Song inspiration: Dress – Taylor Swift, Guilty as Sin? – Taylor Swift

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Chapter 99 – Reincarnation

--- 7.5 hours before sunset. ---

Flickering candlelight enveloped the Accords Hall in a glow of mystery and anticipation, heating the high-ceilinged room as if the celebrations had been going on for days. I could not remember the reason for them — why we were gathered here so close before the war. It seemed too somber to be an official Nephilim state affair. And yet I stood in the middle of a crowd made up entirely of Shadowhunters. Dressed in the finest evening wear, only their exposed runes gave any indication of their origins — that they were warriors and only half human.

The warm air was charged with hot tension. The high ceilings listened to the chattering people and echoed their words back in a tangled whisper. Everyone in my immediate vicinity seemed a stranger. The figures that turned to me regarded me with detachment — their faces lacked depth, making it impossible for me to remember any of them. They faded into the background, vanishing from my memory as soon as I pushed past them. I was moving forward, that was all I knew. Forward, toward the music, music so contrary to the hostility surrounding the atmosphere around me, like rising mist from a hot spring. This music felt like a wire between my fingers — familiar from childhood days, as if it were keeping the crowd from tearing me apart like a pack of wolves devouring its prey.

As I let myself be carried away by this melody, I realized that I would throw my life to the wolves for it at any time.

It wasn't until I had fought my way through the last row of the boiling crowd and the antique, black-polished piano came into view that I understood why. My focus immediately slid to the young, blond man behind it. Jace, whose fingers moved gently and thoughtfully over the keys, as if he wanted to caress the music before it reached the audience. As if each note was a letter of a larger message – like a love letter that needed to be studied in detail and deciphered.

It was like looking up at a theater stage. Bathed in the cone of a spotlight that left the rest of the theater a pitch-black void, there was just Jace, and Jace alone. The rest of the Accords Hall ceased to exist when he played. A song my mother had sung to me as a child. A song as old as the fae themselves, and so popular in Nephilim culture that it could have been passed down by the Angels themselves. A song that had slipped my memory for years, only to now appear out of nowhere, as if it had never been more than a thought away. From his fingers, it sounded like nostalgia, home, and love all in equal measure. Could it be possible that with every keystroke he was making her voice a little more real? That I could suddenly hear her as if she were standing right in front of me?

When I felt someone step forward to my right, my breath caught for a moment, expecting it to be her — that Jace had miraculously managed to actually breathe life back into her.

I didn't expect him, though. My body wanted to jump back in shock, but there was no weapon here that I could reach for. My feet would not move anyway, as if the smooth marble had swallowed them. My head started to rattle – had there not been something? There was something beyond the horizon of my memory; something that had to do with him. The harder I tried, the faster the thread of memory slipped away from me – burned to ash in the fire of his eyes.

I knew immediately why he was here. The demon was just as attracted to this melody as I was. Because Jonathan's thoughts had not simply disappeared with his transformation – they were still buzzing around in this strange head.

As soon as he came to my side, I knew this was a dream. I had spent months trying to shake off the fact that my brother was dead — that nothing but a demon occupied his body. That demon was gone now. Jonathan stood beside me. His crooked smile bore a yearning that caused me physical pain. Our eyes met — green on green — and he sighed to himself. "When I was five, I had this phase where I was haunted by nightmares night after night. After Father started teaching me demon mythology," he whispered to me. "Mother always sang me that song to sleep. Night after night. Nothing else helped."

His words bounced off me because they weren't real. Because he wasn't real. One of those dreams that told you the world was alright – but you were conscious enough to know the truth.

My eyes darted from Jonathan to Jace, who was still playing. Lost in the memorized notes. Eyes half-closed, as if he could play the song in his sleep. The soft curve of his lips confirmed that he could. Just watching him made my heart skip a beat. Seeing him in that black suit, dressed up and handsome and relaxed, released something in my chest – made the butterflies in my stomach flutter.

"Go to him," Jonathan said, already merging with the darkness of his demon. Suddenly his voice sounded mocking. "You should say goodbye."

My heart leapt with relief as soon as I heard the demon. I knew him. I could handle him. So I nodded in agreement and paid him no attention as he vanished into thin air next to me. Every spark of my attention glowed on Jace. As if he sensed that my attention was on him, he raised his head. Our eyes met across the room. A crowded room full of strange, hostile people that separated us. The intensity of the sounds slowed down, as if everything had suddenly gone into slow motion.

