words are magic;

He fears telling her too many stories of who she was, afraid that she might just internalize the things he says and take them as fact. (They are all true stories, but skewed — filtered through the lens of his memories, his emotions. They aren’t truly hers.) He wants to tell her how for the longest time, they didn’t know one another’s names, and how impactful it was to finally tell one another what they were called. He isn’t sure if it would help though.

It frustrates him how she can’t remember that. But Jack also knows it doesn’t compare to her own frustrations. So he buries it — he’s always been good at burying — and tries to find a magical means of returning her memories to her. So far, that hasn’t been much of a success. Son herself seems to have a different strategy.

Opening his eyes, he turns to look at her with a puzzled look. “I — sure?”

“We both know that I know absolutely nothing. Not my name, not how to use my magic, or you. But I get feelings like my body knows something is familiar but my mind doesn’t.” Index finger drags over the fabric beneath them in indistinguishable figures. “Mostly about you.” She balls her hand into a fist and pushes into the cushion until her arm stops to wobble. It grabs onto the edge of the man’s knee. “I don’t know your name, how we met, but here is where I feel like I should be.”

This sounds like something out of a cheesy movie just cuddle your dog.

She leans back, instantly pulling her hand off of his leg. “You know what, now it seems really dumb,” she says. Her hand tucks already tucked in strands behind her ear. “Like something out of one of those Disney princess movies.”

a  snort  slips  past  rosy  tiers,  head  canted  to  look  up  at  the  male  before  a  ‘brow  raises  and  her  head  gives  a  shake.    ❛     yeah  i  see  it  now  .  .  .     ❜    she  plays  along  with  the  ruse.  pencil  flicking  over  to  the  other  demon  before  a  soft    ‘    aha  !    ’   sounds  from  her  tiers.    ❛     i  see  it  now,  this  one  is  missing  those  blue  eyes  and  i’m  gonna  put  a  bow  &  arrow  nearby.     ❜    tit  for  tat.  but  it’s  all  fun  and  games.   she  knows  he’s  only  teasing  .  .  .    ❛     i’ve  been  meaning  to  say  thank  you,  alec.     ❜    she  musters  up  the  courage  finally,    ❛     for  trying  to  protect  me  with  sebastian  outside  magnus’  penthouse.     ❜

     ❝   OHH,  i see,  your ‘magical’  properties,  mmm.   ❞  nodding his head in an extremely sarcastic manner,  lips curling into a wider grin.   ❝   and how do those benefit me again   ?   ❞

Head tilts in disappointment. She reaches out, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at her. “I’m not an idiot.” A brief flourish and a decorative mirror appears in her hand. “You’re getting into fights and most demons don’t go for a punch to the eye. You wouldn’t have let one get that close.” Amita holds the mirror in front of him, focusing on the side of his face with the injury. She looks down his arm, sighing once more. “Gashes?” She assumes there’s glass still inside the wounds. “I get that being a bit self-destructive feels nice for a time, like you deserve it, but you have your parabatai, Clary, and the younger Lightwoods if I recall who all worry about you. Not including myself.”

The mirror vanishes and she takes his arm in its place. Her other hand hovers lightly over it until light violet sparkles appear and cover over the wound. “I can’t heal bruises, but I can pluck out glass. Be thankful I was friends with some young werewolves when I was younger. You’re going to be the reason I have to ask Magnus for some healing spells.” Fingers struggle, curving upwards as if she were physically plucking glass from Jace’s arm. “I do think I have a thread and needle on me,” she says as she sets a shard off to the side.