The Sisters Sinister.


This is set in a world where girls are expected to choose a husband before their eighteenth birthdays. The most beautiful and gifted of girls are found at the Sisterhood, where they are separated from their families and are taught to be beautiful, honest and pleasing young women. This world is set in the past, in a place that might as well be earth, but I couldn't think of the right era to write about so I made a whole new world up. The Sisters are expected to choose a husband from the various Potentials that visit the Great Chambers (the dwelling place of all those who are part of The Sisterhood). Potentials are basically just rich men above the age of seventeen who need wives; some of the Potentials already have a few wives.

This is my storyline; however The Mortal Instruments and all its characters belong to Cassandra Clare (Sassy Cassie).


A Glimpse into Her World.


Clarissa Fray had always been Mother's favourite, which is why her fellow Sisters hated her so much. Clarissa never minded, she loved Mother and wouldn't trade her for all the love the Sisters could offer. Mother found Clarissa searching for food in the Royal Bakery when she was just a small child; I could have killed you right then and there, Mother had said. But there was something in your big eyes that stopped me, something in your soul that called to mine. Mother always told Clarissa that she would never be a Graced One, never be like the other Sisters, but Clarissa didn't care, not as long as Mother was with her. The Sisterhood was Clarissa's only memory, the only home she remembered, the only life she recalled living. Sometimes, the Sisters would get so jealous of Mother's affection for Clarissa that they would pull out her hair, use their small ruby encrusted daggers to engrave painful cuts into her skin where Mother wouldn't see. Clarissa never complained for fear that they would find worse forms of torture for her to endure. The small cuts were bearable, but who knew what the Sisters would do if Mother punished them? The Sisterhood conspired against Clarissa at every turn, never trusting her around the Potentials, all of whom glanced at Clarissa with matching longing gazes whenever she passed them. She averted her eyes when they looked at her that way, kept her eyes trained on the black and white tiled floor, pretended she didn't notice the greedy gleams in their eyes. The Sisters noticed, though. They noticed and they blamed her. They said none too quietly, that her flame coloured hair and her green eyes were a gift from Lucifer himself, drawing the attention of the helpless men, ridding them of their humanity. The Potentials were not to blame, they said, no, the Potentials are helpless against her witchery; she is the devil in a girl's body, for she is a whore by blood and nature. It didn't matter to them that Clary had never been within two feet of a boy, let alone a man; all that mattered was that they looked at her the way they should have been looking at the Sisters and that infuriated them. The Sisters made Clarissa an outcast, they punished the servants that talked to her, the same servants who had helped raise her when she was first brought to the Great Chambers, the same servants whom had sung her to sleep and fed her from their bosoms. No one spoke to her anymore, no one asked her how her day had been, no one helped her clean the wounds that the Sisters had inflicted on her pale, milky skin. So, when Miss Isabelle arrived to tutor her, Clarissa was overjoyed. She loved Mother, she really did, but only having Mother to talk to had become tiresome. Miss Isabelle learned of Clarissa's scars and ever-appearing wounds and Clarissa cried and begged her not to leave. She threw herself at Miss Isabelle's feet and asked her not to tell mother, begged her to forget it all. Clarissa was so afraid that Miss Isabelle would be disgusted by her and call her a whore that she refused to tell her why such scars disfigured her soft skin. If they call me a whore, Clarissa thought glumly, then surely I am a whore, for the Sisters are always right; they are the Graced Ones. One day, Miss Isabelle took Clarissa's pale hands into her own darker ones. She searched Clarissa's green eyes with her own mahogany ones. Clarissa had memorised Miss Isabelle's face, the sharp apex of her chin, the bottom lip that was fuller than the top lip, the thick and dark lashes that ringed her sharp, deep eyes, the high forehead, the dark, winged brows. Clarissa envied Miss Isabelle, but was also happy that her friend and tutor were so beautiful. With looks like that, Clarissa thought, she will get far in life, very far indeed.

"Clarissa," Miss Isabelle began, "Why must you be so stubborn, won't you tell me who did such terrible things to you?" Miss Isabelle's dark eyes were pleading.

"You know that I cannot, Miss Isabelle. If I tell you whom, then I shall be required to tell you why, and I cannot bear to have you hate me." Clarissa said, sadly.

Miss Isabelle tsked and wiped the tears from the corners of Clarissa's eyes.

"Clarissa. I could never hate you, not with your heart of gold, and your soul of songs unsung. I am at the end of my patience, I had hoped you would come and tell me, but you still haven't. You really have twisted my arm, Clarissa. If you do not tell me I will ask Mother for permanent leave and I will not return to continue our teachings."

Clarissa was sure she would have fallen if she hadn't been seated on her usual chair. "You wouldn't." She breathed, disbelieving.

"I cannot stay here while you are in pain and not know how to help you. It is unfair of you to ask me to do so." Miss Isabelle replied curtly. "IT WOULD BE UNFAIR FOR YOU TO LEAVE OVER SUCH A PETTY MATTER!" Clarissa felt suddenly ill. "You will not raise your voice at me, Clarissa, I am your tutor and as such, you shall treat me with respect and obedience." Miss Isabelle chided softly. Clarissa gripped the sides of the upholstered oak chair she was sat upon. She couldn't lose her only friend. She took a deep breath and began to speak. "It...It's the Sisters. I make too many mistakes. I get in their way. It's my fault." Clarissa whispered in a panic, hoping they wouldn't be overheard by any servants or worse yet, by any of the Sisters. Miss Isabelle's eyes narrowed until they were long, thin slits of midnight black. "The Sisters do this to you? Does Mother Lilith know about this?" she asked coldly. "No, and you mustn't tell her, or anyone else. This is my secret to keep, please, Miss Isabelle, say you won't tell anyone" Clarissa begged in a fit of frenzied fear. "Please..." she whispered softly. Miss Isabelle took a long moment to consider Clarissa's request, Clarissa prayed silently, hoping Miss Isabelle would agree. "Fine," Miss Isabelle said. "But you must tell me everything. Start from the beginning."