I felt the gaze of hundreds of pairs of eyes like a fire on my face. They knew who I was, knew my name – but that was all. They had no idea who he thought I was. They had no idea who he was to me; what value he held in my heart.

Jace's performance ended immediately. The thunderous applause that followed didn't reach my ears. I was trapped in a bubble of silence, the patience of my bones pining in anticipation, not knowing how long I could hold his gaze without shattering into a thousand pieces. For his eyes continued to rest only on me. Absorbing, as if he were memorizing every inch of my body, never to forget it.

The look in his pupils as he took in my dress made my hands shake. When he looked at me like that, I felt the heat rising inside me like a desperate flame that didn't know how much longer I could wait – how much longer I could hold back. I wanted to drown in his gaze, wanted to throw myself around his neck, wanted to feel his fingers around my waist.

Jace seemed to want it just as much as I did. Suddenly he was standing in front of me. Every memory of the last few seconds had been erased like a water-permeable sieve. Was he really here? Was I just imagining it?

"Clary."

As soon as he said my name, the rest of the world just stopped. In an instant, the rest of the crowd disappeared. Suddenly, there were only the two of us – Jace and me. The earth stopped turning. Time stopped. The clocks stopped ticking. The seconds stopped. And all because of his voice, because of his golden eyes on my body, because of his hands that were finally where they belonged.

"This dress," Jace's breath caught in his throat, and I leaned away from him without breaking away. I wanted him to admire it – to admire me in it, from every angle he pleased. I wanted him to feel the soft fibers beneath his fingertips as he ran them down my hips – down to my thighs and beyond. I wanted him to stop only when the fire in my core died down, when I stopped burning, when I had enough of him – which would never happen.

"I put it on only for you," I whispered, so that Jace had to bend down to hear my words.

"I love everything about it," he replied. His fingers dug into my waist, he leaned further, further, further down until his mouth brushed my cheek. But Jace didn't stop. I turned my head to the side silently to give him access to my neck. His teeth lingered over my pulse and a sigh escaped my throat. "But I love you more."

The rattling sound in my back was the only warning I got before Jace ripped the fabric to shreds. I wanted to gasp in surprise, but he had already put his lips on mine. It wasn't enough to quench my fire. I closed my eyelids and everything around me disappeared in a whirlpool of warmth, colors and sensations. Jace's fingers suddenly running over my bare skin. My back suddenly lying on a soft surface. Jace leaning over me, looking down at me with inscrutable, intoxicating eyes.

"I love you so so so much more, Clary Morgenstern."

"Prove it to me," I whispered hoarsely and boldly, my arms wrapped around his neck. Did he know that I had only hoped that he would take off my dress like he had? Did he know that everything here was going exactly as I had imagined it?

His eyes darkened as he took off what was left of my dress. I heard him suck in air, for without the thin fabric there was nothing left to hide any part of me from him. Now it was his hands that shook in anticipation.

Jace's cool fingers brushed the sweat-stuck hair from my collarbones. His alert, dilated pupils took in every inch of me. With the back of his fingers he stroked the side of my chest, moving down my flank to my hip bone. Any shyness was erased as his fingers moved lower and lower.

Where he touched me, my already inflamed skin began to burn. Indentations that his fingers left on my body to mark me as His. Like a rune that bore his name – that could only be applied to me.

The sudden urge in my hands to mark him as Mine was unstoppable. In the blink of an eye, I was peeling him out of his shirt. Jace's muscles felt hard under my nails as I pulled him down almost violently and turned us over. He moaned into my mouth, moaning my name, but I barely registered. Dazed by the rush of his rune on me, I pressed my fingers to his chest.

Golden ink flowed from my fingers and formed into his very own personal rune. A rune that didn't need a stele. It screamed for power and heaven and passion. But there was more – something foreign to which I could give a name, but which made no sense. My whole body trembled with the effort required not to fall victim to the rune itself. For love was an intoxication that had to be withstood – surrendering to it was more wonderful than the Heavenly chants could ever be. But it required perseverance so exhausting and siren-like that my golden love would ignite me irrevocably if I thought I could lose my grip on this world completely. Devotion didn't exclude perseverance, it was the greatest challenge of all.

