I opened my eyes against the blaring sunlight. Cold cobblestones pressed up against my face as I struggled to remember where I was. The hum of human interactions greeted my ears, but I recognized nothing. I pushed myself to my feet and wobbled a bit. The wind tore through my tattered garments and made me shiver. My hands went around my arms in an attempt to bring warmth back into my body. No such luck. I wondered if I was attacked by robbers or criminals to look like this, but I was left with deafening silence. I remembered a few things, like my first name. Natalie. I had a little sister called Emily. I had many friends back in… Where did I live? I glanced around as questions started writing themselves in my subconscious. Where was I? How did I get here?

I looked up the street and saw a sign that read Meadow Inn. My thoughts stopped for a moment as my feet started moving in that direction. As opposed to before, the only thought on repeat was the search for warmth. My fingers pulsed bright red in the cold winter morning. Wait, how did I know it was winter? I shook my head as if to dislodge any more bits of information, but nothing came forward.

I reached a tentative hand out to open the door to the inn, but stopped because I realized that, though I was wearing clothes, I didn't have a purse or money on my person. How was I to pay for accommodations or food here? Maybe I could ask for a job. I wondered how much help they'd need from a girl on the brink of death who didn't even know where she was. As I stood there contemplating my decision, a gust of icy wind blew through me, deciding my next course of action right there. I opened the door to the inn and stepped in.

It was very quiet; the only sound coming from the crackling of the fire burning beside a couch. My body felt on fire from the intense change in temperature as I stumbled forward. I couldn't see anyone in sight, but for the moment I didn't care. My legs were getting weaker and weaker as I tried to make it to the couch before I would inevitably collapse from exhaustion. I didn't make it to my destination, however, before I could feel the fast approach of the darkness overcoming my vision. My knees buckled under my weight as I fell forwards into awaiting arms.

The first thing I saw as I regained consciousness was the wood panels lining the ceiling. A pillow rested under my head and a blanket was drawn up to my chin. I slowly sat up to the complaints of my pounding head, but a hand pushed me back down. The hand belonged to a young woman sitting at my side. She looked worn, but smiled as my eyes met hers.

"Don't sit up quite yet. You'll feel even worse if the headache hasn't gone yet." Her voice was kind and gentle, not at all like the ferocity of the chilling winds that greeted me not more than ten minutes ago.

"W-Why…" I tried to say, but my voice was rough and barely escaped my throat louder than a whisper.

"Why am I helping you?" she asked. I nodded. "Because it looks like you need it. I don't turn away people who need my help."

She pushed herself up to her feet and hobbled off to the dining area. I said nothing during all of this because I was shocked to see the bulge protruding from her abdomen. She's a mother to be, I thought. No wonder she's helping me.

When she returned, she was laden down with a tray of food. She helped me into a sitting position to allow me to drink the broth she prepared. Taking the spoon from me, she helped guide spoonful after spoonful of hot chicken broth into me. The heat warmed my body and reduced the throbbing in my head to a mere ache.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" she asked as I finished picking off parts of a roll she gave me.

"No," I said. My voice returned to me sounding healthy and a little light. "I don't wish to be a burden, but could I stay here?" I stopped short, but continued after seeing her confused face. "I can work and help around here if you need. I can also help manage this place once you have your baby. Please? I'm a very hard worker and you don't have to pay me-" I wanted to say more, but I was silenced by her laugh.

She continued laughing for a few minutes, but she smiled even more when she stopped. "I think I'll take you up on that deal. My last serving girl quit last week and it's been hard managing everything in my condition. My name is Mrs. Hughes, but most people around here call me Gracia."

And that is how I ended up tending to the guests at Meadow Inn. During my stay there, I realized I was quite gifted at remembering the guest's names and room numbers. My cooking skills were a little lacking, but I let Gracia tend to that. Working the desk and dining room left little time for cooking lessons, which Gracia was pleased to offer, but I politely declined.

