Masquerade-

A.N.: so this is just an oneshot that I had the sudden urge to write. It's my second ID fanfiction, my first being Golden Chains. Anyways, I don't really think it's been done before, so here goes!

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Infernal Devices and all the characters, but they belong to the lovely Cassandra Clare. The lines of conversation in this oneshot all belong to her.

Will's PoV:

Just riding in the carriage with her was agony.

Even as Jessamine, in Jessie's white dress and pearls and gold mask, there was something about her that was so entirely Tessa. I could feel it.

But maybe that had something to do with the fact that I was catastrophically in love with her. Honestly, if it didn't, then her brother might notice it, even as the worthless as a mundane he was. And that would spell disaster in all capital letters.

But she didn't love me. There had been a point in time I knew otherwise, despite my half-hearted hope against it, but I had crushed any trace of affection that had existed that night at the Institute not so long ago.

And she had no idea that every time I saw her was like ripping off bandages, leaving the wound to bleed again. My heart was being ripped out of my chest because of the stupid curse, and it was killing me, staying away from her. I swallowed and looked away as I finished telling her about my occupation as the breaker of young girls' hearts, or more specifically, Tatiana's. I didn't want to see the look on her face. The only reason I'd had such a problem with Tatiana fancying me was because of the curse. And because I didn't want anyone to die, I'd had to put a stop to it, no matter what the price. And honestly, the loss of some infatuation was nothing compared to the loss of an innocent life, no matter how bad her poetry had been.

"Will?" she asked again.

I turned back to her expressionlessly, forcing my heart to stop beating unnaturally fast in my chest. "The last has another question. I can hear it in her tone. Will you never have done asking questions, Tess?" The nickname slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"Not until I get all the answers I want," she replied. "Will, is warlocks are made by having one demon parent and one human parent, what happens if one of those parents is a Shadowhunter?"

"A Shadowhunter would never allow that to happen," I answered automatically, my voice flat. Well, unless that parent happens to be Benedict Lightwood.

"But in the Codex it says that most warlocks are the result of—of a violation," she pointed out, faltering. "Or shape-changer demons taking on the form of a loved one and completing the seduction by a trick. Jem told me Shadowhunter blood is always dominant. The Codex says the off-spring of Shadowhunters and werewolves, or faeries, are always Shadowhunters. So could not the angel blood in a Shadowhunter cancel out that which was demonic and produce—"

"What is produces is nothing," I interrupted, closely examining the curtains on the carriage windows. "The child would be born dead. They always are. Stillborn, I mean. The offspring of a demon and a Shadowhunter parent is death." I glanced at her, masking my curiosity the best I could. "Why do you want to know these things?"

"I want to know what I am," she explained, sighing a little. "I believe I am some… combination that has not been seen before. Part faerie, or part—"

"Have you ever thought of transforming yourself into one of your parents?" I inquired. The idea could work. If she could get inside the mind of whatever parent she chose and go through their memories, something would show up. "Your mother or your father? It would give you access to their memories, wouldn't it?"

"I have thought of it. Of course I have. But I have nothing of my father's or mother's. Everything that was packed in my trunks for the voyage here was discarded by the Dark Sisters," she explained.

I eyed her clockwork angel, raising an eyebrow. "What about your angel necklace?" I suggested. "Wasn't that your mother's?"

She shook her head, looking slightly disappointed. "I tried. I—I could reach nothing of her in it. It has been mine so long, I think, that what made it hers has evaporated, like water."

"Perhaps you are a clockwork girl," I suggested jokingly. "Perhaps Mortmain's warlock father built you, and now Mortmain seeks the secret of how to create such a perfect facsimile of life when all he can build are hideous monstrosities. Perhaps all that beats beneath your chest is a heart made of metal."

She inhaled sharply, clearly disturbed by the idea. "No," she said, dismissing the idea. "You forget, I remember my childhood. Mechanical creatures do not change or grow. Nor would that explain my ability."

"I know," I replied, flashing her a grin. There was no way that the kind of feelings I had for her could be felt for an automaton, however beautiful or lifelike it was. "I only wanted to see if I could convince you."

"I am not the one who has no heart." Her voice was toneless and empty of accusation, but it still felt like I had been stabbed in the chest. I could feel the angry heat of resentment and embarrassment behind all the horrible, heartless things I had said to her rise up. I opened my mouth to say something smart and witty and entirely remorseless, but the carriage jolted to stop.

We had arrived.

So I think this will be a brief, two or three multi-chapter story. It's an awful lot of typing up lines from Clockwork Prince, let me tell you. Anyways, I hope my interpretation of Will so far is satisfactory, and for the record, I ship Wessa like there is no tomorrow. If Will Herondale existed in real life… you bet that I would marry him. So, aside that slightly embarrassing confession of mine, I have nothing against Jessa, by the way. Please review, constructive criticism is ALWAYS appreciated. Thanks so much for reading!

Xoxo- NotsoSugarQueen