*SPOILERS FOR LADY MIDNIGHT*

I've just finished LM and tbh, I think I loved it even more than TMI ;) Cassie's writing has become so beautifully incredible over the course of these beloved series, and I can't wait for the next instalment of the Dark Artifices!

My favourite character by far was Mark Blackthorn - I loved his involvement with the rest of the characters, his charming personality - I've fallen in love with another fictional character, it's official ;) I ship him with both Kieran and Cristina, I'm just hoping all three of them manage to be happy.

This is set after LM, because I realised Cristina and Mark hadn't kissed and I needed to make it happen :)

There was something beautifully broken about Mark Blackthorn - be it the echo of another world in the alluring timber of his voice or the glimpse of stars he'd gazed at still reflected in the glorious contrast of his eyes.

Cristina could easily get lost in those eyes, and sometimes she wondered if she even wanted to be found when she did. If anything would be the death of her, she wouldn't hesitate in thinking it would be him.

Mark was something Cristina couldn't quite decide on, for if she thought she'd figured him out, he would surprise her. With Mark being part fey, Cristina should've been prepared. But it was like the world had fallen out from beneath her when Cristina let herself give in to that charmingly feral smile. Her romantic heart caved in at his poetic way of words, his gentle hand caressing her cheek. What would his lips taste like? Would his kiss be firm, traditional, a Shadowhunter's embrace? Or something darker, wilder - a faerie's desire?

Her cheeks warmed at the idea and Cristina internally scolded herself for thinking of such things. She'd gone to extreme lengths to separate herself from the uncertainty that was Mark Blackthorn, even going as far as to seeking affection from Diego. It didn't work though, did it? His kiss might've pulled you back into the sweet innocence of the past, but that's not what you want. A part of you craves the thrill of the unknown after all, a taste of adventure.

She sighed guiltily, biting her lip as she looked down at Diego, sleeping as soundly as Tavvy. His dark hair spilled out onto the pillow like ink, those deep brown eyes that she'd spent so many years gazing into now peacefully closed. He isn't nicknamed Perfect Diego for nothing, Cristina thought ruefully. But did she really want perfect? Was perfection really all that it was cut out to be?

… beautifully broken…

Cristina shook her head, getting to her feet and walking out of the room. She knew where she was headed and just hoped to the Angel that he wouldn't be there too. Maybe you're hoping he will be there, just for an excuse to see him again.

It all went by in a blur before she could stop herself. The Institute walls felt like they were closing in on her, caving in just like her weak heart. That's why she was going to the roof, for fresh air, for some space…

All those thoughts, excuses, flew out of her head when she got up there, cautiously walking along. And there he was. Sitting on the edge, seemingly not caring that he could plummet to his death without any new runes on his skin. That was what Cristina probably admired about him the most: the fearless way he carried himself, unaware of anything around him, it seemed. He didn't care about mortal dangers, or mundane worries. Mark found contentment in the air around him, beauty in the endless sky that he had once called home. For an idle moment, Cristina wished that she could lose herself like that.

Taking a step forward, Cristina winced as her foot landed on the roof with a loud thud. On instinct, she reached to touch the Soundless rune on her arm, feeling that it was faded. She cursed in Spanish as Mark turned to look at her. His shortened white-blonde hair curled close to the nape of his neck and in a flash she remembered brushing her fingers through it.

"Are you going to cut my throat?" Mark asked.

"I'm going to cut your hair. Hold still," Cristina said.

"As my lady requests."

"Cristina," he breathed, his eyes of blue and gold glimmering in the pale moonlight. She'd always liked the saying that eyes were the windows to the soul. Because of Mark, Cristina now saw them as mirrors, not only to see yourself in others but to gaze at the flaws in each other. He watched as she tentatively sat next to him, not too close that their arms would accidentally brush the other's. "It's cold. You shouldn't be out here."

"I wanted to." She replied shortly, looking out at the ocean, breathing in the scent of sea spray that danced in the air, "Besides, a little bit of air never hurt anyone."

She heard him chuckle, "Indeed. It's just that it's late - I assumed you'd want to be resting." Her dark eyes narrowed as she faced him, her gaze meeting his. Eyes of the Wild Hunt, a silent reminder of his faerie blood, almost made Cristina turn away. They spoke of great pain, an endurance of suffering, a life that she hadn't been a part of. A life he'd had with Kieran. His blue and gold irises made her think of the faerie prince's black and silver ones; both inhumanly beautiful. She couldn't block out the two of them kissing, an image that made her heart ache with want.

"I could say the same for you." Cristina retorted coldly, secretly proud that her tone didn't waver. She needed to be strong, absolute. Mark raised his eyebrow coolly, a casual gesture that irritated her.

"You seem upset. Has anything happened, has anyone been unkind to you?" She frowned; he looked completely sincere. Surely he wasn't as unknowing as all that? Had he forgotten how he'd lead her on, let her believe that she was the only interest in his life only to find out she wasn't? Her own words made her cringe: a promise of friendship. She was just as at fault for this situation as Mark was.

"No, nothing. I'm just… pondering."

He smiled, and it nearly took her breath away, "Pondering? About what, may I ask?" A harsh gust of wind swept around them, his hair now covering his Blackthorn blue eye. Cristina felt a sudden urge to brush it back, to lean in and press her lips to his delicate cheekbone, and whisper against his skin.

