She looked at herself in the mirror, a cold shell of what her emotions painted her to be. A dress designed to look like it was floating away from her body with its loose pearls and fabric of lace. Lipstick, appearing like blood coating her edged silk skin. Bouts of eyeliner lingered past her lids; extending to give her lashes a wide set appearance. Her lashes were nothing more than obsidian smeared copper that didn't live up to father's expectations.
Her father: a man as cold as his snowy locks of hair. He was mean to her, always telling her that her paintings were nothing more than childhood dreams grasping at adulthood. It was the dashing, but distant Mr. Verlac she was destined to marry. Today, or night, was when she'd meet him. Jocelyn had brought the dress to Clary as a token of forgiveness. Clary wasn't sure to forgive her mother for ever marrying a man so cruel and devoid as her father. A life kept sealed away from wishes and desires wasn't a life worth living.
There was a knock on the shining wood door. "Come in," Clary said in a gentle voice; father didn't care much for yelling. Yelling was for men, and her father made it very clear that it was this certain yelling that the proper men of their time frowned upon. Clary: a girl sentenced to live the moments of an imprisoned housewife. Poking his head through, Clary saw her father with his fake smile.
"Clarissa, darling, you look absolutely stunning." Clary didn't like when he said called her by her birth name. It was much too fancy a title for her free spirit that would have loved nothing more than to dirty her fingertips in the pastel colors of her fantasies.
"Do I?" Clary wondered, looking at her and her father's reflection in the long mirror. Valentine came up behind her, his cold hands resting on her shoulder that remained bare from the lack of protection the dress provided.
"You do, but what have I told you about your hair Clarissa?" Valentine sighed, sliding his hands up her neck to capture the burning red that singed her ivory skin in messy curls. His large hands twisted in their tangles, swirling them into a loose bun that allowed some strands to frame her delicate face. Valentine smiled at his work, then slid his hand down her arm to hold her hand, guiding her to the large door of her room.
"Shall we?" He asked, hand on the bronze knob.
"Yes father." She said sucking in a breath. Valentine put on a dazzling smile as he escorted his daughter to the large room. The room was the world to her, as she'd never been outside the gates that bordered her house. Her white heels clicked against the dotted marble floor of the ball room, and she thought of the mustangs that ran around the house; their hooves making a wild song for her heart to dwell on. Their was a chandelier glittering with faux diamonds that reached out toward the floor with the pull of gravity. Cast upon the dome room was a gentle glow of both flame and artificial light. Men and women she'd never bet before were laughing at a joke her ears hadn't been honored to hear.
Silk dresses touched the cold floor from the women who waltzed upon it. Men wore suits that mimicked the same formal attitude. It was these people that she would have to call her friends as she aged into maturity. Even with wrinkles and salted hair, the older woman held a haunting beauty to them that she could have no faith in ever obtaining herself. When her father nudged the small of her back with encouragement, she smiled an exhausted grin and made her way to the pockets of people.
There was an instinct, a calling, telling her that she should recognize their empty faces. But no names of any kind or any origin ever approached her. As her heels clicked across the reflecting floor, she could pick up on their conversations of wealth and the extraordinary. A certain man stood out to her, with his ink black hair and glittering smile. Her stomach felt empty, along with her heart, as he made his way to her, them meeting in the center of the dome room that made up her world.
"Ms. Morgenstern, how lovely for your to grace me with your presence." The young man grinned, and she responded with a false one of her own. His face was compiled of different characteristics that came together in a symphony of thoughts to her. Yes, the sound was beautiful, but to her he was just a face plastered with the accomplishment her father taught her to seek out. Dark irises showed her the world she was diving into: a cold one that would surely drown her if she did not fight for each breath at its surface.
"Would you mind to accompany me to this dance?" Mr. Verlac asked her.
"I would love to." Clary said with a hypnotic tone to her innocent nature. He reached his hands out to her, cupping the small of her back with his large hands that sprouted into muscular arms that were hidden by a velvety suit. His dark hair leaked onto his ivory complexion, and she itched to draw him. Drawing was her only way to capture her ill-fated life, and it was the only thing her father would not let her have. Perhaps should she marry Mr. Verlac would she be freed to paint till her heart gave its last thud.
"You look beautiful, Clarissa." Mr. Verlac whispered across her ear is if it were a secret. A chill raced its way down to her stomach, settling in a place she'd never visited with experience. She shivered against him, wanting something that she'd never even thought of until his soft lips slid across her sensitive ear. Suddenly, she became aware of every part of him that was touching her, and though her body may have shook with imprisoned want, it was her mind that nauseated at the thought. Clary swallowed thickly, feeling the man's hand dance lower than she would have prefered, but only for a second, no one seeing a single flash of what had appeared to be an eternity in her large mind.