Jace was there to hold me. Where his body joined mine, my blood boiled like a living fire. As long as he held me, I didn't care. His lips caressed my skin; he himself didn't seem to notice the heat. But it had to come from him, from his Angelic power. His golden locks, all I saw as I fought to stay in the here and now. I focused on his head, which moved lower and lower down my body. Every kiss, every graze of his teeth, every play of his tongue burned me from the inside out, but at the same time prevented me from losing myself in the blazing flames.

I knew he would be the death of me. I could not be allowed to keep such love. Like a graceful butterfly fluttering about with its delicate wings – unapproachable and too beautiful to be held in one's hand for more than a moment before it flew away to find safety from the destructive power of men.

Was that it? Was it my destiny as Morgenstern to destroy what I loved? I wanted to give Jace everything and more, I had already played through hundreds of scenarios in my head - without any of them ever leaving my thoughts. Was I mad or wise to keep these desires locked away? With every word that came out of Jace's mouth, my mind seemed to further open up to him. As if it was just waiting for me to throw my last insecurities overboard. But would I, as Morgenstern, ever be able to do that?

My name rolled reverently from his tongue like a prayer. The insides of his hands slid over my thighs, holding me in position as Jace became a part of me, his breath a gasp in my ear. When the tension in my stomach finally reached the point where it threatened to overflow, I threw every safety measure overboard. I let myself fall into the togetherness, knowing that Jace would catch me and hold me tight.

The world around us exploded in a burst of red-orange hues, as strong as the core of a flame, as bright as the sun itself. The heat burst out of me like the sudden discharge of lightning in the middle of a summer storm.

If Jace's love felt like this, I would take any obstacle. Any ostracism, any sacrifice, any murder. In that moment, falling into a crumbling depth, I would give my own life too.

You are the only weakness I allow myself, whispered a strange voice from far away. I didn't remember the words, but I knew in my heart that they were the truth.

I was still falling. It was like falling into the core of the earth itself. An endless tunnel of rising flames that licked my skin and wrapped around my clothingless limbs. Years must have passed before, in a heart-stopping moment, I suddenly realized that Jace was gone. His touch echoed on my body, but I could not remember how long he had been gone.

The brighter the fire that seemed to burst out of me burned, the more my mind darkened. The thoughts and memories evaporated like water through a sieve, fleeing. I could only watch as they were burned by the fire, unable to even reach out. For there was nothing there to grasp at anything. There was nothing but light. Red, orange, yellow. I was nothing but a shimmer of colors – my existence reduced to translucent atoms.

This wasn't a dream. It took years to reach this realization. But I still fell. Not a dream. But not reality either. At least not for long.

Demons. Angels. Gods. Everyone was powerless face to face with time. And so, reality found a way, even in this dimension, to put an end to my cycle of fire. Unstoppable like water, it slipped through the smallest pore. Capillary-like, because at its peak the heat evaporated everything that tried to fight its way through the flames. The fire, like a wall of concrete, initially withstood the water of reality. Creeping, because the heat subsided gradually and not suddenly. Penetrating, as soon as nothing more than a warm resonance remained of the heat.

Then, whitewashed in the Heavenly Fire, I drowned in the ashes of my own existence.

oOo

There was one final moment of clarity. Brief as a lightning strike on the horizon before darkness set in. In that moment, I knew what had happened to me; what I had sacrificed. I knew I could not die.

Far away, in the depths of the almost black horizon, loomed a nearly faded promise. But the Archangel would remember that promise; would bind me to it — just as it was meant to be.

The Archangel himself may be my witness when I swear that I won't sacrifice myself for anyone but you in this war, for I have already made enough sacrifices.

For Jace. Because he deserved more than this.

oOo

I felt like I was floating through time and space. Without connection to my senses, without connection to anything.

Me. Me? Me. Who was this me?

Who are you? Where are you? Why is this world so ... dark?

oOo

Fire. It was the first thought that came to my mind when my consciousness managed to swim to the surface.

There had been a fire. I ... I had been there. A wall of impenetrable orange-red flames. I had been there. Right at its core. But ... where was there?