She blinked, pulling herself out of her reverie. Mark was still looking at her intently. Her breath caught in her throat, and out of habit, her hand clutched at the medallion that hung there, "Like I said: nothing."

"For someone so honestly kind, you hold a lot of secrets, Cristina Rosales." Mark tilted his head to the side, like a curious bird. "You forget - I used to live in a world of forced truths and carefully created stories. It has become somewhat of a habit to identify a lie."

Cristina cleared her throat, growing uncomfortable under his mysterious gaze, "Your habit of speaking like a poem hasn't gone away, I see." His smile grew mischievous and her heart raced.

"Habits die hard. I'm more interested in what you're thinking, what you feel. Your ideas about love intrigue me." This time, she couldn't help the blush that coloured her cheeks. The tone of Mark's voice sent shivers down her spine.

"I- I just admire it." She whispered, breaking away from his gaze to look at the ocean once more. Slivers of moonlight painted the surface a silvery-blue. "That feeling, of being in love. It makes you feel weightless, as if you're not rooted to the ground but rather soaring through the air. You feel more alive than you've ever felt, and the world around you pales in comparison to that one person." Cristina let out a wistful breath, watching as her sigh formed a cloud in the cold air.

Mark's voice was soft, "Everything else loses all meaning. You become lost in them, hoping that you'll never find your way back." Cristina jumped, startled, when she felt his hand on her shoulder, slowly stroking down her arm.

"Mark-"

"You find solace in their presence, you see the stars in their eyes. They are your whole world, your whole existence. Nothing will change that." She couldn't bring herself to face him, afraid that if she did, the look in his eyes would surely stop her heart. It was hammering like a ticking bomb in her chest, and she swore she could hear each beat pounding in her ears. Mark's touch was light and fleeting against her skin, similar to that of a butterfly's wings.

Cristina bit back a gasp as she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck. She could sense that he'd moved to behind her, his chin grazing the top of her shoulder. Their position had gone from friendly to dangerously intimate in a matter of seconds. I can't… he can't… a promise of friendship.

It took all her will to pull away from him, ignoring the sinking of her own heart, "I should go back inside. You're right, it's quite cold." Getting to her feet, Cristina didn't dare turn around as she walked. She'd been so close to giving in. I can't…

"Of course you should. You wouldn't want to keep Perfect Diego waiting now, would you?" She froze at the bitter bite of his words.

Without turning around, Cristina said, "What are you talking about?"

"Why, your poor injured lover downstairs. Hurry now, Cristina. He'll be needing more of his treatment." She flinched when Mark spat the last word, his tone full of loathing. It was nothing like his poetic, fae tongue, twisting words around into a beautiful language that both awed and confused her. This was pure Shadowhunter arrogance.

Cristina whirled around, clenching her fists, "His - his treatment? I don't…" Realisation dawned on her, "You saw us, didn't you? You saw-"

"The kiss? Don't worry, it was something right out of your romantic fantasies. Truly magical to witness." She detested the spiteful smirk on his face, the careless way he stood, towering over her. But she also saw the hurt in his eyes, a deep sadness that tore at her. It only made Cristina angrier.

"Do you mean like when I saw you and Kieran? When you embraced him, right after shamelessly flirting with me? Mark Blackthorn, you might just be the most infuriating-"

"At least I know how to embrace. That Diego might need a few pointers." Cristina didn't realise she'd slapped him across the face until she heard the harsh sound of it ring through the quiet, night air. Mark staggered back, in surprise more than pain, staring at her. His pale cheek flamed bright red, and instant regret wormed in her gut. He suddenly laughed, but there was no humour in it, "I'll admit, I might've deserved that."

"Might've." She muttered in disbelief, and his lips curved up at the corners into a small smile. It quickly vanished when she glared at him, "I honestly can't believe you. I can't believe me more than anything, for possibly thinking that…" Cristina faltered off, shaking her head as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"Thinking what?" Bravely, she met his gaze, quickly getting lost in the blue and gold of his eyes. Everything else loses all meaning. You become lost in them, hoping that you'll never find your way back.

"For thinking about you, when I shouldn't. For still wanting…" Cristina bit her lip, the memories overwhelming her. I want you, he'd said, not that long ago. "Mark, I want you. Even if I shouldn't."

He slowly took a step towards her, and she shivered when his hand cupped her cheek, "Faerie is a land of twisted truths and dark intent. Stars were what I held onto, lest I fall into the darkness and lose myself in it forever." He leaned close, his lips a breath away from hers, "You're my star, Cristina Rosales. The brightest and most beautiful one of them all."

And then he was kissing her, his mouth soft and lightly teasing on hers. She gasped into his mouth, her hands reaching up to bury into his white-blonde hair, as soft as feathers. His arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her to him as if he were scared she'd disappear if he didn't. He whispered something to her in between kisses, words in an unusually pretty language that she didn't recognise. It sounded like the rustling of leaves and petals in the wind, the ripple of spring water. Cristina lost herself in the sound of it, closing her eyes as she felt his long lashes brush against her cheek.

She'd wondered if Mark Blackthorn's kiss would be one of a Shadowhunter or a faerie. But under the glimmering stars and in the arms of Mark himself, Cristina Rosales forgot to decide.