You close your eyes and feel her lips on yours. And then your mind goes wild: spinning fantasies of the girl you've always loved being the one beneath your lips. You picture her green eyes directly in front of your gold ones, and you can nearly feel the soft waves of her carrot-colored hair dancing beneath your fingertips. You imagine that beautiful blush creeping into her ivory skin, and when you feel the unyielding lips move harder on yours, you picture her there.
When you open your eyes, disappointment floods through you. It's not her; not Clary. It's the easily seduced mundane girl, who will suffice to keep you distracted. For a time at least.
You knew it wouldn't be Clary. But you hoped. Oh, God, how you hoped.