Julian Blackthorn sat on the crest of a hill, paintbrush in hand. It was late and the sky had gone the colour of deep navy mixed with violet. As much as he loved to paint, whenever he put his brush to the easel, he always thought of Emma, his parabati, among other things. Thinking about Emma usually lead to him flicking bits of paint at his canvas, resulting in a muddy soup of brown and yellow. But that refelecting his feelings for the girl he had grown up with : Messy, complicated, jumbled and discernable. Julian put his paintbrush down and looked at the view. The hill was high up, looking over a idylic little town full of people. Ignorant people. Not because they were necessarily stupid, but they were ignorant because they didn't know what he knew. That the shadow by the window is a werewolf or the reclusive neighbour you see down the street is a vampire, and not somebody just pretending to get dates. Julian could hardly remember life before the Cold Peace, to be honest, he didn't even know why it was called "Peace", for there was none in sight. The Dark War had taken so much from so many; parts of Alicante were still be repaired. He had doomed himself, he was certain of that, but he didn't want his family to suffer the same fate. Or Emma. Emma, who had list her parents. Emma, who had more scars from being reckless in the training room than from runes or demons. Emma, who he could talk to about anything. Until now.

Which is why he had to leave. To leave her behind. To leave his feelings of her behind. So that was why he was here, on this hill, half a mile away from his great aunt Marjorie's house, where Dru and Tavvy and Livvy and Ty were asleep. Well, Ty might still be awake, witchlight in hand, reading a book. Probably Sherlock Holmes. Ty had his own way of thinking, of feeling, of seeing, that other people wouldn't understand. Other Shadowhunters. Julian thought the label Shadowhunters was quite fitting. They hunted in the shadows of society, for they were shadows themselves. To them it was all about the next patrol, the next demon. The next kill. Shadowhunters weren't supposed to want to paint , perhaps only with the blood of their enemies a hundred and fifty years ago. Shadowhunters weren't meant to be detectives, unless investigation sightings of Raum demons, not who stole somebody's cat. Shadowhunters weren't meant to love horror and violence, unless they were causing it themselves. Shadowhunters weren't meant to lock themselves in the attic and not eat or sleep and obsess over Greek tragedies, when the only tragdey was how broken and shattered they were, compared to what they used to be. His family was not normal, but he wasnt ashamed of that. He was proud of it.

Julian set his paintbrush back to the easel, watching the colours slide and dance across the canvas, seep into it like water in the cracks of the ocean. Blue and black and purple and grey and green, all coming together to capture a single moment, a single feeling. Regret .

Julian Blackthorn didn't regret the choice he made to look after his family, to always take care of them , to love them, to protect them. He didn't regret sitting on the floor, trying to plug in a computer for Ty when he had been ten. He didn't regret staying up late with Dru, watching old horror movies until she fell asleep and he carried her back to her room. He didn't regret holding Tavvy every night after the Dark War, holding his baby brother while he screamed and cried . Julian had cried with him, and for him. For the brother and sister he had list, and for the father he had killed. He didn't regret the act himself, for he had no choice in the matter, he had to protect his family- at the meager age of twelve, he had known that- but he regretted what came after. Arthur and his shattered mind, Emma and her fiery revenge, Dru and Tavvy with their nightmares, Ty and Livvy crying over their brother and sister but shedding no tears. He himself was haunted by what he had done, what the Clave had done . He regretted waking up in the middle of the night, sheets cocooned around him, dark hair plastered to his face, crying for the life he had . But most of all, he regretted Emma Cordelia Carstairs and what she had done to him.

He wouldn't trade away the time they had spent, every pancake and every trip to the beach, every laugh and every cry. He wouldn't trade a single second of her for anything, but he just wished he hadn't been so incredibly stupid. For he was ignorant at the age of twelve, ignorant about how he felt. He knew the rules on parabati well, the book on the law of the Clave in the Institute's library was well aware of that. So he had to forget. To move on. Or he would always feel like this, like he couldn't move or speak or breath every time she came into a room, orleft it. Julian Atticus Blackthorn was in live with his parabati, and he couldn't control it, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how hard he tried.

Julian spent the next few hours looking at the sky, watching the colours change and shift and warp. Eventually he fell asleep, hair and knuckles splattered with the blue of the sky. He dreamt about what life would be like if they ran away, jumped into the Toyota and never looked back. But that was why it was only a dream and not a reality, for Julian Blackthorn would never abandon his family, especially for himself.

Author's Note: Hello my fellow Nephilim ! I would just like to say thank you to all the people who have enjoyed my other Shadowhunters fanfic, I hope people enjoy this as well. Even though I do ship Emma and Julian, there won't be anything happening between them, because that happens later on in Lady Midnight. I really hope you guys enjoy this, even just writing this first chapter was so fun and exciting. I loved writing something fresh and new. I will always try and post one chapter of this or Morally Immorall on either on Friday, Saturday or Sunday. As in, two chapters over three days. Again, I hope you guys enjoyed this, have a lovely day! And, if you live in the UK like I do, stay cool and drink plenty of water !

With great hope and love ,Tempe