The Angel's Stone

Doting on Death

Author's Note:

Hi guys:) I decided to write a little fan fiction about the Shadowhunters; which is all Cassandra Clare's idea. The characters (excluding Natascha) and plot however, are all mine and I take credit for them. Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoy:)

Chapter １

The screaming could be heard from ten houses away, Natascha thought, trying to drown out the noise, that sounded like forks scratching china plates, with music. However, even when the music was at its loudest, and her ears were starting to throb from the loud noise, she could still hear the fighting of her mom and her dad. Natascha touched the blue gem around her neck for reassurance. She wished she could've lived in a smaller city, not Chicago, so less people could hear her parents fight.

Many times Natascha Darkfield had tried to listen to what they were saying; to decipher what the problem was and if there was anything she could to do fix it. But all the times she had attempted to- even as far as pressing her ear up against the door- she only received small, dull murmurs. As she backed away they raised an octave into yelling again, as if they could tell she was there. She had once or twice stayed by the door with a book in her hand just to get a break from the fighting.

She was about to do this now, since it would give her ears a break, when suddenly her door flew open. Her mother stood there, wisps of her golden brown hair escaping her messily put up bun. A large, pink mark was beginning to darken on her cheek, as if someone had painted it there. Her tattoos stood out on her arms like ink splatters on her pale skin. Natascha looked startled; she hadn't realized their parents had stopped fighting. She quickly ripped out her earphones and said, "Yes, mom?"

Her mom composed herself, and Natascha knew from the look on her face she was trying not to cry. "Pack your suitcase, Natascha. We are going somewhere nobody can hurt you."

Natascha stared up at her mother, confused and worried. "But nobody's hurting me, mom."

The woman didn't skip a beat. "Someone will be if you don't come with me, darling. I'll give you five minutes to pack. Don't-"

"Mom." Natascha's voice was urgent, pleading. "I don't want to leave."

Mrs. Darkfield looked away. A moment passed, and then she told her daughter quietly, "Tascha, close your eyes."

"But-"

"Just do it!" Her mother's voice rose to the one she heard her use with her father everyday, and, scared, she closed her eyes. She heard her mother take a deep breath and say, "Now imagine a bright yellow painted building. It is, however, in a big, dark city where everything is black." Natascha could see it now: a little bit of sunshine on the dark side of the moon. Her mother continued speaking. "Now imagine that building wanted to blend in. Imagine, it.." She struggled for a word. "Peeling the yellow paint away to reveal it was dark, just like the rest of the buildings. That the yellow was just a cover up; a blanket, you could sat; it was never really yellow in the first place." A pause. "Now, open your eyes."

Natascha's eyes fluttered open like a delicate wings of a butterfly. Her mother was suddenly dressed in thick, black clothing, her entire body more cut up and bruised than she had ever seen it. Where there used to be tattoos of birds, butterflies, and hearts stood vicious, swirling black lines that reminded Natascha of snakes. A strange, pen-like object was fastened to a thick belt, sitting right next to a battle axe. The girl stared up at her mother in horror and shock.

"What are you?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

Mrs. Darkfield's face was expressionless, the pink slap mark beginning to fade into a light bruise. "Pack your stuff, Natascha," she replied, taking the pen-like stick and drawing another swirling line on her neck. "We leave for Ohio in ten minutes."