Why lie?

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There was beauty in the idea of freedom, but it was an illusion. Every human heart was chained by love. ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight 

Cristina si stiracchiò lentamente. Gambe e braccia le facevano male; si era addormentata sulla sedia accanto al letto. Pensò che si sarebbe potuta raggomitolare sul pavimento, ma così sarebbe stato più difficile tenere d’occhio Diego. La ferita sulla spalla di lui si era rivelata molto peggio del previsto: un taglio profondo, circondato dalle vescicole rosse di un’ustione da magia nera contro cui le rune di guarigione erano quasi inefficaci.  Gli aveva tagliato la tenuta insanguinata per sfilargliela, e lo stesso aveva fatto con la maglietta che portava sotto, fradicia di sudore e sangue. Aveva portato degli asciugamani e ne aveva usati un po’ per proteggere il letto sotto il corpo di Diego, un po’ per usarli, umidi, come spugna con cui lavargli viso e collo dal sangue. Lei gli aveva tracciato una runa contro il dolore dopo l’altra, una runa di Guarigione dopo l’altra. Nonostante ciò, lui si era girato e rigirato per quasi tutta la notte, e suoi capelli nero tempesta erano un groviglio sul cuscino. ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“I don’t know.” Mark said, looking down at his own long pale fingers tangled in the little boy’s brown curls. “He just – Julian left, and Tavvy fell asleep on my lap.” He sounded amazed, wondering. “Of course he did,” Cristina said. “He’s your brother. He trusts you.” “Nobody trusts a Hunter.” Mark said.

― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“Everyone is more than one thing,” said Kieran. “We are more than single actions we undertake, whether they be good or evil.” 

“He always wanted to play video games,” said Emma. “I hate video games.” “No one is perfect, Emma.” “But some people are perfect for each other. Don’t you think that has to be true?” ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight 

When he faced her again, he had never looked to her so much like one of the Fair Folk. His eyes were full of feral amusement, a carelessness that spoke of a world where there was no human Law. He seemed to bring the wildness of Faerie into the room with him: a cold, sweet magic that was nevertheless a bitter at the roots. The storm calls you as it calls me, does it not? He held out a hand to her, half-beckoning, half-offering. "Why lie?" he said. ― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight