"Chante, rossignol, chante..." She sung to herself it the lowest voice record she could reach, almost falling sleep when the golden-ringing-like melody filling the room began to get mixed with her mother's. Isabelle soon realized it was probably product of her fatigue - she had never been so tired in her life, yet she could shut an eye no matter how hard she tried. Still feeling like she had some
thing to do, always, all the time. That's how she was raised, as for shadowhunters had no time to relax. They had to be practical at all circumstances.
The bed got more and more comfy and her eyelids heavier. Was she dreaming already? She didn't think so, but she wasn't far from falling asleep anyway. She had no strenght to keep singing; it was enough with the song going through her deepest thoughts. Her mother had sung it to her ever since she could remember, that lovely french song about two lovers and the quiet bird that kept everything under its glance. When Isabelle was a little girl, she thought of it as a fairytale.
Unfortunately, she had grown up, and all she could see from it led to a tragic ending.
"As everything these days" she muttered to herself, bitterly. She just wouldn't admit she always had someone in mind when it came to love (in any package). Someone with a cute smile that was crowned with a dimple and, if he ever lost control, also showed two long, white, sharp fangs. Sometimes she wished they could pierce throughout her heart and bring back the young woman she was, the one she used to be. A girl that would walk on anyone that dared to mess with her, preferably with high-as-hell-heels, and then would spear the leftovers with her golden whip for herons and doves to eat from them. A girl that never apologized, never looked back, and never let no one see her break down.
But then again, he had changed that a long while back. She didn't realize at first, surely, but as time passed she found herself glacing at the newly converted vampire more often that she would have liked. And then smiling at him. And her smile would grow as he looked in her direction with that same expression and look in his eyes.
Isabelle remembered how she read somewhere about 'hearts doing gimnastic routines'. She had to admit hers did a complete olympic victory-lap whenever Simon came in her way.
Time flew, half of the year went by, and soon she was thrashing around in her bedroom, trying to find the words to put down on paper. Come on... it was five months already. Five months with him. If you ask her about it -just saying she would be sincere about it, which is doubtable- she would most likely tell you that she cannot believe it. And, sure as hell, she can't. From her having a boyfriend, and we're talking about Isabelle Lightwood, remember; to the fact that they lasted so long. And they had had fights, a lot. But they went through them with almost ease, and it secretly made her proud. It meant that they were strong, right? Isabelle wouldn't have standed five months for nothing.
As she kept her eyes fixated to the paper in front of her, she realized that she didn't have a thing to write there. She had a lot more, and through her careful caligraphy she would make sure that he knew how she felt about him. About them.
Because they were a whole now.
