Uh, yeah, I do. The scythe was a little tricky at first, but—much like golf—turns out it’s all in the swing.

In the end, it only comes down to one thing: choosing the one you can’t live without.

I am not cute. I am the dreaded Grim Reaper. People fear me, you know. There's a whole song about it.

Uh, yeah, I do. The scythe was a little tricky at first, but—much like golf—turns out it’s all in the swing.

Had I just begged for an audience with Death?

I still loved Marc desperately and couldn’t imagine life without him. Jace was…something else. Something I could feel but couldn’t articulate. Something I wanted, and hadn’t been able to resist in my grief-weakened state. He was something that would have to wait.

You should be careful, tossing descriptors like that around in a situation like this. My ‘problem’ isn’t little. Unless you’re drawing some pretty wild comparisons. Please tell me you’re not drawing wild comparisons. Or blood-relative comparisons.