So. I decided to take a completely random vacation from my usual hauntings of the Twilight fandom, after reading 'City of Bones' by Cassandra Clare. I was pretty annoyed, after learning that Clary and Jace were related. In fact, I was pissed off enough to produce this.

Please bear in mind that this is my first attempt at a MI fic. Not to mention, I've only read the first book. So.

DISCLAIMER: See something you recognise? It's not mine. Really. I don't even own the book-- it's from the library. So stop trying to sue me, and just read the damn story.

Musings of a Shaken Mind
Mortal Instruments FanFiction.
By Becky Scarlett-Cullen

Sometimes he wonders if he's going insane.

I mean, really, when he stops to think about it—he can't really grasp that this, in fact is real—that his family really are this messed-up bunch of incestuous Shadowhunters. It's not bloody fair, that the one girl he's finally found—the girl he's in love with—is his sister.

It's stupid. Crazy, and stupid. And probably wrong, too. But there is nothing that either of them can do about it. They can hate their father, for certain—and he can ignore their mother all he likes. But no matter how hard they try, they can't change a damn thing.

It's so ridiculous that she's his sister. Crazy. Surreal. It feels like, any moment now, they're all going to come jumping out and yell, "SURPRISE!"

When he thinks of the other couples in the books that he's read—Tristan and Isolde; Romeo and Juliet; Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy; Edward and Bella… it doesn't seem right. His relationship was going great—just like in any story—until Valentine—he thinks the name with venom—came along. Until he found out that they were related. Brother and sister, no less. How many of the stories ended like that? None.

Some ended in tragedy—and he would willingly die for her—others in romance. But they never took this unexpected, sick, unfair turn. It isn't right. That is the thing that hurts him the most.

It isn't like feuding families, or social status, or even their species hamper them. He could have coped with any of that. No, this is different—they are related. Have the same flesh and blood.

And, as he sits with his head in his hands, he realises that, despite their family bond being incredibly strong, it isn't strong enough. He will have to watch as she falls in love with someone else. She'll catch another's attention, of course—she is beautiful. Maybe he'll even have to walk her down the aisle. He would do it, he realises, if it made her happy.

He remembers the first time they met. In that nightclub. Even then, under the strange lights, with the floor-shaking beats, and the pulsing bodies, he had noticed her. She had stood out for him, and she had entranced him. He had been utterly captivated, later, as she had stood and yelled at him for what she saw as the attempted killing of an innocent.

He remembers their first kiss, on her birthday. The way she had looked, the way they had talked, the way her flushed cheeks had felt beneath his fingertips. Her lips, moving with his. There had been nothing odd—nothing in any way sibling-like about the feelings he had felt for her.

He remembers that night, when she had been so adamant about going back for her friend, even though he was only a mundie. He had loved her too, of course. But the way she had fought off a coven of Vampires—not to mention a pack of Werewolves—to reach her friend… that had made him feel an odd, irrational, violent jealousy of the kid.

He remembers the way she had come for him, too, in the same way. But surely, he had thought, that wasn't right? She had known Simon her whole life. She had known him for a few weeks, at most. And yet, she had put her life on the line again to do the same for him as she had for her friend. He remembers the utter joy he felt, at having her safe in his arms again, even while the battle raged beneath them. The utter serenity that seemed to embrace him when she was near.

And then, of course, he remembers when it all went wrong. Calling Valentine 'father', and seeing the bewildered expression on her face had nearly killed him. He had naively assumed that she would be happy for him—though that had, of course, been before he had learnt the truth.

He remembers with longing the hours they spent together.

He loves her. And, bloody fool that he had been, he hadn't seen it until it was nearly too late.

And now, when everything—especially their relationship—is uncertain, he wonders if he'll ever smile again.

He never did say it to her. That he loved her. And now? Maybe she'll never know.