It has been a little over a century.
A little over a century, she has wandered pointlessly, searching, longing for them. She knows it is impossible, yet something in her -at her very core, call it a soul if you wish- won't let her stop. It just won't let her stop.
A little over a century, she has been in search of silver, the sound of a perfect, haunting melody floating down the corridor, finding its way to her. Hewas finding her.
"Ni hen piao lang."
She remembers the way he looked at her, at life: as if beauty can be seen in everything, even in a monster like herself. His friendship meant everything to her. His bravery inspired her. His goodness healed her. His love saved her.
She remembers his last moment, as if it were yesterday. She remembers the way the candlelight reflected off his iridescent hair. She remembers his ethereal eyes, bright with fever and something else. Something indefinable, yet so completely definable it tore at her, it ripped her apart. She remembers the way he spoke her name, as if it were sacred.
"Tessa. Tessa."
And last of all, she remembers the parting kiss, placed just above his eyebrow. She remembers the agony she felt, as his last breath escaped him, her name still on his lips. She remembers clutching at his shirtfront, sobbing into the shell of the boy she could never completely love. Yes, it's been a little over a century, but she still remembers.
A little over a century, and she has not found the other boy, the one whose love broke her. She thinks of fiery glass blue eyes, a perfect face. She does a double take on every single head of black hair, as if by some miracle he is still alive and looking for her too. It is because of him that she has found the world a gray and cold place, very much like London. Everything is like London.
"Tessa, please. I need you. I love you. I-"
"No, you don't, Will. You don't need anyone."
She finally saw the truth. And the truth is an ugly thing to face. She finally saw that by loving him, she was stealing his future. So, she did the one thing she could think to save him, the way she could not save Jem.
After she left, the little boy angel eventually married, had children, grew into an old angel- wizened, but still beautiful. It was better for both of them this way. Sometimes, she would check up on him, watch him from afar, just to make sure he was happy. What she doesn't know, however, is that the last word he uttered was also her name. Parabatai truly are the same person, it seems.
So, amongst the lights and celebration of Valentine's defeat, she thinks of him. "He would've reveled in this victory, don't you think Magnus?" she asks.
Magnus looks at her. In her gray eyes, he understands an eternity of loneliness, an eternity of yearning. Amidst the pain, he also understands the beauty of strength in those London eyes, and memories that will never be forgotten. So, he says the one thing he could think to say:
"He would've been warning us against the possibility that most of these Downworlders have demon pox."
Tessa smiles. Across the square, she sees who she came to see. She finds a piece of Will Herondale, through the blonde boy. His grace, beauty, and pure, unadulterated love for Valentine's daughter remind her so much of Will that she aches. A type of unadulterated love that could've been hers, had she been selfish enough to accept it.
It has been a little over a century, and she still loves him with her whole being. Everything has changed and nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change for someone like Theresa Gray.
She glances at the petite redhead next to Will's grandson, and catches her eye. 'We are alike, you and I. Except you are more fortunate. You do not have to face an eternity without him.'
With that last thought, she turns to the woods, and flees.