Tessa sat in the institutes library, looking to the door every now and then, expecting someone to walk in slowly, quickly and softly. That someone was Will Herondale.
But of course, he wouldn't. He had not spoken to her for days now - Not since she told him of her engagement to Jem. Not after he painted a smile across his face and was happy for his parabatai. Not at all.
She had stayed cocooned in the library for several days now, only coming out to exchanging glances with Jem at the table and smile softly at Charlotte, Sophie, Henry and everyone else in the institute. She had found herself in silence for a while - Only when she exchanged calming words with Jem was she healed of the silence that rested in her throat.
She found that silence was a great healer though - It left her time to think. She had only seen Will a few times, and at each encounter, she had only thought over their conversation in the drawing room.
She remembered her quiet voice when she whispered 'It's too late.' and his shaky breaths when he tried to contradict her. His disbelieving eyes when he told her of the marriage. She would shake herself out of that reverie only when Jem's delicate hands were on her shoulder, guiding her away slowly.
She had spent days in the library. It felt like weeks, months, years, decades. Though, with her ability, her immortality, she knew it could have easily been that. - Everyone could have died around her. Slowly. Happily. Sadly. Loudly or quietly. She would not have known.
She had waited a few more hours than usual - A tale of two cities lay in her lap, whilst she stared down at the pages, her eyes raking over each word without much attention. She only looked up when she heard a clicking - The door opening.
It opened slowly, and she waited anxiously to see who it was. She secretly hoped it was Will. He would see the book, come to her and whisper in her ear. Kiss her. Love her. Embrace her.
But it was, to her disappointment, not Will. Nor was it Jem, Sophie, Charlotte, Henry or anyone else who accompanied this institute. It was maybe her imagination. - Yes, that's it. My imagination, she thought to herself, her eyes slowly closing as she felt herself fall away into darkness. Into sleep.
The only place where she had everything but her aching heart. Her aching soul.
It had been months now - Three to be exact.
Three months and William Owen Herondale had finally smiled at her. Three months and she realised that silence really was a great healer.
Three months and she was walking down the aisle.
Three months and she knew William Owen Herondale's smile was not for her.
But for his parabatai.
For his Jem.
Not for his Tess.