Chapter 1- The Curse, the Wish, the Command

Hey you guys, it's my very first TMI fanfic but I've been reading TMI fanfics for a while and I just never got around to actually making one. Hope this turns out the way it is in my head 'cause in my head it's a tragic, gorgeous, orchestra of words and plot twists like ribbons falling into place forming a melodic tapestry that's so beautiful it'll make you cry your eyes out. It's that glorious in my head so I hope I can print it out on paper. Or on Microsoft Word.

Also, I write a lot of Maximum Ride Fan fiction so if you guys could check those out I would be so grateful.

Anyways, on with the story and please leave a delicious little piece of your mind down below as a review. Thank you!

Jace

As long as I could remember, there was a portrait of a man with white-blonde hair, black eyes, and skeleton-pale skin hanging in the far hall of the east wing in my house. I'd discovered him one day when I was about 4 or 5 and exploring the Lightwood Mansion. The first time I saw him, I remembered him creeping me out, but as I got older, I found myself going to the shadowy depths of the east wing more and more. I guess I've always seen him as a father-figure seeing how my parents died when I was a baby and the Lightwoods were never really around. They were always traveling and what-not.

I remember telling this man whoever he was everything about my day when I was done with my schooling. I was home-schooled along with my adopted siblings Alec and Isabelle Lightwood. And every single day I'd sneak away before dinner to go see him. More than once, I swear I saw his eyes move to watch me.

But when I got older, I slowly stopped going to see him. My freshman year, the Lightwoods decided to send the three of us to high school. I got involved with basketball and mixed martial arts and visiting the mysterious man in the portrait was shoved to the back of my mind. You can imagine my surprise when I woke up at 10pm with him standing fully corporeal in my bedroom.

"Jace Wayland," a deep voice woke me from my dream. It was a good dream too. At least, I think it was a good dream. I was feeling happy for the first time in forever. I was dreaming about a girl I used to know when I was really young. She had fiery red hair and glowing green eyes and I used to joke about her hair all the time. But then he startled me and I completely forgot what happened in the dream.

When I saw him- looking exactly like he did in the portrait, dark cloak and all- I almost fell off the bed. I almost did other things too that would make me lose my man-card if I ever revealed them. Instead, I just sat up and gaped at him, words failing.

"My name is Valentine Morgenstern," he began as I calmed myself slowly. Then I remembered I wasn't dressed and for some reason, I felt really embarrassed to be half-naked in front of him, "And you are going to die in three days."

"What?!"

"Unless…," he continued as if I hadn't spoken, "You make a girl fall in love with you and kill her before your three days are up."

"What?!" My mind was reeling. You can't just tell someone you're going to die in three days unless you kill an innocent person. Making a girl fall in love with me is easy. I'm Jace Wayland, the heartthrob of the school. I have girls at my disposal. Breaking a heart is one thing, but stopping one and potentially piercing one with a dagger or bullet? I shook my head slowly.

"Listen," I said as a nervous chuckle forced my way up my throat, "I don't know who you are or what you're doing in my room but if this is your idea of a joke, you are one sick person. That is messed up, man."

In the blink of an eye, his face was inches from mine, one hand clutching my throat. I felt myself starting to suffocate. Then I realized he was hovering about eight inches above me, his cloak floating around as if there was an invisible current around him. Okay, if this is a joke, it's pretty elaborate. I swallowed hard as he boomed, "This is the choice, Jace Wayland. When you die, you don't go to Heaven, you don't go to Hell. When you die, you get an eternity of torture completely alone. Which, in my experience, I think it's worse than Hell. And when you think the pain stops, it won't. It's pausing and it will make you wait in the infinite dark silence alone to your own mind, waiting for the pain to come back to remind you that you ever existed. It will tear you open Jace Wayland. So what's one little death to save your mortal soul?"

Okay, that's just plain confusing. I thought killing people sent me to Hell. So either way I'm going to suffer for all eternity? He released me and floated back to his place at the foot of my bed.

"These three days, no one will notice if you come and go so you can search far and wide if you please," he explained, "And the girl must love you for you, not for you looks or your money or whatever else you can offer a girl. The girl must love you."

I was still huffing from being suffocated. He sighed, combing a hand through his white hair and I'm startled by how alike we are. I do that a lot too, when I'm nervous or frustrated. I'm guessing he's feeling the latter. I'm the one who should be frustrated. He's asking me to kill a person. No, not asking, but commanding! What kind of person does that?

"You have three days," Valentine reminded as he disappeared into thin air.

Clary

As long as I remember, I've had a guardian angel.

I remember her as my first role model. She was stunning and pretty and always wore these pretty dresses. We look alike and I liked to imagine she was my mother. We had red hair, but her hair was a darker auburn and curled elegantly unlike my unruly frizz. We had the same green eyes but mine were bigger and hers were always perfectly made-up to look soft but beautiful. And if I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw her in the length of my forehead, my nose and my cheekbones. But I was different in the shape and fullness of my mouth, my shorter eyelashes and my stupid uneven eyebrows.

