PROLOGUE:
Books & Cases was unusually jam-packed that afternoon. For a bookstore in New York, it was indeed surprising that people would even give it second glance, much less enter the store. The general visitors were mostly comprised of women: teens to mid-forties.
Lately, there had been a trilogy of books that suddenly made more women interested in reading. That being because it had very, very, very intimate contents. Unknown to the busy crowd, an impatient sigh escaped someone's lips in the far back of the store.
Solitude n. the quality or state of being alone or remote from society.
Alix Barrett read the word over and over in her mind. She was deeply in love with its meaning. In fact, she had it scribbled on her hard bound journal countless times.
Bloody red hair fell on her note, blocking her view from her writings. To some people, her hair was completely unnatural, its shade only Manic Panic can provide. But unbeknownst to them, she was born with it. She was part fey after all.
"Excuse me, can you please move aside?" a woman said acidly, indicating Alix's crossed ankles blocking the entire path through the aisle.
She was seated comfortably at the back of the store for almost an hour and a half but no one bothered her up until now. With glittering icy blue eyes, she glared at the woman and felt a tinge of satisfaction when she saw her flinch.
"I apologize," she said in haughty British accent, "I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that,"
The woman, despite being the one who was looking down, seemed like she was about to pee herself in fear. Alix smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. She looked venomous, like her late father, or probably even more sinister than him if that's possible.
Begone. She commanded with her mind.
Scram.
Go!
With a single bat of her eyelashes, the woman staggered back, confused. Then, almost as if she forgot something cooking in her kitchen, the woman turned around and ran away in a dash.
"You seem upset, Your Highness,"
Alix looked up from her lap. She went to Central Park out of sheer boredom but now she wasn't quite sure if her decision was right.
Mikhail remained standing in front of her, his stance bearing the warrior that he never had the chance to become. He was her appointed guard, even though she often escaped from him.
"Not upset," Alix replied, "Infuriated,"
The male fae chuckled at her words which gained him a deathly glare. The girl hated being made fun of, especially by a rank lower than her. Well, maybe not lower. But definitely not higher either.
She patted the space beside her, gesturing for her companion to sit. The would-have-been warrior frowned in confusion, Alix seldomly asked him to sit down beside her - even though they partly shared the same blood. So he sat down obediently, like the good warrior he should have been. Mikhail laughed darkly in his head. His father must have been so proud.
Alix bore her eyes to his. They had the same shade of icy blue irises - the only trait they shared.
"I hate mundanes," she then muttered, breaking eye contact, "I despise them so much, I want to annihilate their entire race. I wish demons would kill them all. Better yet, I wish I could kill them all! Starting with the people here in this park-"
Mikhail raised a thick brow. "I'm afraid I cannot let you do that, Your Highness,"
With a sharp blue glare, Alix turned back to the fey, her figure ready to pounce on him should he pick a wrong word to say.
"And why is that?" she demanded.
He sighed, growing tired of her childish antics. "You know why," he said, eyeing the general direction of The Institute.
"That Herondale boy and his petty friends?" she laughed manically, "They don't even know of my existence!"
Even though he was the one who suggested it, upon hearing that name, Mikhail immediately tensed up. He hated the boy. No. He loathed him. He could almost see him marching up to them, with a look much more arrogant than his father's, and remind them of what the Fair Folk had become after the Dark War, of how powerless they were now.
Alix grinned at him - the kind that said she had something terrible up her sleeves - and leaned down to whisper in his ear.
"Don't tell mother,"
Mikhail shivered. Something was telling him what she was going to say wasn't a good idea.
"But I think it's about time they know,"
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Lo and behold! I have made another work. To give you more insight, this story occurs twenty-five years immediately after the Dark War. WARNING: If you haven't read the entire Mortal Instruments Series yet, do not read this story. I repeat: DO NOT READ THIS STORY. However, if you do not mind spoilers then, I suppose you can just carry on.
Going back, this story happens twenty-five years after the war and the world of shadowhunters have become peaceful once again (with just teensy bit of demons every now and then). Or is it? *insert manic laughter here*
With all the love for writing,
Lace Ashdown