Blood.
Crimson, scarlet, red, red blood. The blood of humans. Not the gold of angels, not the black of demons, but
Red
Human
Blood.
Everywhere.
Dripping down the sword.
Slick on the wall.
An accusation against pale skin.
She watches.
Clary watches her brother, the demon child who was never meant to be, and she cries at the bright, green eyes full of life,
Dying.
He watches.
Jonathan watches his sister, the angel child he could never be, and he cries at the lost opportunities, at what he has done,
Destruction.
They look on, the lovers, the families, but they can only watch, they cannot disturb this immortal moment, they cannot
Move
Speak
Breathe
But only watch.
And as they watch
A mouth opens.
Words escape, the breath of regret is freed, and a gasp escapes his throat.
"I- was meant to- be human- too."
Clary cries, again, harder, shaking, denying, grieving,
But he's not gone yet. And yes, there is a consciousness- it is gradually escaping,
An exodus-
But it is there. It understands.
As she tells him, "You are. You are."
In response, a force takes her hand
White knuckles match her own
And they hold on
Onto life
And love
And try to live
But-
She feels the blood pool further and the smell of it chokes her, and she wants to tell him- her brother, her family- that he bleeds red. Human red.
But it's not him who bleeds. It's his twin, the demon, the hate that's bleeding out,
And yet
Stil
He dies in her arms, clutching on but not hard enough
She cries
Tears drip
They cover the blood,
They mask the death
With the grief of an angel-
Angel-
Angel- by half,
Because they all forget.
That a Shadowhunter.
Is half.
Human.
And they bleed
Red.
Crimson.
Scarlet.
Like humans.
Only humans -
Just humans.