Isabelle is tempted to say that Clary is the most beautiful when she’s sleeping, but ever since Clary kissed her for the first time ages ago, Isabelle’s list of When Clary Is Most Beautiful has grown.... considerably. 

It’s safe to say that Isabelle changes her mind more than once a day. Some days it’s when she’s laughing, others it’s when she has little flecks of paint running up her arms. There are the moments when nothing compares to the smile on her face, and even more when Clary stumbles to bed, clothes still on and make-up smudged. There’s... so many. 

Isabelle knew that she would never be able to pick between one, but she couldn’t help it. Loving Clary was the easiest thing Isabelle has ever done, and she couldn’t help but feel her heart warm at nearly everything Clary did. 

If she fell in love all over again five times a day, well, so be it. 

The breeze pushed the strands of grass against the exposed skin of Isabelle’s legs, and Clary twitched in her lap as it tickled her as well. The smile came easily to Isabelle’s face. 

She reached out and plucked a wildflower - a small purple thing - and brushed the hair from Clary’s sleeping face, her fingers twisting the locks of hair around each other and the stem of the flower. 

Isabelle kept reaching out, her fingers finding the little flowers around them and braiding them into Clary’s hair. She didn’t have a plan in mind, not for whatever style her hands were creating nor for the rest of the afternoon.