“Henley squinted at her. "What about you?"Mira looked around, flustered, hair swinging heavily as she moved. "What about me what?"Henley sighed and let the chair thunk to the floor. "What role are you playing? Felix's underage girlfriend, Blue's obsession, or Freddie's princess?""That's ... rude," she said."It was rude when you asked me, too.”

“Pretty enough to make Henley the Huntsman want to save me ... but not too pretty, because too pretty is what sets my stepmother off. And she wants me gone - she wanted me gone years ago."Viv twisted restlessly. "I don't know what she's waiting for. Waiting to make him hate me, I guess. Make him loyal to her so he'll cut my heart out when she asks him to ... And then if Henley doesn't kill me, there's the matter of being pretty enough to attract some necrophiliac playboy. Someday my prince will come - and be enamored of my lifeless body. There's some happily-ever-after for you.”

“Freddie dropped down beside them, distressed. "Let go of her, Blue; that looks really bad.""Feel free to stop him," Mira said, "instead of frowning at me like a sad puppy.""Hey!" Freddie said, looking like a sadder puppy."I'm not going to molest you," Blue said."You're molesting my wrist," Mira said. "I don't want you touching me.""I didn't want you to knee me in the lungs, so I guess we're even.”

“Not to be rude, but it was all pointless," I noted from across the room. Four eyes narrowed at me. "What? I said 'not to be rude'. That's like saying 'God bless them' right after you say bad things about someone. It means it doesn't count!”

“She warned me about Mr. Herondale, though, said he’d likely be rude to me, and familiar. She said I could be rude right back, that nobody would mind.”“Someone ought to be rude to him. He’s rude enough to everyone else.”

“Oh right. What about Wendy?" I ask "What about her?" "It's her birthday, too. I'm the worst friend ever. I should have sent her something. Did you exchange gifts?" "Not yet." He turns toward me. "But she gave me the perfect gift." The way he's looking at me sends butterflies into my stomach. "What?" "You.”