counterfeit legends
Obsessed by a fairy tale, we spend our lives searching for a magic door and a l-o-s-t kingdom of peace. - Eugene O'Neill
Isabelle Lightwood once believed in fairy tales. She used to dream of the kind where Prince Charming swept the beautiful and enraptured princess off of her feet, escaped from the evil stepmother and lived happily ever after in the forest. When she was younger (innocent) she used to close her eyes and imagine herself as the besotted royalty being carried away (far, far away because she's never much liked it in plain boring here).
Her prince is sandy haired and blue eyed and has strong arms that wrap around her and hold her safe from the world (because even kick-ass heroines need a protector now and then.) He is prettyprettyprettywith his charming laugh and flashing white smile and glittering sword (later, much later, she chooses to master the whip instead for daggers remind her too much of her sliced up dreams.)
As she grows from cute child to pretty little gap-toothed girl to beautiful pre-teen her fairy tale daydreams shift and mould like the sloppy custard she attempts to make one morning, to the horror of her family. The prince remains a solid fixture of her future; her castle melting into oblivion. At ten years old Isabelle finds the solid stone structures of the traditional tales superfluous (which doesn't mean she doesn't secretly dream of spiralling staircases and ballrooms.) She's practical if nothing else [this changes of course; spinning dresses and puffed sleeves and the promise of unmarred beauty reeling her in].
.
There is a rose garden tucked away at the end of one of the huge parks in Alicante. Isabelle once played in the enchanted greenery for hours, mesmerised by the rose petals that flutter in the wind, falling from the sky high above. (Rose petals that shower newlyweds and cover coffins. Everything turns to dustashesdirteventually.)
.
She kisses Jace once, only once, in the middle of the training room in the Institute. There are no promise sparks although they are both beautiful enough to fulfil her dreams. Its soft and tentative (her first kiss but shh, don't tell) and means nothing and everything. Jace doesn't have blue eyes. (never mind that it was never really a criteria. She's still at the stage where everything has to fit perfectly with the cartoon images imprinted on her heart.) (the rose petals are scattered over the silver lake.)
.
She hates Simon and in a funny way it's so cliché isn't almost not anymore: the awkward comic geek (never mind that he's actually rather endearing) falling for the beautiful ice queen. He's spellbound by her looks (and this is why she only dates the hot; they don't stare open mouthed at perfection because they're already well aquatinted with it) and she hates him for being so superficial (never mind that she's being the world's biggest hypocrite.) (the rose petals burn.)
She loves Simon and in a funny sort of way it's so uncliché its cliché: the beautiful ice queen (never mind that the Lightwood symbol is fire) falling for the comic geek. It turns out that he's the realest person she's ever met and because she's a conundrum all first impressions melt away under her heat (never mind that she's an ice queen) and she gives him a second chance. Its ok to love someone who doesn't love you. (the rose petals flourish under the summer sun.)
.
They date and she acts like she doesn't give a damn. Much, much better to ignore the fairy-tale prince who doesn't really exist (open those charcoal eyes of yours, dearie, and face the truth for once) than to love a dream (even though that's all she's ever done.) (the rose petals are plucked from the dead flower.)
.
He turns out to be a double crossing cheater and she turns out to be right. Isabelle congratulates herself on keeping her distance and kisses the next vampire she stumbles across at the club. It's a good thing she learnt to lie to herself. (the rose petals are buried with the coffin.)
.
He tries to talk, she won't listen. Lock your heart away and throw the key into the river and smile, darling. Don't waste such a pretty face.
.
Her dreams are cut up into tiny little pieces and hidden away in separate drawers that will never be opened again. (.so she swears. .sometimes temptation can be deadly.)
.
She stops dreaming and starts wishing. Begging. Pleading.
.
She's so in love that it hurts (the petals come raining down on her solitary figure.)
.
But she's Isabelle Lightwood, ice queen wielding flames, professional liar, superficial warrior and she'll be dammed if heartbreak kills her.
.
The cage she hid her heart in begins to tighten. She's suffocating. (smile, darling.)
She was fooled by romance movies and tricked by fairy-tales. There are no princes, only empty castles standing by the sea.
.
Isabelle loves the rain. She loves standing soaked to the bone in the street and letting the water drip down her figure. She loves the feel of wet material sticking to her skin like a second layer. She loves how the racket the raindrops create drowns out any other sound and how they cloud her vision until all she can see are shadows. Most of all, though, she loves how the water disguises her tears.
((no-one will know she's crying))
.
He kisses her in the dark and she sobs.
.
.
.
Come take a walk on the wild side,
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain,
You like your girls insane…
Disclaimer: The lyrics at the end come from Lana Del Ray's spellbinding song Born To Die which I have had on continuous loop for the past forty eight hours. It's absolutely amazing – and the tigers on the music video are the perfect final touch. I own nothing (including Cassandra Clare's wonderful characters, Simon, Isabelle and Jace in this case. I've decided to secretly trail Isabelle and write about her, so expect more updates!)
A/N: I wrote different segments of this vignette at different times so it might have a few different 'feels'. This was intended.