It is October and in Alicante, snow is falling; covering all with white, untouched coverlet.

It is a beautiful day; snowflakes dancing in the cool air, windows covered with drawings made by frost, white clouds of few people's on the street breath.

It is also a big holiday: one of the biggest ones , if not the biggest of them all. The triumph.

It is hard for Jace to walk: the surface of snow comes up to his knees and he feels as his socks get wet and cold. Freezing wind is blowing right in his face, but he somehow manages to move. One step, another and another, despite everything.

He is thinking how weird is this weather. It was always sunny and quite warm at this part of year; ten years ago it was nearly boiling and Isabelle wore short dress without sleeves.

She also didn't have any make-up. Or it just wiped out, while she was crying quietly, he isn't sure, even though he remembers every single detail of that day.

The way Jocelyn was biting her nails, until her fingers turned into a bloody mess. The way sun shone more brightly than ever before and ever after. The way Simon's legs just stopped working at some point and he fell on his knees. The sound of the Shadowhunters' march. The broken expression on Luke's face. All of the colors of the leaves on trees: crimson, scarlet, golden and honey orange: warm, gleaming, comforting, beautiful. There were leaves and her hair like a halo around her small face.

Her golden freckles, white dress and crimson runes on her hands. Her long lashes, her pale cheeks without even a shadow of pink.

He remembers she seemed more perfect and beautiful than ever before; utterly calm, as if she was just sleeping. But even though her prince was standing next to her - his kiss was useless.

''That's a doll''- he remembered his own thoughts- ''Where is she?''

Because she had never been that cold, that distant. She had never been lost before.

Jace rubs his arms a couple of times to warm himself a little and opens black metal doors. There is even colder inside than outside, but at least there is no snow or wind. He kneels on a white stone floor.

It isn't just any other grave, it is more like a chapel; reminder that Nephilim know how to honor their dead heroes. Even though they do nothing to keep them alive.

- Hi Clary. - his worlds comes out of his mouth with a small white cloud, which disappeared within second.- How are you? It's freakin cold outside, but it's rather a pleasant view. All of this snow and stuff... I dare you'd like to paint it with your pastels. Or maybe watercolors, I don't know.

There is a big, malachite board on the wall in front of him and words craved into it captured his attention for a moment, though he has read them before: too many times.

Clarissa Adele Fairchild

True Nephilim

What does it mean anyway? True for her bravery or true for her being so reckless?

There was one more line, craved under two dates (which were too painful to look at them)

Too early

- You know Clary, it would be always too early, even if we lived a life together. But that wouldn't happen anyway; we were destined to fall. Shakespeare wrote that you have to be temperate with love or you will regret that. I guess he was right.

He puts some flowers under the wall; this time that is lavender. He changes their kind every year because he didn't ask her which are her favorites (that's quite painful too- to realize they never even had a chance to celebrate any kind of anniversary) and he doesn't want to ask Jocelyn. They don't talk. By the Angel; they can't even look at each other without this desire to kill each other.

At her funeral, there were lots of white flowers; roses, lilies, lilacs, magnolias. He still feels that scent.

He says a couple more words about how he misses Alec (maybe she sees him there, wherever she is. Maybe she can say to him that Jace is really sorry) and Magnus being unseen by any of them for so many years. How he met Simon while he was hunting with his clan. How Isabelle finally agreed to marry Branwells' son and moved out and how Institute seems so much bigger and colder when it's only him and Church there.

Then he stands up, closes the black, metal doors and he leaves, disappears in snow and wind. Every single step hurts him like a Jonathan's knives must have hurt Clary, but he knows that if he stays one more minute, he'll never be able to go out.

And that's how it is, that's how he lives- being alive only at this one day in a whole year and dead during the rest