Since I finished Existence I simply… hmm, couldn't get the idea out of my mind. The whole crazy thing. Imaginary friend aspect. When I started Existence, I did another version. Another beginning and entire story. Where it wasn't Jace who was crazy, but Clary. So I thought about posting it and why the hell not? Here is Timeless. The twin fic of sorts to Existence. You don't need to have read Existence to read this, as it's totally different. I assure you.
Anyway, yes! Hi, new fic and I'm back off holiday. Unfortunately, I'm having problems updating Untamed. New chapters won't upload so I think that's a dud. Urgh bummer really. But to make it up to you, here is this fic. More pain, tears, joy and Clace. Lots of Clace. It's AU, as usual. This is more of an introduction chapter more than anything, giving you some mystery. And yes, there will be questions about this chapter you'll all be wanting answered. *laughs evilly*
I hope you guys like this. Both new readers and old. If you want me to continue, leave me a review! If there's enough I shall add on the next chapter and away we go into the story! Thank you! x
The dream began with a boy. A boy with hair as fine and bright as the purest sunlight. The blade in his hand was long, tapering to a wicked sharp point. A pattern of birds taking flight was etched into the gilded silver handle. The blade was stained with red. He was only about ten, his aureate eyes fixed upon the floor of the throne room. His hair was hanging in his eyes. There was hurt in them as clear as day.
Clary wanted to comfort the little boy. But he wasn't so little. Tall for his age and distinctly proud looking, he was the type Clary was sure would punch her if she attempted it. At his feet lay two forms. Two bloodied forms that she knew to be his parents. Oh but the boy hadn't killed them both. Countless dreams had told her that.
He was lost. And she needed to save him.
She wanted, needed to know his name. It was a constant ache in her chest. But the words… they wouldn't form upon her lips, no matter how hard she tried. Something stopped her.
The boy looked up from the floor, meeting emerald eyes with gold. He was more than striking, even at a young age. Those same eyes narrowed, turning black. Blacker than the pits of hell. The lips curled into a snarl. A moment later he'd flashed forwards, the blade coming straight at her.
And Clary woke up screaming.
It took a long time for her to return to reality, finding arms around her, her face buried in a chest. Her mother's chest.
"Shh, Clary," her mother sighed tiredly. It was late. So late that the sun hadn't even started to rise yet. "It was just a dream. A nightmare."
Clary found she couldn't breathe. For a few minuets she sat there regulating her breathing into her mother's chest. She smelt like turpentine. It was so strong in Clary's nose that it made her eyes water and cause her to pull away. She sat there silent for a moment before her mother sighed out, "feeling better?"
A pause and Clary nodded. She glanced to the time- four o'clock in the morning. Her room was lit by the lamp at the side of her bed, casting dark shadows across her sunset orange bedroom walls. Now that she'd returned to reality, she looked back to her mother. Jocelyn Fray looked tired with her eyes heavy with sleep. She wore a loose white vest and black shorts that were rumpled from how she'd been sleeping. And how fast she'd leapt out of bed at the sound of her daughter screaming.
The elder woman sighed. "Clary, you said these dreams were over. Done. You lied to me."
Clary said nothing for a start. Her back was damp with sweat and her t-shirt was sticking to it. She didn't bother pulling it away as she slipped back under the covers, tugging them to under her arms. "I didn't lie," she told her mother, "tonight was the first time in a while." She was lying through her teeth, but her mother couldn't tell. Every single night these bastard things happened. Jocelyn nodded, yawning lightly. "Do you want to sleep with the light on-?"
Clary laughed at that, shaking her head. "I'm not a child anymore mom." She watched her mother walk across the room, pulling the door closed until it was only a crack. Clary sighed to herself before fumbling for the switch for the lamp. She found it, clicking it off and plunging the room into darkness.
