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chapter forty-five. . . risen from the dead
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IT HAD BEEN a week since Malia had risen from the dead. Where she was gifted to live again by hand of her brother who roamed the world just like her, in an apartment that once belonged to Lilith, and which had been relocated to Siberia, away from New York. Malia was nowhere near home. She was stuck in the middle of blanketed woods of snow, where there was nothing for miles and with the thought of running away from Jonathan, she could face possible hypothermia. So she stayed. Malia had stayed in the apartment, gifted with clothes by Jonathan that fitted her well enough to stay in.
Throughout the days she had been silent, where the only things she'd say to Jonathan was either, 'good morning,' 'goodnight,' and 'thank you' whenever he had made her something to eat. There had been some nights where she had fallen asleep on the armchair beside the couch where Clary had been sleeping on for days, where she hadn't woken from her slumber after Jonathan had saved her from her death. Seeing her sister was a comforting sight that she wasn't facing Jonathan alone, that she wasn't going to have to deal with him alone.
Jonathan knew that it would take a while for Malia to warm up to him, but her coldness didn't stop him from making sure she was all right. Whenever she was hungry he fed her, sometimes she'd refused, whenever she fell asleep on the armchair he'd make sure that he didn't leave her cold so he'd wrap a blanket around her and tucking her in. He continued and wouldn't stop looking after her.
The one time where Malia hadn't fallen asleep in the armchair was the day where Clary's eyes had fluttered open. She had woken from the war she had faced with Lilith and where Jonathan had saved her from death which had been caused by the hidden mark on Simon Lewis' head and he carried the belief that he killed his best friend. And Ben was living with the fact that the love of his life was dead.
When Clary's eyes had fluttered open, she knew where she laid but she was confused. The light that flicked into the room had been blinding as she gathered her bearings to comprehend what had happened. Jonathan had thought that Clary seeing Malia would've eased her mind, but as the girl was getting ready for the day he was the first one who had greeted Clary. "Good morning."
Clary had gripped onto the back of the couch to pull herself off of the hard fabric that was no good for her back. She looked over her shoulder in confusion of who had greeted and a confused expression smacked across her face as she couldn't guess who stood before her. The pale skin was no one she recognised. "Who are you?"
The corner of Jonathan's lips had curved up into a smile as he had been waiting for the time he was to introduce himself to the Fairchild. "Don't you see the family resemblance?" He pondered.