"At first, when I was littler, The Sisters just used to ignore me. They wouldn't talk to me, or look at me, they wouldn't do anything to acknowledge me, unless it was to ask me to do something for them, like passing a love note to a Potential or tidying their bedchambers. Then, as I grew to the age of twelve, they would pull out clumps of my hair, telling me it was a beacon for the Devil, they would score cuts through my skin with dress pins telling me I was too pale and needed a little colour. They told me they would tell everyone I was an impure whore if I told Mother what they did to me. Then, they stopped for a while, everything was alright again, but one night some weeks after my fourteenth birthday, the Potential that Sister Eliza had been courting broke into my bedchambers at night and threw himself on top of me. I screamed and screamed, luckily, Mother and her handmaid, Kaelie had been near, they heard the commotion and the Potential was no longer a Potential anymore, he was deemed an Outcast and Sister Eliza was in bits, her Potential had been eliminated from the courting sessions and she never saw him again. She blamed me, she called me a whore and she told me that I threw myself upon him because I was jealous of her, she turned all of the Sisters against me one by one and together they began to torture me, though it was a lot worse this time. The Sisters made sure to keep away from me when their Potentials were with them, they told their Potentials that I was a whore, and it wasn't very long before everyone hated me. The first harassment attempt sparked the interest of many other Potentials and so many tried to break into my bedchambers that Mother had to station a guard outside my bedchambers at night. Now, the only times the Sisters will talk to me is so that they can make me sleep in their beds at night while they meet Potentials and when they are taunting me while using their Valour Blades to cut into my skin." Somewhere during her confession, Clarissa's tears had begun to fall like little diamonds. Miss Isabelle was also crying, her face a picture of sympathy and love. "Clarissa, my dear, sweet Clarissa. What these girls have done to you is cruel and you haven't done anything to deserve it. You needn't keep this a secret; you could oust them to Mother Lilith. I would help you. You cannot keep living like this." Miss Isabelle pleaded. Clarissa just wiped her tears away and put on a false smile, "No, there is nothing I can do about my nature. This is a survivable punishment for what I am." Clarissa said.

"What you are?" Miss Isabelle asked.

Clarissa's faux smile faltered. "I am a whore. A vessel for the Devil himself to do his bidding through."

Miss Isabelle gasped, her hand flew to her mouth, "Clarissa, do not let me hear you say things like that again. You are not a whore, and you are certainly not a part of the Devil. When was the last time you touched a man? When was the last time you let a man touch you?" She asked, knowing the answer.

"Never, miss." Clarissa answered, looking at the floor glumly, how could Miss Isabelle think her not a whore when everyone else told her she was?

Miss Isabelle sighed, "Clarissa, look at me." She did, Miss Isabelle' eyes were sad and caring. "You are not a whore, the Sisters are the ones who leave their bedchambers to please a different Potential every night."

Clarissa gasped, Miss Isabelle gave her a sharp look, "Am I telling an untruth?" She asked Clarissa. Clarissa shook her head, no. "Then why do you react, so?" Miss Isabelle asked.

"You mustn't let them hear you, Miss Isabelle. They are the girls born of compassion, love, humility, sympathy, empathy and beauty. They are the best our world has to offer." Clarissa recited the most well known verse of 'Ye Book of Olde'

Miss Isabelle tsked again. "No, Clarissa. You are the best our world has to offer. They are impersonators; they are deceivers of the worst kind." Clarissa said nothing to that, but she felt the weight in her heart lift a little, and she flung her arms around Miss Isabelle's neck. "You shall forever be my closest companion, Miss Isabelle" Clarissa informed her tutor.

"And you shall forever be in my heart." Miss Isabelle said with a stifled cry of joy and sadness.


That was a whole two summers ago. Clarissa and Miss Isabelle had remained as close as ever, still to this day. Miss Isabelle taught Clarissa everything she needed to know from needlework to playing the piano, from cooking and baking to singing and dancing with the grace of a swan. Miss Isabelle even taught Clarissa to paint and sketch, she taught her to use mathematics and to read, write and also to recognise stars and constellation. Clarissa had grown into a woman, she now had small curves and her legs were slender instead of thin and knobbly, as they had been when she was younger. Her eyes weren't so round anymore, but were just as big as they had always been. Her chest had filled out a little and her thick auburn hair grew in soft, loose curls all the way down to the tops of her thighs. These changes only made the Sisters hate for her grow. She knew because the pain they inflicted grew along with it. And by her seventeenth year, Clarissa Fairchild was ready to die. Mother Lilith had chosen a suitor for Clarissa, with the help of Eliza, who was now married to the cruel son of Master Blackthorne. Clarissa's suitor was not a Potential, he was a stable boy of Master Blackthorne's son. It was Master Blackthorne who had suggested the match, and Clarissa knew exactly why. Young Master Blackthorne had tried to take advantage of Clarissa on the eve of her sixteenth birthday, but failed. Now, he was going to make sure he had easy access to her whenever he wanted, he had told her so. Miss Isabelle knew something was wrong, but Clarissa didn't want her to act out of anger, so she said nothing of Young Master Blackthorne's motives to her tutor. No, this, this she must face alone, no matter how much it terrified her.


Review please? I love hearing what you think. I look forward to hearing from you.

Yours Faithfully,

ClaryFrayMockingjay.

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