Introductions

London was mostly quiet on a Sunday, and Charlotte roamed the Institute freely, indecipherably bored of everything, the same familiar walls, the same old gas lamps, the same rooms with its strict wooden furniture. She had called it home and nothing else; she had been born there, grown up there, and stayed there. And since she was a toddler, she knew she'd still be staying, like her father, running the Institute for most of his life. And she also knew she was next, it was her father's wish and achievement, trying to get his headstrong daughter in charge of such a responsibility; a responsibility usually beheld by a man, and Charlotte had always been aware of the fact.

She ended up in the study, her father not present, which was strange, because he usually worked most of the day away in his chair. She also had an inkling that that chair would also be taken up by herself once her father resigned the post. For some reason, the thought both burdened her and calmed her, the notion of always being safe in the Institute was a privilege, while being mostly chosen for the job made her seem like there wasn't any choice, and she guessed there wasn't.

She walked round the study, looking at the neat stack of papers, the way everything seemed to be as picturesque as if the room had been brought to life from a painting.

She rather liked art and paintings, but proved rather useless at the whole affair; she guessed her lack of achievement in everything else only derived from the expectation of running the Institute.

'Charlotte? What are you doing in here?' Her father asked calmly, appearing at the door.

'I-Nothing.' She said quickly. 'I was just...uh...looking at things.'

Her father gave a polite nod, and continued on.

'A young man has just arrived at the steps of the Institute. He requires a place to stay.'

Charlotte was baffled; it was mostly just relatives that appeared on the doorstep, no unfamiliar Shadowhunters and certainly not male ones.

'He is around your age, Charlotte, I think he's just turned twenty.'

Two years older than Charlotte. For some reason it made her feel uneasy.

She followed her father out the room to the hallway, where indeed a young man of twenty was standing, looking at the walls, a suitcase in his hand, and oblivious to their arrival. He had shocking ginger hair, freckles and hazel eyes, an unusual combination, but an admirable one nonetheless. She herself was plain, brown hair and brown eyes, with a petite physique. It was all that she really was, all she had ever been. After a few seconds of silence, he turned to look at them, a shy grin on his face.

'What is your name, lad?'

'Branwell, sir. Henry Branwell.' He replied, nervously taking her fathers hand and shaking it.

She knew that her father sometimes had an overwhelming presence, though he was much taller than her, and taller than her father, and radiated a same overpowering presence. She finally realised she had seen him before, but only once. She had been reading in a park, and the same voice had made small conversation with her. She remembered it more clearly now.

'This is my daughter, Charlotte.' He introduced.

They shook hands, and his hand was warm, despite the coldness of the outdoors. His eyes looked down at her momentarily and then settled to the floor shyly.

'You say you require a place to stay, why is this?'

'Both my parents have died now,' he said, looking down at the floor with a small sombre expression. She herself remembered the feeling of losing her mother, and still the pain came back to her in that moment, as she pitied the boy. 'I don't have any other place to go, except from here.' He added.

Her father nodded. 'I expect you have completed your Shadowhunter training?'

'Oh yes sir, I have.'

Her father gave him an approving smile.

'I would be happy to let you stay, Henry.'

'That is much appreciated, sir, thank you.'

Charlotte wanted to know what had caused his parents deaths, but thought better not to ask. She didn't want to pry.

'Charlotte, lead this young man to a room, could you please?'

She nodded, taking Henry up the stairs to the bedroom opposite hers.

'Thank you.' He said, not meeting her eyes. He walked into the room, and Charlotte left him. He was undeniably handsome, and also looked slightly athletic, though his face told otherwise. She thought he looked wise, knowledgeable, intelligent. Only time would tell if he would ever have an impact on Charlotte's life, and the redecoration of the boring walls, the old gas lamps and the dull rooms.