So I saw her as my mother even as I lived with my single dad, Luke. I told her this and she'd always replied, "I see you as a daughter, too, Clarissa Fray." And then I'd remind her to call me Clary but she always said that "Clarissa is your name and it's a beautiful name for a beautiful young woman." I called her Jocelyn when I need her as a mother, Jo when I needed her as a friend, and Jocelyn Fray when I imagined her as my mother. I imagined her and dad getting married and honeymooning in a cruise ship by Haiti or in Paris. And I imagined her face glowing as she caressed her round belly carrying me.

It was my favorite thing to do when I was younger.

That, and play with a boy I'd met in the park. I don't remember his name now but he was my best friend. He said that he lived in a huge mansion and he hated it but I thought it would be great to live in a big house than the little apartment Dad and I share. But then he disappeared in fourth grade, saying that his adopted parents wanted him to focus more on his learning or whatever extra-curricular and that we couldn't hang out anymore. It broke my heart. So I made new friends at school with a guy named Simon Lewis and I forgot about the little blonde boy I used to play with until now.

I was diagnosed with lymphoma when I was 15 and dad tried everything. He was so upset and distraught and for the first time ever, I had real respect for my dad and instead of feeling bad for myself, I felt bad for causing him so much worry. It was going great; the radiation treatment was going well. Of course, I had the side effects and threw up all the time but I remained optimistic. As long as I was getting better, right? Jocelyn told me it was going to be okay.

But when I turned 16, my healing process plummeted and the cancer suddenly came back. That's when Jocelyn decided to offer me a choice.

"Sweetie," she said in her wind-chime and warm sea wave's voice. I was always jealous of her voice. She had the perfect singing voice too.

"Yes, Jo?" I replied, feeling nauseous and terrible.

"What is it that you want most in the world before you die?" she asked. The question startled me. If she's asking me this, then it's a fact. I'm going to die. The realization was harrowing and I felt the bile rise up in my throat again.

She rubbed my back, not minding. If I did throw up, it wouldn't go on her, it would go past her and became the nurse's problem. I learned this the last time I got in a fight with her and tried throwing a pencil at her. It went straight through her and she was so outraged that she wouldn't speak to me for a month. Then I apologized and told her I didn't know what came over me.

"I don't know," I croaked, trying to keep down the vomit.

"Come on, sweetie, there has to be something," she smiled encouragingly.

I stop and think for a second. When I was younger, Jocelyn told me these stories where a boy and girl meet and fall in love. Sometimes the boy was a prince; sometimes the girl was a princess. Other times, they were complete polar opposites. But they all sounded so happy in Jocelyn's stories. And Luke said that he'd fallen in love with my mother when they were in high school. He said she was beautiful and she looked sort of like me. He said it was the happiest time of his life. And he told me how depressed he was when she died but he promised her that he would take care of me and so he stayed. And then he quickly added that he loved me too and that was another-main- reason that he stayed. And I once dreamed of having a prince swoop up and take me to his palace but not before fighting a dragon and saving me from my tower dungeon (I liked to pretend that the apartment was the dungeon and I'd get out of there one day). And we'd be madly in love and he'd be so perfect and beautiful that I'd want to sketch him everyday like I sketch Jocelyn and Luke.

"I-I want to fall in love," I tell her wistfully, sliding down the hospital bed so I was lying down on my back, hands folded over my stomach. I blushed when the words left my mouth.

She nodded and considered this before lifting my chin with her finger to look at her. I almost screamed in shock. I didn't know she could go corporeal.

"Clarissa, you're going to die in three days," she said slowly but firmly. Her green eyes were sad but when she blinked, they gleamed with mischief. I sucked in a breath. So that's it, I'm going to die.

"But," she continued, "I'm going to give you a gift. I'm going to give you the gift of time. In three days, if you can fall in love, you can live as long as your lover does and you two will live a long life and die peacefully in your sleep. In these three days, I'm going to make you feel healthy again. But the hospital staff and your dad won't know. They'll think you're still here. But after these three days are over, and you haven't found true love, you'll be brought back here no matter where you are. And you will die. I'm sorry, but those are the rules, Clarissa sweetie."

I swallow, "Okay, thank you so much, Jo."

She smiled and snapped her fingers and suddenly I was dressed in a comfortable green sweater, blue jeans, and a pair of black converse. My hair got its shine back, my cheeks flushed its natural pink again, and my eyes got their sparkle back. I can't believe how good it feels to be healthy again.

"Go and find true love, sweetie," she said before she disappeared and left me to brave the September weather outside and search for my true love.

So? What do you think? I thought it was pretty good but I could be a little biased. Aha. ;) Anyways, please leave a review and I might update either tomorrow or the day after. I think I like this story and its potential. I'm not sure where it's going to go yet but I'll work that out as I go along.

Please leave a review and please read my Maximum Ride stories.

Lots of love,

Allace.