Hey guys, thanks for checking out this story!

I'd been inspired for this story by a book I recently read - about Cinderella in the modern day. And I thought - hey, why not a Mortal Instruments Cinderella?

I've been writing this weird fanfic for a while, and hopefully I'll update regularly as I've pre-written a lot of chapters. So yeah, please enjoy - reviews would be welcome as always ;)

*Sorry if the prologue's a bit slow, it's just to get an idea and description of the characters.*

- s.i


~~~Prologue~~~

Clary only had a few memories of her mother.

They were so worn and frayed at the edges that they could hardly be called memories - more like distant daydreams that had become as comforting as a warm blanket.

Clary remembered long red hair much like her own, a voice whispering half-forgotten lullabies, and the feeling of being held, wrapped in a scent of paint and roses.

Some nights Clary would lie awake with her eyes half shut, imagine her mother sitting on the bed beside her, stroking her hair, talking softly. The memory of her mother gave her courage, and courage was sometimes the only thing that got Clary out of bed in the morning, that stopped her from just taking off from her life in a taxi and never looking back.

You would never think this about Clary just by looking at her.

For a sixteen year old, she was quite short - a fact that no one ever let her forget. Her hair was red and wavy and always pulled back into a messy ponytail. She had luminous green eyes, slightly too big for her face, and tiny freckles dusted across her cheeks and arms like star constellations.

She was nearly always in a too-big anime shirt, with wrinkled jeans and red sneakers that were covered with little sharpie drawings. And she would have a pencil tucked behind her ear and a sketchbook under her arm and splats of paint on her shirt.

Clary was pretty - but she didn't know she was. And the way she bit her lip or looked down at her sneakers when complimented made anyone smile.

But hardly anyone bothered to look past that, to actually bother to talk to her, to ask what she was thinking.

And Clary had started to believe no one ever would.


Jace Herondale had three rules. First they had been rules for surviving school, and then he had realised that they were rules for surviving life.

Rule one: stop caring.

Rule two: laugh it off.

Rule three: never stop moving.

He'd followed the rules for a long time now, since he was ten. They never failed him, except when he decided to break them.

And it was following those rules that had made him so popular at high school - as well as his chiseled good looks (messy blond hair, sharp cheekbones, amused golden eyes, and a mouth that was nearly always tilted up one side in a slight smirk), and his talent for sports (captain of the soccer team, best player on the basketball team, and member of the swimming team in the summer).

It was a well known fact that Jace was on of the most popular boys at the school. He'd had a string of girlfriends, was invited to every single party, and was somehow liked by nearly all the teachers - even though he never paid attention in class.

Jace could charm his way out of anything, past anyone. He was unflappable, untouchable, and didn't give a damn about anything.

Or so he thought.