. “The twelve-year-old idiot.”
Alec was not keen on vampires. They were, after all, people who had died. Alec had seen too much death to want reminders of it.
He understood that they were immortal, but there was no need to show off about it.
“We just fought a war together. I was with you in the graveyard when Simon came back as a vampire. You’ve seen me multiple times since I was twelve.”
“The thought of you at twelve haunts me,” Raphael said darkly.
“Okay,” Alec said, humoring him. “So have you seen a guy called Mori Shu anywhere around here?”
“I am trying not to make eye contact with anyone here,” said Raphael. “And I’m not a snitch for Shadowhunters. Or a fan of talking to people, of any kind, in any place.”
Alec rolled his eyes.”
― Cassandra Clare, The Red Scrolls of Magic

“Fight until you can’t breathe, & if you have to forfeit, you forfeit smiling, make them think you let them win.”
― Elizabeth Acevedo, Clap When You Land