title: the sharp knife of a short life
fandom: the mortal instruments
characters: shadowhunters
information: gen-fic | 590 words | oneshot
summary: shadowhunters are born with a certain destiny, one they live to fulfill and die in pursuit of.
( nobody ever told you life was going to be this way )
When they're young, they learn how to wield weapons and draw runes.
There are lessons on history, demonology, and healing, but all they remember is the art of pain, torture, and death.
It almost becomes a soft lullaby, stories that lull children to sleep, with great tales of Shadowhunters born with the Angel's blood and correcting wrongs of the world.
Before their eyes open for the first time, they know they were born to slay demons.
-/-
Nobody ever teaches them how to kill their own.
By age twelve, the first of many marks become woven into delicate patterns of skin.
Adrenaline courses through their veins, and the glint of their blades is trapped in their eyes. This is the rush they feel, when they feel most alive, and this is the rush they will feel when they die.
Slowly but surely, the Institute no longer becomes home—the shriveled corpse at their feet is. They will enter through the brass doors of the Institute and feel nothing but empty, not until their feet track blood with every step.
Some are lucky enough to find parabatai; someone to protect their back and save their life once or twice. Knit souls, bound together as one until death.
-/-
Nobody ever tells them when they'll wake up one morning and die the next.
They are Shadowhunters, and they do what shadowhunters do best: kill.
They lead a life under the Law of the Clave, under years of training and years of killing.
They are Shadowhunters, seared into the tapestry of their bloodlines like the runes painted on their body's canvas.
-/-
Nobody ever shows them any different.
Gossip becomes expectations when eighteen is the number of years they have been alive.
They must marry within the circles of Shadowhunters, preferably a well-to-do, respectable, and wealthy family. There is no marrying down, not if their parents can help it. Dressed in gold, the runes are carefully etched over their heart.
The Shadowhunter bloodline must be continued; it is already rare enough. Any rumours of politics, greed, and corruption, although truth, are quickly buried with the birth of a new Shadowhunter. A new Shadowhunter to bask in the glory of family honor and wield a seraph blade of their own.
-/-
Nobody ever gets to live the life of obscure dreams and hidden ambitions, not with the blood of the Angel in their veins.
If lucky, a few live a long life. A few in many, though they are sure to pass old and alone.
All the others perish in the unflinching face of violence—a vengeful demon, a small misstep, a recklessly brave parabatai, a delayed reaction, or a distracted mind.
Every day, every battle is done over their graves. They know as much, yet they continue to dance in the company of death.
Ave Atque Vale is what Shadowhunters are supposed to say dressed in white and under the crushing weight of mourning. They are the final words of honor, even unto death.
-/-
Nobody ever realizes there will be no one left to say Hail and Farewell.
(author's note:)
basically give me all the characters that die young, and i will write all the fic.
in this case, it's the unexplored shadowhunter dynamic: they wake up every morning, face death, and go to sleep.
they are born for this cause that's been ordained by history and the angels, and they're left with little control of who they are.
they die before their time, because that is all they were ever meant to do.