It wasn't supposed to happen. None of it was. She had given up everything she had ever wanted for them, and now it was one of the best things that had happened to her.
Julian woke up gasping, his heart pounding, fear and pain coursing through him; the only real emotion he had felt in months. It was like waking up from a trance. It was just like when he had been under the spell he had begged Magnus Bane to put on him, that had been five long years ago.
He had known he should have tried harder, to be better, to be there for his siblings. He was supposed to be good, and emotional and comfort for his siblings. Instead, he was like a ghost. He could see it in his families eyes, in everybody's eyes.
Cristina had been like him, too. In the first few months after Emma had left she had been worse than a ghost. The pictures of her and Emma had been ripped off her walls, leaving pale, lighter squares of paint where they had been. She had become bone-thin, barely eating and never talking. Kieran and Mark had helped her so much, but no matter how much everyone else tried to help him Julian wouldn't- couldn't change.
We all lost something, and I lost everything.
He remembered yelling those words at Cristina all that time ago. Cristina, beat down and broken Cristina. He felt a hatred toward himself, bone-deep hate, that was worse than words could explain. He felt as if he were a different person now than he had been when he had fallen asleep, after many hours of tossing and turning.
Everybody had lost something, his siblings, even Clary and Jace; but he and Cristina had lost the most. Cristina had lost her shoulder to cry on, her voice of purity when she was upset, her sister. Julian remembered with a bitter pain of when he had lost Livia, how it had torn him apart, he'd had Emma then, and Helen, and all of his siblings. So many people going through the same pain and hurt and guilt and remorse and regret, all there for him. And the one person who was going through the same thing, wondering what they had done, wondering why she had left, hurting so much it was tearing them apart, was not there, was gone.
Julian knew, he knew, Emma would have wanted better. She would have wanted him to comfort her best friend- her sister- and help her. Help her struggle through the pain together.
He remembered how he had not been able to paint in five years.
As he sat up in bed, staring at the mural on his wall of the prince on horseback heading to the castle of thorns. He felt like he had been dunked into icy, arctic water after being in a hot atmosphere, the emotions rushing back to him in an overwhelming flood.
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Emma stood in the distance in the meadow, a bright, fiery angel in the field of green. Beckoning to him with a delicate wave of her hand.
Her hair was in a braid, fire wheels tucked into the strands, their radiant reds and yellows standing out against the gold of her hair. Her dress was the same red as the center of the fire wheels', blowing in the wind.
He reached her across the field, his shoes damp from the morning dew on the green spring grass. He wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning down and gently pressing a kiss against her soft lips. Her hands ran through his wild curls.
