Tessa Gray stared up at the gray London sky, wiping a thin, long fingered hand across her eyes, where tears threatened to spill, to slip away, down her cheeks, like her life, steadily falling, until it is only her left. She put her hands on the metal railing of Blackfriars bridge, and continued to stare up at the sunless sky, a sob rising in her throat, ready to choke her, and the parts of her soul that she hadn't buried with her past. She blinked once, slowly, and gazed down into the murky, horrific depths of the Thames, holding its secrets, as if it were cradling its child. Not many people know this, but water remembers. One could cry, a memory playing like a track record in front of their eyes, the tear could fall, land in a puddle or in liquid, or solid, but somehow, the water remembers. That tear, would remember that memory, that secret. Tessa gazed more intently and thought of how easily it would be to slip into the depths, never to be found, except in the Thames arms, your secrets buried with you, never for them to be parted with you.
Her fingers shook against the railing, and she clenched them into fists, her knuckles turning to a bold white, as her arms and shoulders shook, a gasp coming from her mouth, as her legs gave way, and she collapsed to a heap on the ground, her whole body racking with shakes, her head twitching to the side. With her hands shaking, unstopping, she reached into her dress, and pulled out a single glass angel wing, its sharpened tip glinting welcoming.
Tessa remembered, a soft, strangled scream coming from her throat, when she found her aunt on the ground, still, she looked as though she had fallen asleep on the floor.
Harriet was asleep, in her own way. She wondered when she would fall into it soft arms, not meaning for her niece to find that morning, blood trickling from her ears, nose, mouth, and from the quik underneath her fingernails.
Tessa rocked silently, now doing nothing to stop the tears flowing down her cheeks and onto her dress of her uncontrollably shaking body.
On top of the shelf, in the small, New York kitchen, next to the flour and salt, sat a small, glass angel. About half the size of a pint glass. The day, the Harriet died, the angle fell from her shelf, and clattered to the floorboards, the two wings, breaking from the glass dress sharply.
Tessa never found the second wing. Only the first wing. When the angel had broken, she never could figure out why it hurt her so much, when it went off Nate's back like water on a loon duck.
She pulled up her jacket and dress sleeve, leaning against the railing, inwardly wishing for the tremors and shakes to stop rattling her body.
She drew the angel wing across her left arm, and didn't wince or make a noise of complaint at the pain, though it was deep.
When she did cut, after the first time, it never did hurt her. She was just amazed at how delicate one was, and could be.
She never minded the scars that would be permanent, to remind her of what she had done, it wasn't something she terribly needed to worry about.
She watched gently as red droplets oozed down her arm, onto her dress, some onto the coal-blackened ground. "My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains, my sense, as though of Hemlock I had drunk, or emptied some dull opiate to the drains. One minute past, and the Lethewards had sunk:" She whispered, repeating the first poem she had ever read. Ode To Nightingale, affected her somehow. It was like it was the words written upon her soul, like angel dust, that it was something that she didn't quite share with the rest of the people on her life. The poem, to her, felt like it is hers, and hers alone. "'Tis not envy of thy happy lot, but been too happy in thine happiness,- that thou, light winged Dryad of the trees in some melodious plot of Beechen green, and the shadows numberless, singest of summer in full-throated ease." She finished, her hands laying at her side, the shaking having stopped, leaving Tessa Gray to wonder, and stare at the gray sky, now, becoming a silver colour. Tessa stood up, leaning on the railing strongly for support, as she balanced herself, fixing her sleeves, and making sure there weren't traces of blood around her wrist. She tucked her angel wing back into her pocket and pulled out a petal of Love Lies Bleeding, leaving it to softly, gently and slowly fall to the river. "For you William Herondale," Tessa whispered. Tessa pulled out a petal of Zephyr for James Carstairs, leaving it to fall, along with Wills. She let a Blue Bell fall for Sophie Collins, A leave from a Wild Plum for Charlotte Branwell and her child, A Delphinium petal for Gabriel Lightwood, A small sprig of Stock for Gideon Lightwood, a petal of Clematis for Henry Branwell, and, a single Bay Leaf for Jessamine Lovelace, the girl who changed but in death, to be the conqueror of all London's lost souls. "For every single one of you." She whispered. Her eyes widened in surprise, as the petals and sprig were centimeters away from the water, then flew up into the air, and swept themselves towards the London Institute. Tessa smiled, and drew a hand under her eyes."It seems now, that only time will tell."
