I Do Not Believe You

Come In. And Try Not To Murder Any Of My Guests.

Black For Hunting Through The Night For Death And Mourning The Color's White Gold For A Bride In Her Wedding Gown And Red To Call The Enchantment Down White Silk When Our Bodies Burn Blue Banners When The Lost Return Flame For The Birth Of A Nephilim And To Wash Away Our Sins. Gray For The Knowledge Best Untold Bone For Those Who Don't Grow Old Saffron Lights The Victory March Green To Mend Our Broken Hearts Silver For The Demon Towers And Bronze To Summon Wicked Powers -shadowhunter Children's Rhyme

Will Sat Where He Was, Gazing At The Silver Bowl In Front Of Him; A White Rose Was Floating In It, And He Seemed Prepared To Stare At It Until It Went Under. In The Kitchen Bridget Was Still Singing One Of Her Awful Sad Songs; The Lyrics Drifted In Through The Door: "twas On An Evening Fair I Went To Take The Air, I Heard A Maid Making Her Moan; Said, 'saw Ye My Father? Or Ye My Mother? Or Saw Ye My Brother John? Or Saw Ye The Lad That I Love Best, And His Name It Is Sweet William?" I May Murder Her, Tessa Thought. Let Her Make A Song About That.

Tessa Is Gone, And Every Moment She Is Gone Is A Knife Ripping Me Apart From The Inside. She Is Gone, And They Cannot Track Her, And I Have No Idea Where To Go Or What To Do Next, And The Only Person I Can Imagine Speaking My Agony To Is The One Person Who Cannot Know.

That Jem Makes Beautiful Things And I Destroy Them. That It Really Ought To Be Me Dying And Not Him. I Mean, What's The Point Of Living If You Can't Even Enjoy It? Yet Jem Enjoys All The Life He's Got. It's Not Fair.