I started this story on my other account but never finished, abandoning it after a few chapters due to lack of inspiration. But now, with a new name, I have decided it's my best story yet and got the best feedback, leading up to my decision to continue it. If you did see my other story, you will realize it is written completely different, but the plot stays the same. This is simply due to the fact that reading back, I am picking all the flaws and ways it could be better; basically rewriting it.
I realized after many unsuccessful attempts that here, most people look for a good plot and correct writing skills. However, I have always been one to put way too much detail in. After this chapter, let me know if the story is moving too slow or if it's okay. For example, on my other account, Clary met pretty much everyone at the beginning of the first chapter. Since then, I read an article that said it's not good to introduce so many characters all at once as it can be overwhelming.
Enjoy, my little cupcakes!
I have always believed there is a turning point for everyone. A moment in their life that defines them, a moment when their perspective changes, when their very essence becomes something else. It can be good, or it can be bad.
For me, it was bad. The moment that defines me, the turning point in my life broke me.
I will never forget the way I felt that night, the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was crumbling, tearing from the inside out. It wasn't one of those times when you get upset and move on. It left me empty, longing for the caring touch of my mother's arms around me, comforting me. For the deathly look in my brother's eyes whenever someone said anything hurtful to me. The way my father would smile at me, tell me everything would be okay
Even then, on my way to yet another foster home, another city, another school, the pain of losing everything was still a mist, engulfing me until I couldn't breathe.
As I stared out onto the passing scenery, the car window was blurred by freshly shed snow, preventing me from really taking anything in. I could feel a hot tear trace its path down my now rosy cheek, leaving in its wake a trail of emotions packed tight.
Emotions that I did not have access to, nor would I have wanted to. The one feeling - no not a feeling; a living, breathing creature, sending shivers on a pulsing journey down my spine - was apathy. A complete indifference as to what would become of me.
This time would be different. I kept on repeating to myself like a mantra. Any hope, however, that I could have had in the cliche phrase, was beyond imperceptible by that time.
That hope was gnawed down by rejection after rejection. Every couple of years I would be sat down and it would be explained how it just wasn't working out. Then I would be offered sympathetic smiles and glances that would send sickening pangs into my core, amplifying the agony of knowing I wasn't good enough.
In other words, I had very low expectations of what was to come.
In fact, I got one of those glances as Charlotte, my social worker, met my emerald, glossy eyes in the rearview mirror, her own chocolate ones focused solely on the way my face was probably blotchy and red from quietly crying all the way to this brand new place of my demise.
I huffed out an irritated breath and threw the car door open and gracefully exiting the black SUV. Without paying attention to my surroundings, I opened the boot and pulled out with little to no difficulty, my two duffle bags, throwing one on each shoulder.
As she got out of the car, Charlotte pushed past me and grabbed one of the bags, settling it on the safety of her own, more frail looking, shoulder, not stopping long enough for me to protest.
I rolled my eyes and looked up. A mansion was towering at the end of a gravel path, too narrow for us to have been able to drive any further than we had. Rose bushes grew almost tauntingly, forming a perimeter of the house and isolating the path.
Charlotte set off with a purpose and I followed, resisting the urge to stare down as I walked. Head held high, we made up to about halfway up the path when the grand entry doors swung open to reveal a tall slim woman with raven hair woven in with grey and reaching past her narrow waist.
She looked cheerful enough, although and intimidating as she stood straight, the looming house backing her. She bounded with surprising stealth down the marble stairs and met us at the end of the path.
The woman and Charlotte exchanged pleasantries and talked about "the lovely weather" as I averted my eyes with my arms protectively crossed around my chest and shifting my weight from leg to leg.
Once they had had enough small talk, the woman's brown eyes wandered over to me. "And you must me Clary. "her voice was soft as if speaking to a wounded animal, her eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiled."I'm Maryse." she held out a very delicate hand for me to shake.
Surprised at her use of my nickname instead of my full name, I found my own ivory hand reaching out and meeting her surprisingly cool and strong grip.
Charlotte interrupted our exchange, a wide grin splitting her face. " I think I should probably go now." she skipped over to me, enveloping my small frame in a warm hug, her lips hovering just over my ear, "Be careful, ok?" she handed Maryse my bag and the woman took it without complaint.
I nodded fervently as she then took a step back taking me in one last time before spinning around and marching back over to her car. As she got in, I raised my hand in a half-hearted wave. She smiled at me and didn't meet my eyes again as she reversed out of the driveway and down the long winding road isolated by trees.
Maryse's hand came up on my shoulder and I looked up at her sympathetic face and looking away just as quickly, but not before seeing a glint of something else in her startlingly blue eyes. Recognition, maybe?
I passed it on to my being tired and turned around, done with my moment of wallowing.
There was no point in delaying it further. It would happen eventually.
" Follow me. " her voice was soft as she caught on to my wanting to get things moving. "I'll take you to your room and you can get unpacked in peace. You can get a tour tomorrow morning and meet everyone over the course of breakfast."
"Thanks." I shot her a grateful smile as she opened the door for me and Maryse nodded once we were both inside the house.
The door led to an entry hall, Victorian wallpaper adorning the walls. Paintings rested every couple of meters, some modern, some traditional, the contrast striking enough to leave me gaping at them.
Maryse walked across the tiled marble floor, taking the lead climbing the orientally carpeted steps. Once on the first floor, Maryse walked slower than before, I'm guessing so that I could take in the house.
The first floor was much like the ground one, modern yet antique and vintage at the same time. The three completely different styles merged together in perfect harmony.
The landing was wide and just as decorated as the entry hall, wall sconces making breaks in the painting pattern. A Victorian-style archway led to a long and narrow corridor, doors resting either side of it.
"This is the bedroom wing." Maryse made a vague gesture with her free hand before continuing.
She eventually stopped in front of a white pine door about halfway down the corridor. "Your room is in between my daughter Isabelle's and our other foster son Jace".
I nodded; my unpinned curls bouncing in a flurry of red. Maryse opened the door for me and handed me a gold-painted brass key because we all want our privacy. Despite how unusual the gesture was, I appreciated it nonetheless.
I walked into the large room. "We tried to decorate as best as we could, but all we knew is that you're an artist."
I skimmed the room, from the orange painted walls to the desk filled almost to the brim with art supplies.
My heart gave a pleasant pang as Maryse exited the confinement of my bedroom. Maybe it would be different this time.
So, let me know if anyone is still reading this story, and also review or PM me letting me know if you were following the story before. The feedback is really the only thing that will influence my decision to continue this story. Thanks my little cupcakes!