It was during my second day there that I picked up a discarded newspaper off the floor. I peaked at the front page for any news concerning my location and time. I didn't confide my secret with Gracia because I didn't want to drag her into any of my messes. The newspaper indicated that I was in London during the early winter months of 1878. At the mention of London, a warm feeling in my stomach told me I had been born in London… but I still couldn't remember the small details about my past. On cold nights, I would suddenly think about my little sister sitting in front of a blaring fire. I couldn't see her face, but her silhouette was burned into my eyes. That had been enough to satisfy my curiosity for a few weeks.

It didn't, however, remain forever quenched. A large boat from America docked a few miles from town and hundreds of visitors from America checked into the Inns near the docks. I remember one young man who looked a few years older than me who seemed rather homesick. I decided to speak to him in hopes of brightening up his mood.

"Good evening," I said to him one night as he sat alone in the dining room.

He smiled at my greeting, but his eyes remained heavy. "Hello," he returned. He ordered a single bowl of soup and when I brought it out for him, he was gazing at a photograph in his hands.

Setting the steaming bowl beside him, I asked, "Do you miss her?" He started at the noise, having not seen me approach him, and looked at me with wide eyes.

"Pardon?" he asked.

I pointed to the girl smiling in the picture. "Do you miss her?" I repeated.

He took a moment before answering, which seemed a little odd at first. "I'm not quite sure," he replied truthfully. I listened on, hoping he would continue, but that was apparently all he was willing to share.

"Sometimes it's okay to feel like you're better off on your own," I started saying. "But you have to be prepared for a life of solitude." I left him to his dinner and headed back to the kitchen to refill the water pitcher.

Over the next few days I saw him at breakfast and dinner. He never showed me the picture again, but he did open up to me and eventually started smiling. He spoke to me of the work he sought down in the warehouses and I pointed out the best spots to find cheap labor. When you work at a bar, I told him, you overhear things from the workmen stopping for a bite to eat. I found out his name was Nathaniel Gray, a young man of 19 who had a younger sister named Tessa in New York. I asked him what America was like, and he replied that it was nothing compared to London. I didn't believe him, but never pressed for more.

Then I noticed the drunken stupors and the late night returns. I asked him if he had found more work, but he replied, "I have everything under control." It was not my place to scold him or tell him off, so I kept my mouth shut, even when he almost collapsed in the front entryway smelling of smoke and liquor. I laid him out on the couch and draped a wet cloth over his burning forehead. In his sleep, he reached out and gently stroked my hair and whispering, "Tessie."

The next morning, I had one of the guests help me drag Nate up to his room since I couldn't carry his weight by myself. I pulled off his work-boots and tucked the blankets around his sweaty body. He didn't stir from his dreams. I then left and helped Gracia clean up the kitchen and prepare for the day's chores. Nate didn't reappear until just after closing time around 10 at night. I was sweeping the dirt and straw off the wooden floors while Gracia stacked chairs on the tops of tables. This was our normal routine and I almost missed Nate's figure standing silently at the foot of the stairs.

"Are you feeling better Mr. Gray?" I asked him. The shadows playing off the candlelight danced across his face, so I couldn't see into his eyes.

"Yes, though I do apologize for my condition. I hope I wasn't too much of a burden." His voice sounded sober and I relaxed my tense shoulders. Handling drunk or even hung-over men could be such a pain.

"Not at all," Gracia said sweetly.

"Can I ask a favor from you?" he asked, looking at me.

Startled, I said, "What kind of favor?"

"My new boss was looking for a secretary at his company and I recommended you to him. He would like to meet with you tomorrow to discuss a job." Nate's voice was quick and stern, very different from the easy-going tone I had become so accustomed to.

