My second MI fanfic. Please remember that I have only read the first in the series; this is entirely speculation and imagination on my behalf. I don't really like the twist that is Jace and Clary's parentage, so I generally tend to ignore it when writing for this fandom. If anyone is deeply offended, feel free to let me know. Really.

Inspired by Switchfoot's 'Meant to Live'. If you haven't heard it, YT it, or something. It's a brilliant song.

Meant to Live
A Mortal Instruments FanFiction,
By Musings of a Shaken Mind


This was wrong.

It wasn't supposed to end like this. She wasn't supposed to die. She couldn't die. For what was he, without her? In the few months they'd known each other, had they become so intrinsically linked, that his survival depended on hers?

And now, as she lay broken and bleeding, in his arms, he couldn't help thinking that something wasn't right.

She was meant to live. For the Clave. For Jocelyn Fray. For the Institute. For the Shadowhunters. For Isabelle and Alec. For him.
She could not simply die.

Was that how he had come to view her, then? As a girl so untouchable that she was as immortal as the creatures of the night?

As her crimson blood blackened his midnight shirt further, he realised just how mortal she really was.

She had always been small. In death, she was tiny. Like a china doll. Her red curls, stained redder by blood. Skin, lost in deathly pallor. Eyes blank, unseeing. Lips pale.

Vaguely, as if from a great distance away, he heard names calling him. They were gentle; perhaps they did not want to disturb him. A hand on his shoulder was rough, though, and warm. He shrugged it away. He did not need them to console him, for nothing could console him now. He pressed shaking lips to her forehead, and tasted her blood.

A single drop fell, mingling with the scarlet liquid.

He pressed his lips to hers, but there was nothing romantic in his embrace. Not now. He was breathing life into her, desperately trying to force her lungs to take in oxygen. He laid her down once more. Desperate, fumbling hands pressed her chest, forcing her heart to beat.

Hope is a strange emotion. It can both bolster and destroy. It can clear the way, or block our path. It is a fickle thing, and it can be dangerous; building us up and then knocking us down.

As the first independent breath passed Clary Fray's lips, Jace gave himself entirely to hope.

She truly was meant to live.