And who was I? Why ... why could I not remember? Why was I trapped in a chamber of darkness, as if nothing existed in this dimension but blackness. It was so black that I didn't even know if my eyes were open or closed.

I didn't feel my body. I might as well have been a ghost. I might as well have been dead.

Something was pulling at me. Whether it was my body or my soul – something was pulling at me, as if it wanted to drag me down, down, down into the abyss. Something like gravity seemed to still exist – here, between the worlds – for all I could feel was my form yielding to the claws as I fell into an unresisting, black nothingness.

oOo

Memories seeped into my brain like water through layers of wet sand. I could remember. Not much. Not details. But now I was convinced that it would just take more time.

My name is Clarissa Adele Morgenstern. I am eighteen years old. I am the best Shadowhunter of my generation.

I still could not tell if I was alive or dead. Where my body should be, nothing existed. Or I could not feel it. No inner body awareness, no body feeling through touch, no body sensations through nerves or even breathing. The feeling should have scared me, should it not?

My name is Clarissa Adele Morgenstern. I am eighteen years old. I live in the outskirts of Idris. My parents are Jocelyn and Valentine Morgenstern. I have an older brother. His name is Jonathan.

That last thought stopped me in my tracks. Or would have, if my existence had been tied to oxygen.

Jonathan.

The sudden rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me was unexpected. I felt them, deep inside ... that shell of my former self. Like ... like a pot that was about to boil over, but someone held the lid so tightly that all the pressure stayed in the pot; for the moment.

What was going on? Why ... why could I not access these emotions?

I never imagined that thinking alone would one day exhaust me so much. Like sand slipping through your hands and trying to hold on to it again and again. Whatever had happened to me, it must have pushed me to the edge of my life energy – if I was still alive at all.

As Jonathan's face faded from my mind like a long-ago memory, only his green eyes stood out. They were all I could hold on to before exhaustion overcame me.

oOo

There was a hole in my chest. I could not open my eyes to check, but I knew it was there. It burned like someone had dumped a bucket of acid on me.

Fire filled my field of vision, spreading in front of and behind my eyelids as if I were at the center of the sun itself.

The hole in my middle didn't burn like fire. There was no heat. An overwhelming tingling in my numb nerves. Groaning, piercing pain that shot through my bones as if nothing was left of me but shreds.

Pain. So much pain. Such deep pain.

My jaw ripped open. A roar formed on my charred vocal cords.

The body I was in lacked any strength. As if a damned bloodsucker had sucked every last drop of blood out of it.

The scream lacked strength and impact. Would anyone even hear me? I needed help. Where was my family? They would not let me rot like this if they themselves weren't ...

My heart suddenly skipped a beat, causing my pulse to race in panic as my brain automatically calculated the alternative scenarios.

You have to calm down, Clarissa Morgenstern, said a voice in my head.

Beneath me my body turned to stone.

Silent Brother.

From that moment on, the panic really picked up speed.

Silent Brother could only mean one thing: I was far away from my family. Either in the Silent City or Alicante. In enemy hands.

You have to get your heart rate under control, said that voice that sounded like metal scraping against metal. Direct your thoughts in a targeted manner.

And how I would direct my thoughts. On mutilating the body to this voice as soon as I had gathered enough strength to open my eyes. As soon as I was more than just fragments of myself.

I am giving you something for the pain. You are preventing the healing process.

No, no, no!, I wanted to scream at that voice. I wanted to lash out, I wanted to fight. But the connection to my head had already been severed.

The silence that followed felt uncomfortably familiar to me. Tiresome and lulling and ...

oOo

--- 4 hours before sunset. ---

Someone was watching me. Father had trained us to detect the presence of others when we were unable to blow our cover. That was exactly what I was doing. I had regained consciousness less than ten minutes ago, but I was deliberately keeping my breathing shallow and even. Whoever was watching over me would think I was asleep.

It took a few minutes for my foggy brain to catch up. Something was wrong. It was as if my inner eye was staring at a wall of frosted glass that it could not get past. Something was behind it, but out of my reach.

The last thing I remembered was the fire. Blazing and hot, it had consumed me. The reasons I had stood at its core were behind that wall. Just like everything else that had come before. I knew this fire was the key to breaking through that glass, but my body was a wreck. I wasn't sure I could stand up straight. The hole in my chest was still there, if less intense than before. As if the edges were slowly but surely bending to the Iratzes someone had imposed on me.