Sleep eluded her. An hour later, she found herself switching the lamp back on, taking a newly sharpened pencil and a fresh blank page in her sketchbook. Clary's hand moved, wielding the pencil like a warrior would a sword.
The drawing first started out with gentle strokes, but then it became dark. The pencil was pressed so hard to the pad it almost went through as she drew so fast. Jagged black lines were now forming a picture that was nothing but a mess as she lost control. Her hand moving seemingly of its own accord. But to Clary, she could see the boy stood there with his sword. She tore the picture out and started to draw another one. And then another.
Her hands were shaking by the time she'd finished the seventh, the lead snapped and nails bleeding from how hard she'd been holding the pencil. It took the pencil itself breaking into two to cause her to stop, chest heaving. She couldn't stop herself. It happened so often. She used to cry everytime she had a phase, the urge to draw taking over her body. But not anymore.
Clary stared at the pictures she'd scrawled. There was the boy stood with his sword. His face was dark and shadowy, racked with grief. There was a raven on another page. And on another, a figure sat atop a throne with shadows draping him like a cloak. The other pictures she couldn't tell what they were. But the last one made her stop dead.
The boy's parents. They lay there with their eyes blank. Dead. So horribly, terribly dead. Clary sat frozen on the bed before she'd snatched it up, stuffing it into the bin next to her. But she couldn't stop the shiver that crept down her spine.
She couldn't stop the tears. They escaped her in loud, choking sobs. But Clary bit down on her bottom lip to stifle them; she didn't want her mother knowing.
Didn't want her mother thinking she was mad. She wasn't mad.
With a weary look, Clary stuffed all of her drawings into the bin with the other, putting the sketchbook down. She tossed the broken remains of the pencil into the bin as well. Her hand was still bleeding. Red raw. A quick visit to the bathroom and she wrapped a thin bandage around it.
When Clary returned to bed, turning the lamp off once more and curling up under the covers, she slept free of dreams.
School the next day was awkward. As soon as she walked into class, Simon's eyes zoomed in on her hand. "What have you done?"
Clary sighed, settling into her seat. "Nothing."
"Oh my god is that what I think it is?"
Clary blinked. "What?"
Simon leaned closer. "I thought I heard bullshit. Your mom rang me this morning. Asked me to keep an eye on you since you went fruit loops last night."
She scowled at that. "She did what?" the hell?
A sigh and Simon shook his head. "She's worried about you Clary. Me too."
The girl scoffed lightly, turning her face away. She wasn't going to discuss it. Nothing at all.
"What did you draw this time?"
"Him again," Clary muttered. "Always him." She narrowed her eyes, looking to the window seat where he was sat. He wasn't a child anymore, but a teenager. A little older with a halo of ragged honey blond hair hanging in his eyes. Those eyes were the color of sunlight. He was wearing black jeans and a matching t-shirt that was a little too tight across the chest. All over his body, there were strange black marks. Tattoos it seemed like. Clary pursed her lips as the boy grinned at her, smile wicked sharp. Like the blades from her dreams. Urgh.
"Hi Clary," he called, but she ignored him. What else would she do? Say hello to a boy no one else could see? Then again, they already thought her mad. This wouldn't surprise them in the slightest.
It had been just over a year ago now that he'd appeared. Following her everywhere. And literally everywhere. But for the bathroom, but he'd joke about how he could look if he wanted.
When Clary realized no one else could see him, she was terrified. Of the thought that she was going mad, mainly. No matter how much she yelled at him, or begged, he never left. He was simply… there.
So she ignored him. And did that very well. The last thing she needed was her mother trying to make her go to therapy again, because Clary had hated it. The boy had sat there in the room chuckling to himself as the questions were asked, whistling a few tunes. His whistling had been the reason Clary had stormed out of the room early, locking herself up in the bathroom and simply crying. He wouldn't go. He just wouldn't leave her alone.
