Simon knelt by her bedside and took her hand in his. Her pale skin- covered in countless wrinkles from age- was a stark contrast to his youthful tanned hand. It was cool to even his touch and he already knew that the life was leaving it. Her frail, delicate frame curled into a ball so she could meet his gaze, fiery red hair spilling onto the mattress. After all the countless years had passed, he couldn't recall a time where those vivid green eyes ever faded. They still stood out, still managed to start his no longer beating heart.
She smiled meekly at him, trying to make it look like it was easy, but he could see. He could see the pain that flickered behind her mesmerizing eyes that hid beneath her coppery lashes, could see the struggles she made to make is easier for him. That was Clary for ya, he thought bitterly, always trying to make it easier for the ones she loved. Simon couldn't help the tears that threatened to pore over. He was already thinking of her in the past tense, and she knew he was.
It tore him up inside, to watch each of his loved ones go until only she remained. Magnus had warned him the first time was always the hardest and he still didn't want to believe it. Even after Isabelle had left him, his mother, his sister, he didn't believe it would get any worse than that. Even when Jace died and Simon had held Clary in his arms for nearly two days while she wept, muttering incoherent versions of 'It shouldn't have been him' and 'What I wouldn't do to have him back', he had felt that heaviness in his chest, a whole new kind of hollowness in his heart. It would never get easier, it would only get harder, one person adding up after the other, he was sure of that.
And then, as he squeezed Clary's hand reassuringly, his mind continued to think back on everything they had faced together. Trying to remember who she was before she's even gone, how nice of you, he scowled to himself and immediately, her smile faded into a confused frown. The room was empty, would've been completely silent if not for her jagged breaths and the beating of her heart.
"Simon?" she whispered, her eyes wide with panic.
He took a shaky, unnecessary breath, "Yes Clary?"
"I-I'm not ready to go, Si. I don't want to leave you." She whimpered. For the first time in what felt like a life time, Simon saw fear in her eyes. But it wasn't death that she feared; it was what would happen to him with her gone.
He leaned over to her and brushed his lips against her forehead, keeping his voice low and even, "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."
A quiet sob escaped her lips, followed by the tears that trickled down her cheek and onto the bedding. Shudders racked her body and it was moments before she spoke. "I love you, Si."
"I love you too, Clary." He told her, but his words fell on deaf ears. Simon held both her lifeless hands in his, instantly hating the chill they gave off. His eyes burned as an onrush of tears left him. They splattered onto her bed, crawling over his lips, tasting of salt and blood.
It took a long time before Simon regained his composure. Even longer for him to tell her children. He somehow convinced the Clave to let her be buried in a regular cemetery instead of in the Silent City.
The grief-stricken vampire stood before a neat little tombstone. Wind whipped across his face and the fading sun set him aglow. He eyed it wearily, skimming the large black print that read Clarissa Fray. Surrounding her name were blotches of paint, his own touch. He imagined her scolding him for the messiness of it, how sloppy it looked. Closing his eyes, more tears dripped as he thought of her. He bent down and set a bouquet of flowers over her grave. Soon, those flowers would die. The life would leave them and they would become dry and lifeless, limp. Just like her, he thought.
Out of his pocket, he withdrew her old sketchbook. The pages were weathered from time and use, the pencil marks weren't nearly as sharp nor visible. He scanned each drawing, picturing her setting to work on each image, taking her time and being frustrated with herself every time she did something wrong. The thought made him smile; it was a sad smile, one that would break the heart of a mere passerby, but a smile nonetheless.
The love he had for her in many forms was still fresh in his mind, in his empty heart. It weighed him down, drenched him in an unbearable sorrow. And just like that, in the blink of an eye, Simon's first love was gone.