There was silence as the news sunk in. I looked to Gracia, whose stomach had swollen two times the size since I started working here a few months ago. I couldn't leave her when she was so close to her due date. I looked back to Nate with sad eyes and he seemed to understand. He strode from the stairs in quick movements and went to Gracia. Her face mirrored my confused thoughts and her expression changed once more to one of surprise in an instant. It was then that I saw the knife protruding from her swollen belly. Blood oozed from the wound as Nate yanked the weapon out. I stood frozen to the floor, the shock freezing time for a second. Gracia looked down at her stomach and uttered one word before falling to the floor: "Noah?"

Nate looked over her dying body with an air of disgust, but I could see his hands shaking. He then turned his attention to me, freeing me of the ice holding me in place. I screamed Gracia's name and ran to her even though Nate blocked my view.

His arm slammed into my chest, sending me reeling backwards as the air left my lungs. I crashed to the floor in a heap. My chest burned from where he touched me and I felt his presence as he moved towards my helpless body.

"My boss really wants to meet you. He told me to use whatever force necessary to get you to come with me," he snarled.

I wanted to scream at him, but the air would not leave my lips. I was gasping then, hacking for the pain to leave my body. Nate thrust out a hand and yanked my hair, pulling me along with it. My hands flew up to his arms and I tried to pry myself from his fingers, but I wasn't strong enough. He dragged me away from Gracia's now dead body and towards the entrance. The door swung open to reveal two men in dark coats and top hats. They made no sound as they pulled me away from Nate's grasp only to wrap me in a tighter embrace.

Outside, the chilly air bit against my exposed skin and the arms trapping me felt as cold as ice. My eyes flicked to my captor's faces, but there was no face. Instead, a rough canvas was pulled over their heads and hid any facial features. A short man waited by a carriage drawn up by the inn. His clothes looked expensive and his jewel cane confirmed he was a nobleman. I could only assume he was the one Nate had referred to. His two goons threw me into the carriage and hopped in after me. They forced me against the sides and tied my hands behind my back with rough fishing twine that cut into my skin, possibly drawing blood. I bit back my cries, but I could do nothing to stop the tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes. My one and only friend was dead and her baby was robbed of his chance at life. Just the other day she'd confided in me she believed her baby to be a boy and she'd name him Noah after her late father. At least she didn't suffer long, I thought.

Nate climbed in after his boss and shut the door behind him. I heard the cracking of a whip as the room jolted into motion. The man smelled of smoke and grease which stung the inside of my mouth. I looked down at his polished shoes rather than stare into the face of my kidnapper.

"She didn't have to die, you know," the man said. His voice was just as foul as his odor. I flinched nonetheless at his words. "If you'd have just come with Mr. Gray, nobody would be in the positions they are now. But now that we're all together, I think I should explain my actions and need of you."

He leaned forward and thrust a finger under my chin. For a moment, I fought against his actions, but a metal hand wrapped around the back of my head and forced me to look up. When I did, I was greeted with the sight of a man who held a dark secret. His gray eyes were endless, but filled with hate and greed. I instantly despised the way he looked.

"My name is Axel Mortmain and you, my dear, will be the key to my success. I wish to create a world where people don't abuse the power they are given or refuse to help the weak protect themselves. Have you ever heard of Shadowhunters?"

This man surprised me. One moment he sounded cruel and despicable, the next he spoke of ridding the world of evil. And this word, shadowhunters, sounded eerily familiar, but my mind once again drew a blank. Out of curiosity, I decided to go along with his game.

"No." My voice was soft and weak compared to his. I hated that.

He smiled at my participation and continued with his lecture. "Shadowhunters are beings who are half angel and half mundane. They believe they are tasked at protecting the mundane people, that is to say, humans, from creatures of the Downworld. This includes many forms of vampires, warlocks, werewolves, and fairies. When I was a boy, they killed my family for no reason. I need your help to make them pay for what they've done." He held out his other arm to Nate, who pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. Mortmain held up the paper for me to see. "And you will start by bringing me her."

