Soul mates

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Before he came, the Lightwood siblings were one.

There was Max, sure – but he wasn't part of the puzzle.

He was the other child, the loved younger brother.

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They were like twins

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Isabelle and Alexander. Alexander and Isabelle.

They could stand back to back, and without having to turn they could understand the others move.

They fought like a mirror, or a blanket. Weaved perfectly together until you couldn't see the gaps.

Their childhood blanket of safety.

Alec and Izzy.

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You know those two

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They could rattle of facts of each other like counting.

They couldn't quite understand, but it was intimate.

The way that they understood everything about each other, so simple.

It was intimate the way they curled up together to sleep.

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Inseparable

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It was like a magnet, the way they rotated around each other.

They had a strange connection.

A strong, amazing connection.

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Then it broke

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Jace Wayland.

He was a brother, and a blockage.

With him there, in between, it blocked the magnetism.

They began to falter when fighting, the blanket began to stretch.

He began to stick his fingers between the fabric.

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Holes

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He became Alec's parabati.

Isabelle lost her brother.

Alec began to be pulled away, and all she had was this empty place, pulling her towards them.

Jace wiggled his fingers through the fabric, the hole would grow.

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You're a girl, you can't play these kinds of games

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Alec's acceptance of her began to waver, until they split in the middle.

He was something to Jace, just not as much as he was to Isabelle.

Jace used him to fill the gap until he found his soul mate.

Alexander didn't see Isabelle's tears.

Even as they flooded her heart.

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Replacement

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When Clarissa came, Alec became empty.

Isabelle was like a robot, seeking comfort and empty companionship.

It was an empty love.

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Soul mates

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They say that soul mates come in many forms.

A soul mate is simply the other half of you, someone you connect with completely.

A soul mate can be a lover, a best friend, a stranger,

A soul mate can be a sibling.

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I don't own.

I am not Cassandra Clare.

I write when I should be asleep.