Missing scene when Jace was in the Silent brother's prison in City of Ashes.
Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments Trilogy is written by Cassandra Clare.
A/N: I wrote this last night when I couldn't sleep, it's not brilliant, but hey, I never said I was. It's basically just a descriptive writing of Jace in the cell before Clary came and rescued him. Also in this piece I made him a little CrAzY, but I blame that on Valentines influence and being locked in a cell overnight. Please, please tell me what you think and if there's anyway I can improve this let me know.
Now, the musings of an insomniac:
The Stuff of nightmares
Water dripped down the grimy stone wall, each droplet landing on the floor with a small, audible plop. This was the only indication Jace had that he was still conscious, though barely. His eyes were heavy and rolled lazily in their sockets. His breathing was harsh and ragged, small clouds of breath fogged the icy air. And it was black, pitch black.
Jace was frozen.
He couldn't remember ever being so scared. Never before had he allowed his imagination to run away with him and yet here it was, playing havoc with his senses. Demons peered out from the darkest shadows glaring and leering:
Look at the great Shadowhunter boy now.
Maniacal laughter echoed in his ears; claws tugged at his clothes; fangs sank deep into his flesh; tongues traced the sticky line of blood that stained the iron manacle and ran down his wrist. Jace writhed anxiously, twisting to get away from the monsters.
Footsteps echoed round the silent hallway. Jace's heavily strained ears heard it immediately. The chattering of the demons stopped; the hands that grasped him slid away leaving nothing more than the imprint of the terror he'd just felt. The silence was suffocating. Panic bubbled in his chest.
Valentine. He's back. He's come back for me.
Irrational terror took over and Jace started tugging desperately at the manacle trying to slip his bloody wrist out of the iron hoop. A fresh wave of crimson welled up around the edge of the cuff a flowed down his already sticky arm and onto the cold floor, steadily dripping into a puddle of blood. Still, he pulled at it urgently. Then, suddenly he stopped.
The blood still flowed down his wrist but he was drained, he had no strength left to struggle. His head lolled back against the wall and his limbs flopped lazily. His
breathing was shallow; the air was gone from the room.
The footsteps were coming closer; he couldn't panic any more, he was going to lose consciousness any second now.
Through a drowsy haze he heard a voice -vaguely familiar- shout:
"Clary!"
Clary?
A small freckled face framed by fiery hair flitted tauntingly in his mind. It took a few second for his sluggish brain to make the connection.
Clary!
His eyes were closed now; he was in a different, happier place. He could see her. He could see the sparkling emerald of her eyes, the deep magenta of her hair; a halo of fire. Images flashed like a slideshow; Clary hurriedly throwing a dagger into a werewolves ribs. Staring at him in horror at pandemonium. Hugging Simon in a parking lot. Walking towards him wearing a short, black dress and boots. Kissing him in the greenhouse. Trying to comfort him after Valentine had destroyed the portal to Idris.
He missed her, he loved her.
He opened his eyes warily, ready to face the intruder.
It was her. He sighed and shook his head to shake off the images of his daydream. His head protested to that and began throbbing unbearably. He looked back; she was still there.
He gasped, and then whispered one word that meant everything to him. "Clary"
A glaring white light came from the Witchlight sitting in the palm of her hand casting her face half into light. He saw that she held a Steele; she stabbed it viciously into the bars of his cell door. Again and again. Her face was frantic with worry and concentration.
What's she doing?
Suddenly, them room started shaking. The bars of the cell heaved as if under strain and the manacle on his wrist pulsed outwards, inwards, outwards, like heavy breathing. The door spasmed painfully one final time and then it burst forwards, snapping of its brittle hinges. The manacle snapped of his wrist and tore itself free of the wall; the whole row of cuffs fell to the floor with a clatter.
The sound was horrific.
Reflexively, Jace jerked his head away from the noise. His skull cracked as it hit the wall. He blood trickle down through his matted hair and under the collar of his dirty shirt. His eyes rolled back into his head and everything went black.
Review, Dammit!