The paper turned out to be a photo, the exact same photo I had seen Nate gazing at a few weeks ago. It was of his smiling sister, Tessa, who waited for him in New York. She looked so innocent and happy… I didn't know why she had anything to do with these Shadowhunters. She didn't need to be brought into this. I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't directly harm a younger sister. "No," I said.

Silence filled the air of the carriage. Mortmain's grasp of my face tightened as he started to lose his patience. "You are not in the position to be refusing to cooperate with me, girl. You will bring me Ms. Gray or you will die."

I shook my head. "I won't hurt her," I snarled, finally finding my courage.

Cold metal hands went around my neck, cutting off air to my lungs. I struggled against the bonds holding my hands behind my back, but the wire only dug deeper into my flesh. I gasped and choked for any wisp of air, but nothing came forward. Mortmain sat back in his seat as blackness started swimming in my vision.

The last thing I heard before I passed out was, "Bring me the silver powder when we reach the mansion. We'll find a way to get her to break."

I awoke chained to a bed situated in a small cell. My wrists were red and raw after rubbing on the fishing wire, but were otherwise healing fine. I brought my hands to my neck and could feel bruises starting to form. I winced at the pain, but sat back on the bed feeling defeated. I had failed Gracia by allowing her and her unborn baby to die. Hadn't I said I'd help her however she needed it? And yet in her dying moments, I hadn't been there to comfort her, to ease her worries. I felt utterly useless.

The door to my cell creaked open, revealing a tall figure dressed in black. Because the lighting was poor, I failed to see if this figure was Mortmain or Nate. However, as it approached, I saw that it was neither. It was a man with dark skin and horns protruding from the center of his forehead. It startled me at first, but then I thought back to Mortmain's description of Shadowhunters and the beings from Downworld. Was this creature from their world?

As he inched closer and closer towards my bed, I pushed myself back against the headboard, trying but failing to escape his line of sight. When he saw my pitiful attempts of eluding him, he chuckled under his breath.

"I can assure you that neither you nor I will be leaving this cell for quite some time, so I'd suggest we'd get down to business." In the blink of an eye, he was sitting on top of my chest, my head slammed against the headboard and mattress. I did not have time to scream before his hand shoved powder down my throat.

Fire exploded throughout my body as I coughed, unable to breathe around the powder. I screamed, even thrashed around to try to get him off me, but my attempt was futile. My eyes rolled around in their sockets so I couldn't see the face of the demon holding me down. Then my body started convulsing and I was thrown against the wire holding me down. The pain from the cuts on my wrists and feet paled in comparison to the poison surging through my body. Soon, I could feel blood dripping from my mouth as the liquid ran down my throat. As I spit it from my body, I realized the man had moved to the corner of my cell, gleefully watching my struggle.

I'm dying, I thought. He laughed.

"The powder has the ability to simulate death, but I assure you you won't die just yet." He moved back to my bed, but I hardly felt the tips of his fingers trace patterns over my burning skin. He grabbed my hair and forced me to look into his eyes. "I can't have you die when we've only just begun."

They say that the sinners cast into Hell feel no sense of time. I must've been in Hell since the passage of time ceased to grace its presence in my cell. It could have been weeks, but it also could've been decades. At first, I would count the days based on the meals they brought to me: once per day at noon. But the meal was always followed by a dose of the silver powder, my medicine, they called it. The only upside was they gave it to me in smaller doses than that first day. That was the worst day. After a few visits, they cut the fishing wire from my wrists but the scars remained there, even after all this time. My body started getting thinner as time progressed, and the energy I carried with me started seeping from me. My hair formed streaks of white and silver while my vision became cloudy. Towards the end, I needed doses regularly, or else the pain erupted like the worst day. Mortmain didn't come back to visit and Nate was an irregular visitor. I couldn't stand to look at him though. I hated him for what he did. And he knew.