"Beautiful." He whispered again, and this time, she clinged to him tighter as if her body would come apart in ribbons should it quake further. His tongue skirted across her earlobe, making the inexperienced girl whimper. "How wondrous would it be to capture such a event with my eyes, but surely not in the acquaintance state we reside in." His words were crafted from a vocabulary of kings and queens. Of wealth and superiority. "But I will change that, my Clarissa. My Lollita." She shivered again, and turned herself to gaze at the grand piano that was being played. It it's reflection could she see a scared girl; barely of age, and being held by a man that was three years her senior.
Mr. Verlac started to twirl her around, her lace dress appearing like soapy bubbles of her childhood dreams. The hair that was curled around her face had tickled against her damp ears as she laughed in his arms. This stranger, this handsome stranger was the only escape she'd had since her legendary escape from her mother's womb. Her laughs sang around the dome room, attracting the attention of the variously aged men and women.
Each time she was spun her feet wandered off in the direction of the shadows, Mr. Verlac guiding her to them with a devious smirk on his face. No one was there to see her when her dress was crushed against the wall of the room. She looked around to see everyone else occupied by lovers and the piano music was distracting them from hearing her call out. Mr. Verlac was suddenly in front of her, his hand no longer playing a game of hide and seek with her delicate body. He ground her against him, a grunt clawing out of his full lips and blowing across her small face. She didn't like the noise at all, and her next shiver came from fear.
"Stop." Clary spoke out to him, but he didn't listen and continued his violation. As he was moving against her, his hand skimmed up her clothed stomach and stopped at her chest, adding pressure to her already sensitive skin. Clary closed her eyes, listening to the piano music as her fluffy skirt was lifted with the other hand. Jonathan had talked about women once, as if they were intoxicating to him like liquor to a broken man. He said that he was dangerously sensitive in a certain spot, and Clary wondered if that spot wasn't just receptive to pleasure, but to pain as well.
Mr. Verlac growled against her throat, licking her collar bones with his sinister tongue. His angle was in perfect alignment with her knee, and she swiftly brought it up to the throbbing organ. In an instant, he was on the ground, panting curse words at her.
"Harlot!" He shouted as she skidded away from him, the same heals clicking on the marble floor as she made her escape from his sickening touch. All those who hadn't bothered to gaze at her were now staring wide eyed at the red haired girl. Her dress was ascue, and her bun was slightly crushed from the walls of the dome.
"Clarissa Adele Morgenstern!" Valentine bellowed, approaching her with danger in his step. She was shaking with fear as she could feel the anger radiating off of his body in a burning heat. The dark color of his eyes was dangerously clear to her, and then it wasn't as he brought his hand down across her cheekbone. The crowd did nothing, only stare at the scene of father and daughter. Her cheek throbbed from her father's rage, and under her was the stinging coldness of the marble floor. Her white dress pillowed out on the black terrain, and Clary's gaze slithered across the crowd to that of her older sibling and mother. Jonathan looked worried, and her mother's eyes were shining at Clary with fear. "Don't you ever disgrace our family with such stupidity!" Valentine snarled. Clary picked herself up from the floor and dashed to the corner of the room that had a large door as its exit.
Her small palms smashed against the wood, opening it with a loud squeak. Her face was painted with the clear color of tears and the welt that consisted of blossoming violet and angry crimson. Clary had never felt such dishonor from her father, or distance from the crowd of wealth and talking money that she did now. Behind her, she heard the large door open over her sequential sobs. She thought that her father had returned to finish his ministrations, and started to cry harder as she ran.
The footsteps behind her became close, and she stopped running to finally face her fears. At first, she did in fact think it was her father with his snow white hair and skin perhaps just as pale, but it was in fact her brother Jonathan.
"Are you alright, my Clarissa?" Jonathan wondered, holding her close to him as she sobbed over the lovely piano music.
"I am not your Clarissa, Jonathan. I am nobodys." She sobbed to him.
"Then it is nobody you should run to," He said picking them up.
"What do you mean?" She asked him as he thumbed her tears with the pad of his thumb. They began to walk with a steady stride, him taking her to the glass door of their lavish mansion. She held her breath when he unlocked the door with a skeleton key, and the humid air of night hit them both. Moonlight cascaded a luminescent glow to his hair and skin, making him look less like his father and more of an angel of death.
"Go to your nobody until it is somebody that takes you away." He said gently, walking with her to the gazebo that lay in their pathway. His hand cupped her slight chin, rubbing it lovingly with a saddened smile on his face.