Someone had healed me. Otherwise I would be dead, I knew that. The Silent Brothers? Why would they do such a thing? Father had to be out there. They could not have caught him if they felt it necessary to keep me alive. Once they realized I would not tell them a word, the Clave would get rid of me anyway. Or they were foolish enough to believe they could use me as leverage. It was irrelevant, since I could not remember anything anyway. Maybe this was more of a blessing than a curse – maybe this was intentional; Father's work.

Wooden floorboards creaked as someone shifted their weight to my right. Footsteps reached my ears. Someone moved away from me. A door opened and seconds later closed with a metallic creak.

I counted to thirty in my head before I forced my eyelids open.

I found myself in a large room with high ceilings and ebony-paneled walls. A window at the back of my plainly made bed let in the midday light. My eyes narrowed on their own, turning into slits. The light seemed ... too bright for a winter's day. Not like in summer, but it felt ... warmer on the back of my neck. Strange. Probably the remains of the fire playing tricks on me.

An identical copy of four other beds lined up on either side of me. On the plain white nightstand to my left sat an untouched glass of water and ... My breath caught in my throat. I had to widen my eyes to make sure my mind wasn't playing tricks on me. My mother's ornately forged stele rested on a burgundy velvet cushion and next to it, in its star-embroidered sheath, Heosphoros. The gold and obsidian handle peeked out from it, practically calling to me. Like the song of a siren, it was almost impossible not to reach out for it immediately.

Instead, I clung to the stele. Was this just a big misunderstanding and would my father and mother be waiting for me when I stepped out the door? Would Jonathan hug me and laugh at my paranoia?

It had to be a trick. I was sure I had imagined the Silent Brother's voice.

As I pondered this, my gaze dropped to my stomach. Next to my bed was a pile of bloody gear – if it was mine, how had it survived the fire? How had I survived the fire? Clad in a loose, ashen tunic, it was easy to lift the fabric and examine the injury that was paralyzing me.

A thick bandage wrapped around my torso several times. Several Iratzes had been applied around the area, precisely and with great care. With the stele against my skin, the wound felt like nothing more than a distant throbbing. Any movement would hurt, would probably feel like a stab wound – but that was bearable. It had to be. Whoever had treated me, as long as it wasn't my family, I would not trust that person.

Before I swung my feet over the edge of the bed, I gave myself an Iratze of my own. I could already feel it numbing the itchy burning sensation that was lurking between my ribs. Someone had stabbed me with a sword, that much was immediately apparent. Although the angle had not hit my lung, the injury should have been fatal. I could feel the healed ribs pressing against my skin from the inside, as if they had not yet fully returned to their original position.

I should have been dead, but I wasn't. Why?

Next to the bed was a pair of my fine combat boots. As my feet slipped into them, I noticed a thin, dark coating clinging to the leather. My fingertips turned black as I ran them over them. Soot, like after a fire.

What had happened? Why could I not break this frosted glass that was restraining my brain?

Once I was armed with Heosphoros and the stele, I allowed myself a look out of the window. I was indeed in Alicante. It must have been the Basilias, because I had a clear view of the Gard on the hill and Angel Square, which this side of the building directly faced.

The burning turned into a persistent scratching, getting worse as my state of mind deteriorated. As if the stitches of the wound were opening. But there was no blood, as a quick check confirmed. It was my body playing tricks on me. Because it reflected what my emotions were trying to embody: The holy capital of the Nephilim was teeming with Downworlders.

Impossible. How could the worthless Clave have allowed themselves to permit such a thing? What had happened?!

My situation had just gotten much worse – my chances significantly slimmer. I had to leave. Immediately.

First, I considered the window. Faced with Angel Square, however, there was no roof to climb down to. The ground floor was too far below me. I could not risk being seen there and then having to quickly overcome the gap to the ground.

The door was my only option. With Heosphoros in my dominant hand, I turned the doorknob, which opened the door inwards without further ado. Behind my hospital room was another room with the same high ceilings and similar interior, only this one was much smaller. A single window, in front of it a single bed. Jonathan lay in it.

A gasp escaped my lips and I rushed to his side. The Silent Brother, who had just been leaning over him, jerked his head up from under a deep hood.

