Prologue.

"What is life? A tale that is told;

What is life? A frenzy extreme,

A shadow of things that seem;
And the greatest good is but small,
That all life is a dream to all,
And that dreams themselves are a dream."

-Life is a dream, Calderón de la Barca.

They had met on a late summer day. The petite, five-year-old girl held her mother's hand, jumping, rather than stepping. Her red-orange mane fell upon her small shoulders, covering the green dress that matched her big eyes. As she got closer to her new kindergarten, her freckled face morphed into an expression of both anxiety and curiosity.

"Clary – sweetie – don't run. You're going to trip," her mother said.

"Mom, please!" The child protested, continuing to walk on her tip-toes. "We gotta hurry; we're gonna be late!"

As soon as they crossed the street, Clary Fray let go of her mom's hand and ran towards the main entrance. The older woman's face broke into an apprehensive smile, for she loved her daughter and was happy to see her so excited, but was also worried about all that could happen. Ever since Clary was born, she had never left her mother's side. I just want her to be safe, she thought.

"The first day is always the worst," a voice said from behind her. She turned to see a tall, brunette woman who greeted her further. "Hello. My name is Melissa Lewis."

"I'm Jocelyn Fray." She pointed to her daughter, who had begun to chase a young blonde girl around a tree. "That is my daughter, Clary." Jocelyn shook Melissa's hand, and noticed a small boy gripping her other hand with both of his. He muttered about being scared of the other kids as his eyes filled with tears.

"This is Simon," Melissa said. The boy – Simon – had dark brown hair and green eyes, which were covered by a pair of square glasses. He was thin, so his jeans seemed a size or two too big, and his red shirt was decorated with a Star Wars drawing. "Come on, Simon. Say 'hello' to Jocelyn." However, instead of fulfilling his mother's order, he ran and hid behind a plant pot.

"Oh, God, excuse him – he's so shy," Melissa apologized. She started to tell a story of how Simon had once played hide-and-seek so well that she had spent nearly two hours searching for him. The teacher called for everyone to enter the building, and the two mothers parted momentarily in order to send their children off. Clary went to Jocelyn complacently, but Simon remained behind the big pot.

"It's your first day, Simon. I'm sure you don't want to be late," she reasoned, beginning to grow exasperated.

Clary, taking a cat-shaped cookie from the basket at her mother's feet, marched over to the frightened boy. "Hi. My name is Clary. I made this with my mom last night. It's for you." Simon watched her for a few seconds before smiling and taking the cookie.

"I'm Simon."

Clary and Simon had been best friends ever since.

Remembering the day they had met, Simon opened his eyes. Clary's head was on the pillow next to his own; she looked unusually calm as she slept, her long, orange eyelashes resting upon her soft, freckled cheeks. A lock of red hair partially covered her nose. Her short legs were on top of his, which were about eighteen inches longer.

He wasn't sure if he should wake her up or not, since it was past midnight. They had been having one of their geek movie marathons, but she had fallen asleep ten minutes into the first Star Wars film. She'd been passing out earlier ever since she began her art lessons, but he wasn't upset – she'd been looking forward to them for at least a year.

He figured Jocelyn wouldn't be worried; she knew him well enough to know where Clary would be. During the summer, Clary and Simon practically lived together. They would hang out for three or four hours a day, and then spend the rest of the evening in one of their houses.

Simon watched his best friend sleep, his eyes full of love. There was no other way to describe how he felt for Clary. She was brave and independent, seeming to not need anyone but herself. He, however, knew about the nightmares and fantasies that plagued her. She would call him at least one night a week, crying, and he would listen until she fell back asleep.

"I'm so sorry, Simon," she would say. "I love you so much – thank you so much."

"Don't let the demons hunt you, Fray," he would respond.

Clary was beautiful, in an unconventional way. She didn't wear nice outfits or a ton of makeup, but the glow in her eyes could always leave him speechless. She was small and delicate, and refused to believe him when Simon said she looked like the princesses she drew.

He knew her face perfectly, from the mark on her upper lip to the scar underneath her chin to the small brown spot on her right pupil. He had memorized every one of her expressions, such as how she arched her eyebrows when she was curious or how she would stick out her tongue slightly when working hard on a drawing. He knew everything about her.

Simon moved to take off his glasses and place them on the bedside table without waking her, but failed. Clary opened her big, green eyes, and he thought: how come they'd been friends for eleven years, yet he still felt speechless whenever she looked him in the eyes?

"When did I fall asleep?" she asked quietly.

"Basically before the main titles," he responded. "But it's not like we haven't seen it ten times in the last year."

Clary rolled her eyes and grabbed her phone, checking the time. "Simon, it's twelve thirty! Oh, God, my mom is going to kill me! Why didn't you wake me up?"

She grew increasingly more frantic. "Two missed calls – shit! I have to get home right now."

"C'mon, Fray. At least you aren't hanging out with some Mexican drug dealer named Miguel who – "

"SIMON!" She pulled her hair back into a high ponytail. "I have to go right now."

"At least let me give you a ride home on my bike," he offered.

Rolling her eyes: "Such a gentleman."

"Gentleman is my middle name."

"You're such an idiot."