“Do you create, Matthew?” asked Cordelia, looking at him sharply. “Do you draw, or paint, or pen poetry?” “Lucie writes,” said Matthew, his eyes like dark water. “I thought she wrote for you, sometimes.” “Lucie worries,” said Cordelia. “She doesn’t say so, but I know she worries, that all her writing will come to nothing, because she is a Shadowhunter and that must come first.”
