My Beautiful One

4. What I am

As I lay on my back on my four-poster Institute bed, I let out a slow breath and stared at the velvet canopy. I thought about how so much can happen in a single day, and that despite spending the past seven years trying to push myself out of the world’s affairs, I had been shoved right back into them in the space of an hour.

With all these thoughts battering the walls of my mind, it seemed impossible to sleep, so with a huff of exasperation I drew the covers back, climbed out of the bed, and sat down in front of the dressing table. I looked at my reflection carefully, wishing that the girl I saw in the mirror didn't look quite as she did. The usual eyes stared back at me: turquoise in colour, and shining in the dark room. The hair was faerie hair: such a pale blonde it was almost white, and threaded through with strands of silver. That, along with my other faerie-like features, was what made Maryse consider me as the bait for the mission to find Jonathan Morgenstern. I could pretend to be an ally, as all of the faerie kingdom were, when in fact my allegiance would be to the Clave. That and my enhanced fighting abilities put me on the squad, and without further discussion, Isabelle showed me to a room and I there I stayed.

Only that advantage to my looks isn't what I'm interested in. I thought, looking down at the rune on my arm. I want to know about this. What I am. Maryse said she knows exactly what I am, but why didn't she explain?

And I had not been the only curious one. As soon as I'd left with Isabelle, I had heard Jace start arguing with Maryse. My first thought when I got back to my room was whether he could help me.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I jumped out of the chair at the sound, pulled on a dressing gown, and opened the door.

"What?" I hissed, acting as though I had been woken up from a pleasant sleep. In the doorway, an insufferable grin on his face, was Jace.

"Nice jammies." He commented, and I flushed as I looked down at my dressing gown: bright green, several inches too short, and with a pattern of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

"I had to borrow it off Clary." I said, and put a hand on my hip. "Did you come here to criticize your girlfriend's choice of pyjama, or for a reason that might actually be worth my time?"

Jace held up both hands in a gesture of submission. "I just came to talk, as fun fighting with you is."

I tilted my head to the side, scrutinising his face carefully. "You sure do look like an angel, though that doesn't explain why you can fight like one. I know you're not a normal Shadowhunter. Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"In a sense, yes." Jace quickly looked down the corridor, and -in a surprisingly awkward-sounding tone- asked: "Can I come in?"

I frowned slightly, but mumbled an 'okay, sure', and wandered back to my bed, sitting on the edge as Jace closed the door and sat down in an arm chair opposite.

"Okay." He said, and looked straight into my eyes with his strange golden ones. "I am not going to open up to you and be a sentimental little kid about it, because neither of us want or need that," I nodded in agreement. "But out of everyone in this Institute, you seem the most like me, if only because of your abnormalities. What I want to talk about is... well... I want to tell you about things which would make everyone else here wince and pat me on the head."

I snorted. "I pity the person that pats you on the head."

"That's not my point." He responded irritably. "My point is that you are the only person who doesn't look at me with pity. Now, I don't know if that is just because you know nothing about me, but I know that you don't like me, so I would like you to hear me out."