I started forgetting my life with Gracia, but the image of my sister seated in front of that fire burned into my eyes. She looked so sad sitting there, so completely alone. If only I could move, I could go to her and comfort her. My little sister… Why couldn't I remember my life? What purpose did I-

The lock clicked on my cell and I opened my eyes. This was only habit, since the ability to see was taken from me many doses ago. I could only make out a figure standing before me, but the glint off his hands and the thing he held in his hands told me it was finally Mortmain.

He cleared his throat and said, "Do you know how long you've been here?" I just layed there, partly because I couldn't move my body but also because I didn't know the answer. "A good part of a year, yet you refused to acknowledge me or my power. The drug was supposed to manipulate you, but you've become a pest, one we can't afford keeping. So we're letting you go."

My head moved a fraction of an inch at his words. Letting me go? I've dreamed for something like this to happen, even pictured my reaction, but it never occurred to me that this dream could become reality. "I can go?" My voice was hoarse and small, just like when he brought me here.

"I've discovered a new purpose for you: a warning, of sorts, for my dear friends at the London Institute. Reed!" He called to Reed, who appeared behind him in a second. "Get her in the carriage." He then turned around and left my cell.

I looked up to Reed, who wore an indifferent expression as he grabbed my collar to lift me up. I winced at his rough touch, but the moment I was on my feet I could feel the blood block my airway. I doubled over, almost falling to the ground if it hadn't been for his arms, and spat blood on the stone floor. Reed waited a minute to let me catch my breath, but started dragging me away from my bed. I would've fought him, telling him I could walk on my own, but that would be a lie. I hadn't been able to walk in a long time.

I studied the hallways of the building, but found it hard to tell where I was because the halls all looked similar. It made me feel like I was trapped in a labyrinth. We arrived at the entrance to the building and Reed yanked the door open. Cool air met my body as the winter winds blew in from outside. I gasped because I hadn't felt the outside air in a long time. Though I was wearing tattered clothing and forming goose bumps from the air, I cherished this feeling of freedom.

This feeling didn't last long, though, as Reed threw me into the carriage before getting in as well. I stayed huddled on the floor, not sure whether or not he would let me sit on the seat next to him. We rode for ten minutes before he motioned for the carriage to stop. Glaring at me, he threw open the door and grabbed me by my hair. I cried out from the pain, but immediately stopped once I realized he was throwing me out. I landed hard on my outstretched arm and felt the twist of my bones, now brittle as sand. I screamed even more, but I was in the alley of an abandoned street. No one would come to my rescue.

"You," Reed called from the carriage. "If you want help, go to the abandoned church two streets down." He stretched out his arm to pull the door shut and said a few words I could barely hear: "Just imagine Mr. Carstairs surprise…" And then they were gone. I was, for the first time, alone.

Two… streets down, I thought as I stumbled forward. My entire left arm felt numb with pain and the ache in my throat made it hard to think, much less walk. But the details didn't matter because I was finally on my own again. However, whether that was good or not was still to be decided. I was glad to be freed from the dungeon, but without the doses of powder every day, I hardly stood a chance in the real world.

My legs burned as I managed to move my body through the alleys. The powder turned my muscles to jelly and ripped holes in my head. I didn't know who these people were, but Mortmain wanted to send them a threat by hurting me. My life seemed to be filled with ambiguity, a two-sided quality I couldn't seem to shake. Should I continue to the church, delivering myself in a way that would seal the fate of whomever is there? Or, should I succumb to my disease and die, saving the lives Mortmain hoped to ruin? Too many things flashed before my eyes and it hurt to much to do anything.

I no longer had the energy to keep walking. I could barely see anything past the film covering my eyes. I could tell there was some object to my left, so I slumped to the ground. Coughs ravaged through me and I could feel warm liquid dripping from my mouth. This was it. My life was ending. It was a considerably short life, most of which I couldn't remember. It was terribly unfair to end up like this.

Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this? Why… But that thought was never finished. I was already loosing too much blood and too much hope. When the darkness greeted me, I no longer had the strength to resist.