"Get away from him!" I hissed, holding Heosphoros's blade right to his jugular. His loose robes would not stop me from hitting it on the first try.

Clarissa, lower the sword, I heard the same gritty voice as before speaking in my head. Calm as a pristine body of water, friendly as if we knew each other. I am just changing Jonathan's bandage.

The sword trembled in my hand, from the effort and because the Brother's lifeless form frightened me to death. "I certainly will not fall for the Brotherhood's tricks," was all I replied. "Get away from him, now!"

To my surprise, the Silent Brother obeyed. He stepped back from the bed, as lithe as a dancer – the movement dislodged something in my memory, leaving indentations in the frosted glass. A confusingly soothing emotion that I could not place. Father always denied the rumors that the Brothers could read minds, but maybe ... Could they manipulate emotions?

Shaking my head, I forced my attention to the Silent Brother, who was giving me his full attention. His pale skin was invisible under the shadows of his hood. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up on their own, making my arm tremble ever so slightly. The Brother saw it, though.

I sense that something is wrong with you, Clarissa. You should know by now that we would not harm Jonathan. The Brotherhood cares about his well-being, just as it does about yours.

I allowed myself a sideways glance at Jonathan. His white-blond hair fell limply over his forehead. His eyelids fluttered incessantly, as if he were in agony. But it was his prominent cheekbones, his angular features, that sucked all the oxygen out of the room.

I desperately searched for the last memory of my brother. The last image of his face that I could conjure up. It seemed strangely distorted; blurry, as if it had happened months ago. This version of Jonathan that lay before me seemed to have aged years – drained of the strength that was otherwise evident in every fiber of his body.

"By the ..." I stammered. The anger in my heart reached its peak and burst out of me in a scream. "What have you done to him?!"

What are you talking about, Clarissa? The Brother's confusion was evident in his question. As if I was the one who didn't make sense. I thought I saw him tilt his head almost imperceptibly in a question. His next sentence had a hint of caution, while I felt his nonexistent eyes searching me. We saved his life, just as we saved yours.

Despair threatened to become the ingredient in the soup of my emotions that would overwhelm me. My exhaustion was shaking the very foundation of my emotional stability, but I would not be able to get Jonathan out of here in his current state. But I could not leave him behind either ...

"Where are my parents?" I demanded, trying to sound calm. I knew nothing of my current situation; didn't know how I had ended up here. My heart was pounding in my throat. It was more than obvious that I would not be able to escape the Brother. He was in perfect health and would have me before I made it to the next door. I had nothing left but to stall for time in case Father was on his way to rescue us. A faint voice in my head whispered that this hope would be in vain. He would never barge in without a plan when the city was full of fiends. And the city was definitely not under his control.

According to our information, Valentine is still in Brocelind Forest. You should sit down, Clarissa. I know you want to fight. If your recovery progresses quickly enough, you will have the opportunity.

By the Archangel, what was he talking about? The fact that Father was still alive sent relief through my veins. I made no move to sit down on the lonely chair that the Brother had offered me as if we were old acquaintances. He must have thought me foolish if he thought he could dissuade me from my intentions so easily.

Just as I was about to tell him just that, another thought swirled in my mind. Brocelind Forest? Was Father summoning Raziel? Were we in the midst of his elaborate plans? Was that why Jonathan and I had ended up here? Had there been a battle against the Nephilim? Was that why there were Downworlders outside – because they had formed an alliance against us?

"And my mother?" I pressed, demanding an answer. Do not let them see your weaknesses. As if I were fending off a blow, I shifted Heosphoros's position in front of my chest. My knee pressed against the bed frame, I was as close to Jonathan as was possible under the circumstances.

The Silent Brother didn't answer my question. Perhaps because he had seen through my strategy of wasting time. Perhaps because he had no idea. The temperature of the room seemed to drop by several degrees – a frosty cold emanating from the Brother spread between us. It felt like a gruesome premonition pressing against the inside of my temples.

Suddenly I had a breathless feeling that his silence was personal. A feeling from my subconscious – as if it had knowledge that was denied to me – as if it could see through the frosted glass.

My voice trembled as I rephrased the question. "Jocelyn Morgenstern. Where is she?"