Her strange behavior made her to lose all but one of her friends. That led to being excluded from next to everything, causing Clary to sink into a dazed kind of depression where the boy invaded her dreams too. Flashes of a past it felt like. It hurt to think about it. All she had left was Simon. The only one who could put up with her.
"Look," Clary sighed to Simon. "I am fine. I'm not going off the edge, okay?"
Simon looked worried. Clary ignored him, looking down at her math's work. Oh deep joy.
Clary spent most of the day in the art room. Whenever there was a break, she holed up in there. There was something soothing being around nothing but paintings, drawings and other creations. One wall was covered in a mural of a waterfall. It looked so real. At times, Clary found herself just staring at it, imagining the water crashing down upon the rocks before snapping back to reality.
Someone had been making angel wings out of purple feathers, but it was half finished and left abandoned on the side underneath a stool. Barely anyone came into the art room, which suited Clary just fine. She was trusted enough for the teachers to leave the supplies cabinet open for her to use as well.
But then, she was never really alone in there. That damn bastard would be there too somewhere.
Today, he was lying upon the table next to her, a book in his hands. He'd said nothing at all the entire time she'd been drawing, which was perfect. Clary didn't know his name. She had never asked, nor had he told her. He was simply… him. Her imaginary-not-a-friend.
He cleared his throat lightly as he turned over the page, causing Clary's emerald eyes to flicker to him for a second. But a mere glance was enough and she returned to her drawing. It was of a castle. So magnificent and grand she was proud of herself. Around the castle were four spires. Four towers of sorts. But it was like they were made of glass. Dotted around the city that it was situated in the middle of, there was more.
And then the boy rolled onto his stomach, setting the book down as he asked, "what are you drawing?"
Clary ignored him.
"Clary. Come on. You're being boring."
"Shut up," she shot at him, cursing herself straight after. She'd bloody replied to him. The boy grinned, leaning forwards and looking down. "Oh, Alicante castle. Wow, you got the details correct too."
Clary bit down on her bottom lip to stop herself replying. Must not reply. Must not.
"That's where I'm from, you know?" he told Clary, sinking down into the seat next to her. "Idris. But Alicante castle is where I reside."
"What? Are you royalty (?)" Clary couldn't help herself. The boy's aureate eyes glittered. "Yeah. You could say so. Be honored- it's not everyone who gets an Idrisian prince as a personal bodyguard."
"I really couldn't care less," Clary retorted smoothly, screwing up her drawing and tossing it into the bin. The boy tsked at that. "Wow. What a waste of good paper. You're not into that 'save the planet' crap then?"
Clary growled softly. "Shut up and make yourself scarce if you're not going to leave me alone. You're giving me a headache."
"I forgot how sweet you could be," he laughed. Clary snapped and threw her pencil case at the boy. He ducked and it soured over his head, crashing into the door leading into the teacher's room. With a clatter, it opened and Miss. Howard stood there with her eyes shocked. "Clarissa Fray, did you just throw-?"
"No!" Clary cried, her own eyes flying wide. "I didn't mean to hit the door. It was his f-!" in her anger, she was pointing at the boy, utterly forgetting that no one else but her could see him. Her hand faltered as she realized, lowering it. Miss Howard's face was now sympathetic, her voice too. "Are you feeling okay Clary? Did you have another-?"
"Stop it!" Clary yelled, stomping her foot like a bratty child. She hated the fact she'd even done that. "I am not mad. I don't… I just…" she trailed off, staring at the sadness in the teacher's eyes. Miss. Howard sighed lightly. "Go to the office Clary. Get them to ring your mother."
There was no use arguing. All the teachers had been made aware of Clary's frame of mind. They all think I'm insane, she growled to herself. They think I'm going to snap one day.
Clary gathered up her stuff and stormed off towards the office, fighting back tears the entire time.
She wasn't mad.
She couldn't be…
The boy walked in silence behind her, hands deep in his pockets and grin like a Cheshire cat upon his face the entire time.
God she hated him.