Author's note: Whoo! Two updates in one week! I'm feeling very proud of myself at the moment :)
PryingLittlePandora: I might be able to come up with another story to tide you over :). Actually, it will tide us both over! These drabbles are kind of my therapy for the end of Clockwork Prince so I can do this :D instead of this :'(
Disclaimer: IDNOID. I Do Not Own Infernal Devices. Hey, that could be a fanclub or somethin'!
Quake
Sophie Collins did not know what was so special about Gideon Lightwood. He was not particularly handsome or striking—although his smile was rather dashing…
She shook that thought from her head and continued her inventory.
He was not some amazingly talented fighter or teacher, neither was he terrible at either one. His sandy hair was common enough. Then there were those eyes of his…
Yes, she decided. That had to be it. Those eyes the color of the sea that were so very gray in some lights and definitely green in others. They were rather exceptional. Especially when the two colors mixed together.
But that was still no reason for what they did to her. It did not make any sense how one minute the ground could be perfectly stable under her feet, and the next it would shake and tilt in all sorts of odd directions.
Just because those sea green eyes smiled at her.
Quill
"William," Jem said quietly, "put it down."
The other boy stared into the fire and remained silent for a moment. "What is the purpose, James? Why should I?"
A tone of defeat rang through Will's voice, which scared Jem more than anger ever could. He suppressed the panic welling within and tried to speak calmly. "You told me once that you care about what I think of you. Do you want me to remember this moment above all others? Do you want me to remember the moment you gave up?"
Will finally looked at him. The blue eyes shining at Jem seemed conflicted, as though Will was waging a war with himself. Another tense moment passed, Jem did not dare to breathe—then Will finally slumped.
Jem breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as Will finally lowered the sharpened quill from his eye. He may never know what had driven his parabatai to seriously consider taking his own life, but he would always know this: William was a tortured soul. There was a reason for everything he did, every cutting remark he said. Jem may never know precisely what that reason was.
But he knew it existed.
And that was enough for him.
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