This time, the Silent Brother's hesitation was unmistakable. Although nothing had changed visually, I could not shake the feeling that the figure in front of me had stopped breathing. One of the many statues in the Silent City that were modeled after the Brothers.

His silence stretched on forever. I oriented myself by the barely perceptible rise and fall of Jonathan's chest and began to sweat from my own inactivity. I knew I should attack the Brother – the epitome of Nephilim – but I could not break free from my own rigidity. My muscles refused to serve me – preventing an even greater disaster.

What is the last thing you remember, Clarissa?

A simple question that literally blasted me out of this dimension. "Come again?" Whispering, murmuring, breathing. None of them applied – all of them applied.

I cannot make a clear diagnosis from a distance, judging by your strange behavior, you do not seem to be yourself. It could be related to memory loss. If you let me check your head, I could–

"Absolutely not!" Now I pointed the tip of the sword directly at the Brother. An act of desperation, my facial expression and voice underlined this. I didn't want it to be true. It only fueled the defiance of not bringing shame on my family. Emotions that ignited new emotions – like pouring oil on the fire. "One step in my direction and I will rip you open like a fish!"

Secretly, an unpleasant fear was crawling up my insides. There was something wrong with my head; the frosted glass was proof of it. There were memories I could not access. The fire was to blame. The fire was blocking me. Why always fire? He was right that I was missing memories.

I was sure that the Brother was about to answer. Even with a blade at his throat, he was the picture of calm. Probably because in my condition I posed a ridiculous danger.

Or because he knows you, murmured a voice from the other side of the frosted glass. As quiet as the hum of the wind, and yet my body leapt into the air as if someone had breathed the words directly into my neck.

At that moment, the room's second door opened with a thud. A woman in her sixties burst into the hospital room, her ceremonial robes flowing behind her steps, making her seem broader and more majestic than she really was upon closer inspection. The tightly pulled back hair gave her an emotionless hardness, and the stern expression seemed so set in place as if it was anchored to her face. The absence in her icy blue eyes alone revealed that she, too, felt. The expression almost reminded me of Father. Those eyes, however, ... reminded me of someone else entirely. Like a butterfly one tried to catch, only to escape again and again.

As if by itself, I tilted my head. Suddenly, a rush of pure adrenaline shot through my weakened veins. My senses were on high alert, analyzing every inch of her figure and every corner behind it, where the open door seemed to open into a hallway.

When the Shadowhunter's eyes – because she could only be a Shadowhunter with that level of hardness – fell on me, they widened into an expression of pure horror. The grin crept onto my lips of its own accord. Finally, someone who knew how to properly appreciate my presence. Her steps stopped in the doorway, she almost stumbled. Her pupils took in my form and bored into me in pure shock.

"Clarissa," whispered the old woman, her eyes as familiar as the warm touch of a summer wind on the skin. Her voice, however, was devoid of any affection.

"Surprised that I am already on my feet?" The sword didn't leave the Silent Brother's throat. The adrenaline made me hold the hilt without flinching. "Let me guess, the Clave sent you to question me. What, does my father keep the Nephilim so busy that the Clave has no one else for my torture but an old, frail woman?"

For a moment, the shock on her face turned into a gape. A spark of indignation replaced the distant melancholy in her eyes – whoever it was meant for, she had no such feelings for me; anything else would have been a surprise anyway. Instead of answering, she turned her head almost imperceptibly towards the Silent Brother. The demanding authority that immediately crept into her eyes like an attacking viper made me pause. It was obvious that the Brother was telling her something.

"You are the Inquisitor," I stated. The laughter that followed, half amused and half uncomfortable, revealed an edge of unknown madness. This body that didn't do what I wanted and felt somehow different was making me increasingly worried. I tried to keep up the facade, giving her the smarmy and most detached smirk I could manage. "My father told me so much about you. Of course, I should have made the connection immediately. Who else would torture me but Imogen Herondale herself? Do not bother, he taught us to withstand any pain."

