Hi, sorry. I chose the wrong document for this. The original was Clace, but for school, I wrote a short-story and I changed the names to make my OC's so I could turn it in. I thought I had made one copy of clace and school, but I just made two of the same one. Oops. This is Clace.
The woman was old now, but she had the will and life of a seventeen-year-old, often reliving the memories of her life.
The memories of her first love. A boy with blond hair, and dark-gold eyes. A man who was incredibly arrogant, but easily manipulated into thinking things about himself.
The memories of her first adventure. Finding out the truth of her life, the lies of her life.
The memories of the end of her story. Sitting with her first love on a hill, looking at everyone around her. After one of the greatest battles. Which she had won.
Her first love was always her greatest love. She had fallen in love again. And again. Marrying the last man. Bearing his children. She did love him, but she would always think back to her first love. Thinking about how different her life could have been. No one could make her quite as happy as he did. But it was enough. All of it was enough.
He was enough, her children were more than enough, her job was more than enough.
Her and her first love - Jace - ended rather happily. Still in love. Still happy. No hate - they could never hate each other, it was impossible.
It was her twenty-fifth birthday when they had shared their final kiss. It was under the flowers at midnight, like that one night, all those years ago on her 16th birthday.
He wanted to fight demons all around the world, and she wanted to paint Idris. They respected each other's wishes too much to deny each other their dreams. And isn't that what love is? To respect each other's wishes; desires, right? To them, yes.
So you could say they broke up because they were too in love. It was something she told her children all the time. Something she told her clients. Something she told her friends. Something she told her grandchildren.
Her husband had died years ago. She mourned, she cried, she moped, but like the life, it went away. All life went away, so all love she had for him faded.
She would never admit it, but she saw her and her late husband's love as disposable.
But there was one thing that she always had as a sidenote: If love is as disposable - as forgettable - as life, then her love with her first love was something that could never be swayed. For he had survived death, twice. And so did their love.
She wandered the halls, she was always short, but now she was even shorter; a mere five-foot. She had shrunk two inches.
Her red hair, always the fiercest, was now white as snow. And as she looked at her reflection she saw her pale, wrinkled skin, she saw her vibrant green eyes.
She knew her time was overdue, she knew she was simply waiting. Waiting for what? That was the mystery.
There were countless of times where she could have died in battle, alone. So she knew she wasn't meant to die a warrior. She knew she was meant to die a hero, a hero who was loved. But her children were off living; her grandchildren off being young and reckless, like she once had been, and sometimes was.
But all the while, there was no one left to love her.
So she sat in the living room of the New York Institute, waiting.
She sat and watched, watched for hours. It may have been midnight, or dawn, she didn't know or cared.
She had fallen asleep. But awoke to the sound of the floor creaking, and the door squeaking open.
She looked over at the door, hoping to see her family, but only saw the institutes immortal cat, Church.
Sighing in disappointment, the women looked down and motioned for the cat to sit on her lap.
As the cat slowly purred and walked towards her, she heard the door open completely, not just the size of a cat, but the size for a man to enter. She looked up again and saw the face and eyes that she could never forget. She's only ever seen him since Clave meetings, and she hasn't gone in years, but her breath still hitched when she saw him. Even though he had obviously aged, he still was beautiful in that wise and majestic way. His hair, once blonde, only had a small streak of blonde, which she found endearing.
He had a cane and walked slowly, but to her, he walked gracefully. To her, his skin was smooth. He had scars all over his body, and he was stunning.
"Jace?" she felt her heart quicken, right before it slowed a great deal.
"Clary." he walked over to her, sitting on the couch. "I have lived my life, but I have not completed it." he smiled at her, a true smile, one that she had missed.
"Jace, how was your life?"
"I got married and found love. Had kids and grandkids, but I love you." Tears pricked her eyes. She missed his voice, his touch. And he reached out to caress her cheekbones.
Clary felt at peace, her heart slowing, her breath becoming heavier. "Me too. But I never stopped loving you."
He leaned into the kiss her on the lips, not softly like "normal" elderly couples did, but with full of love and a thousand 'I love you's' and 'i missed you'. The words that were lost in the years.
As she pulled away, she fell against the couch, Jace behind her, intertwining their fingers.
This was peace, home. The final chapter, the final thing she needed.
I guess it's true; every story ends the way it started.
Clary looked at him and saw the young boy he once was, in the back of a club in New York, interrogating a demon. The lion he once was, and still was in her eyes.
And with that, she fell asleep into a slumber that would last her an eternity like there love, waiting for them to die together again in the next one.
Thx for reading, review and critique nicely!