AN: I really don't know where this came from, but it's a big departure from both my normal writing style, and my normal genre. (Don't worry, I am still writing 'Facebook And Other Shenanigans') Disclaimer: I (Unfortunately) don't own The Mortal Instruments, the Eiffel Tower or the London Eye.
45 Years. 7 Weeks. 3 Days
The world had changed around him. The Technology. The Fashion. Wars started. Wars ended. Lives lost. Children born. And yet he could still vividly remember the feel of the blood on his hands – The memory scorched painfully in his mind, everything he did, everything he said, everything he saw. He could still remember the screams, the rancid metallic twang of blood that hung in the air like a suffocating fog. And the pain, the sharp shooting pain that overcame his body as he watched the last shuddering breath escape the love of his life, his broken body refusing to accept the magic that he was desperately pouring into him.
The cellophane crumpled noisily as his hand clenched around the bouquet.
He'd spent those 45 lonely years exploring the world, hoping to stumble across something as stunningly beautiful as him. Two days after…after…the incident…happened, he'd teleported himself to Paris and eaten perfectly cooked croissants at the same compact and bijou café that they'd stopped at on their 'Around the world trip' they'd gone on two years before his death.
His eyes glossed over with unshed tears at the memory; he tugged the old wooden gate open with shaking hands.
Last Christmas, he politely declined Jace's invitation of a 'family' Get-Together and instead visited London, admiring the colourful lights from the top of the London Eye. Children squealed in delight, their eyes wide as they gazed upon the tree's which were draped lavishly in sparkling lights – They were a dazzling electric blue in colour.
And yet, they weren't quite as dazzling as his eyes. His eyes sparkled more than all the lights put together. Depressed and upset, he'd gone home and spent that Christmas sobbing on the sofa, Chairman Meow wrapped in his trembling arms. His favourite photo of him clutched in his left hand – That handsome face looking up at him with a frozen smile, those eyes full of innocence and love. Love for him.
The gate slid shut with a soft click behind him, slowly, tears dripping down his tan face; he made his way across the damp grass, mud squelched under his combats.
"M…Magnus!" He pressed his eyes shut at the memory of how Isabelle's frantic voice sounded as she cried down the phone "You need…you need to get here quick. It's Alec, he's…he's bleeding so much…Just, get here now!" he had to stop and calm his breathing. He had to block the memory.
He sunk to his knees in front of the headstone – Ignoring the fact that the damp seeped through the knees of his favourite jeans – and cleared his throat, the sound was loud and startling in the quiet, quaint graveyard."Alexander" He said slowly, his voice was thick with emotion and his chest felt tight with pain.
"I'm…so sorry…I…" He took a shuddering breath as his sight blurred with hot stinging tears. They dribbled down his cheeks and he swept them away with the back of his hand "I'm sorry I couldn't save you" He finished at last. A slim finger trailed the name etched on the cold stone, he smiled sadly.
"Your friends miss you, I…I miss you…lots. Even Chairman Meow misses you" He sobbed "I love you lots, and I know that I'll never find anyone who'll love me as much as you did, Alexander"
As carefully as he could, he placed the bouquet at the base of the headstone and placed a new candle in the candle holder; With a click of his fingers he lit the wick.
"I love you Alexander Lightwood. I'll never forget you."
Magnus wept.