A wall of indifference settled over the Inquisitor's cheek muscles. She raised her eyebrows, feigning concentration on my words, but something was swimming at the edges of her false facade. Why was she so surprised to see me? "I am well aware of that, Clary," she said, her voice strikingly ... soft. It was the use of my name that made me flinch. Clary. Where did she know that nickname from? It rolled off her tongue so unfamiliarly, as if she were uncomfortable using it. Nothing about this woman's range of emotions made any sense. "We do not have time for full explanations, so I will make this quick and easy. Brother Zachariah will see to it that you get back the memories you have obviously lost." Her eyes flew to the Silent Brother. A curt nod later, he trotted around the bed, straight toward me.

Heosphoros was now floating uselessly in the air where his throat had just been. For just a blink of an eye. I whirled around and continued to stand to the side of Jonathan's bed – with my back to the wall and window. "Stay back," I growled and slid into a defensive position before he could take another step. The almost black Adamas of my blade shimmered like a silver barrier between Brother Zachariah and me.

Zachariah was as fast as the elements themselves. Faster, perhaps. I didn't blink, but I still saw him draw an Adamas sword in a blur of silver and black. Not a breath later, it collided with my own.

I do not want to hurt you, Clarissa, I heard Zachariah soothingly whisper in my head as his sword rained down on me like hail.

An angry scream burst from my throat, and I kicked at his knee to bring him to the ground. But the Brother was too fast for my weakened instincts. "This damn fire," I hissed, and as my voice crackled like a rising flame, I struck out almost blindly at Zachariah. When he just dodged and made no attempt to use my porous setup to his advantage, a hysterical roar left my vocal cords. This Samaritan act, as if he only wanted to help me, as if he was doing me a favor, made my blood boil.

Within a blink, Imogen Herondale appeared on the left side of the Silent Brother, her eyes wide again in a ridiculous masquerade of astonishment. "You remember the fire."

My eyes were drawn to her as if by themselves. "The fire." Heosphoros hissed in sync with me as I aimed it horizontally at Zachariah. Something calculating, vengeful had crept into my tone. "Did you do this to me?"

"It was you," the Inquisitor replied, without hesitation and without dodging, as Heosphoros's blade flew inches past her nose – while even Zachariah took cover. "You alone. Now stop this nonsense and let us help you."

"Anyone who faces me with a weapon certainly does not have my best interests in mind."

"Very well, I will make you an offer," the Inquisitor began, motioning for the Silent Brother to step back. "Let us restore your memories, and if you still believe you want to fight at Valentine's side, I will let you and your brother go without protest."

"A trick," I answered, shaking my head, and was about to continue to throw her offer in Imogen Herondale's face when her pupils suddenly darted away from me. To my right – to Jonathan. "What–"

Several things happened at once. My gaze lowered to my brother, his emerald green eyes – the image of my own – were already resting on me. Experienced and serious and exhausted – as if those eyes were witnesses to a thousand years of fate, instead of just their own, eternally insignificant fate. The melancholy in his was like a well-thrown dagger aimed directly at my heart. I wanted to back away, but Jonathan was already reaching out and grabbing my wrist.

A crackle began to grow in the space between our skin. At first it was nothing more than a spark that jumped from his fingers to my arm. But as soon as his fingers dug into my skin, stuck there like immovable metal shackles, I felt the heat. Straight from my nightmares, it rose from Jonathan's core and jumped to me through the touch like a spreading fire that craved oxygen.

The gurgling scream that escaped me brought me to my knees. I wanted to tear myself away, to escape the fire once and for all, but Jonathan's grip was as unbreakable as lead. I watched him – my brother – with wide eyes, allowing that fire to penetrate deep into my blood, burning everything in its path to ash. I threw my head back in a cry of pain, but my vocal cords burned; no sound escaped them. Suddenly I tasted smoke in my throat.

My head was on fire. My body burned, melting into a lump of foreign sensations. And the frosted glass in my mind melted along with it.

-

This chapter is dedicated to Elaine, an English reader on fanfiction.net who is a huge Taylor Swift fan (like me) and wished for a moment based on some Taylor songs like Dress. Since I was in the middle of this chapter at the time and didn't know how to get back from the fire to reality, this inspiration came at just the right time!

A lot has happened and the chapter is already quite long at 17 Word pages. But I just wanted to put everything into one chapter because we want to finish this story at some point! I had actually planned to finish it by the end of last year (just writing, not uploading), but of course, I didn't manage because the end became longer than expected long... I'm currently stuck on chapter 108...

Pleeeease let me know what you think!

Skyllen