"But what if nobody is all I have?" Clary whispered to him.
"Then let nobody guide you, for you are nobody's Clarissa, and only nobody alone can tell you what to do. Nobody is a gentle lover, a caring one at that, who will always be at your side whenever somebody doesn't see the gem that is you." Jonathan said. Edvard Grieg's Arietta was playing along in it's chilling melody as her brother spoke.
"Why is it that this sounds like a goodbye?" She asked him.
"You were not meant to live this life. This life of cold handshakes and distant hellos. No, Nobody's Clarissa shouldn't live such a somber life when it is Nobody that beckons you to the world." He said world as if she knew of anything more than sparkling chandeliers and fluffy dresses. "Here, take this." Jonathan said, pulling out his wallet and handing her an amount of cash that would equal to tens of thousands.
"Jonathan, why are you doing this?" Clary wondered.
"Because, it is right." And at that, he turned away, leaving her to stare at the open gates that signaled freedom. With a smile, she tucked the cash into her dress and sprinted toward it. Toward her freedom; where Nobody waited for her.
She began to walk down the roads, nothing but the sounds of crickets and passing time to keep her company. The distant countryside diluted into urban territory, traffic screaming out and cheers yelping from brick buildings. Her mother had once talked about such an environment before she had met Valentine. Clary started to laugh at just how free she felt in the night air. Nobody told her to go out and explore, and her landed on a field of flowers that was several streets over.
Her dress was becoming aggravated with its soapy lace, and she had to hold it up as she ran across a damp street; it's glistening state reflecting the several pigments of advertisement. In a way, New York was its own kingdom that she desired to live in. When her heels got trapped in the grates that attached to the streets, she slipped the expensive shoes off and giggled at the soaking of her bare feet. Cars honked at her, and with the freedom cracking of thunder, she pulled out her bun and let the fiery curls burn out her ivory skin.
She laughed her way to the flowers, dancing a wild dance with her dress gathered in her small hands. Droplets began to land on her skin, something she'd never felt in her existence. Clary stuck her tongue out, tasting the water of the heavens above. It padded against the green trees above her, and the flowers beneath her feet became damp with rain. Her feet were slick with wet soil, but she didn't care; Nobody minded her. Out in the distance, she could hear the soft keys of a piano playing a childhood song for her. Clary followed the lullaby, her damp hair melting to her back. Her dress was no longer fluffy, but heavy with precipitation and freedom.
A neon sign read the words that she couldn't understand. Piano and Bar weren't words that she thought would ever go together, but here they were, flashing lights against her skin. She pushed passed the bronze doors, her ears becoming drenched in the sound of Gymnopedie No.1. The crows was dressed in jeans and silk shirts, where she looked like broken princess.
Her eyes focused on the player, his golden hair shining under the blue light. The piano wasn't as extravagant as the one in her lavish prison, but carried far more memories. Something she deemed of more value than currency. A white and tan paper was burning between his teeth, his lips pursed in concentration of original artist's dreams. She could not see his face, only the plumes of smoke around it, and with a few light strokes of the worn piano, the crowd clapped with admiration at him. The man lifted his head, and she couldn't really be bothered with the fact that his golden eyes skirted over to her, the sore thumb in the hand of civilians. The cigarette burned between his teeth, and took it between his fingers to blow another puff of cheap smoke.
The rolled sleeves of his button-up revealed black ink tattoos, them thrumming with danger and wildness. His black pants were of a match to the ink, and she saw the fabric wrinkle as he began walking. The black shoes that covered his feet were pointed at her with each step. Her eyes wandered to his face, and sucked in polluted air at the beauty of it. Beauty that belonged in wealth, and yet he was in a smoke engulfed par with a cheap piano. He smiled at her, walking up to her and looking down into her emerald eyes just as Jonathan had done. This man was nothing like Mr. Verlac. He didn't have his wealth or expensive tuxedo encasing his obvious muscles. He didn't have his neatly combed hair or his gold watch.
No, nothing like him.
And this made Clary smile at him, which the blond angel returned instantly. "Now tell me, why would somebody dump a pretty girl like you in a place like this?" He asked in a velvety voice.
"Nobody did." She answered him.
AN: I uploaded this story oh I don't know, in May? But I took it down because I didn't know what to do with it. With new inspiration, I've been able to write more on this plot (yay!)
So what do you think of the first chapter? Like it, hate it? Some of you may have already read it. The next chapter should be up soon! I don't really know if I want to make this story during the present or past time... I've never done something about the past, so this could be a new experience.
Some (most) of my stories have Sebastian in them, but the first chapter of this one will probably be all there is to his character. I think the same could be said for Clary's family, for the time being at least.