Chapter 1

10 Years Later

The noise of hundreds of teenaged kids assaulted her ears as Clary made her way from the cafeteria line toward the doors; she never ate in the cafeteria, preferring to sit outside where she was left alone. It was a maze of tables and backpacks, no straight path from one side to the other once the place was filled. Clary felt like she was walking through a land mine. She had just about cleared the last table when a foot stuck out and she tripped, sending her pitching forward and landing on her spaghetti lunch. The terror that she always felt when she took a tumble quickly dissipated when she felt the fury rise up in her. She jumped up and her body swung around to face the offender.

"You're going to pay for that," Clary roared, and the girl's eyes darted around in fear for a moment until she saw the supervisor coming over to check out the situation.

"There's nothing you can do, beast."

Clary roared again and lunged to attack the girl, but her arm was caught by Ms. Lovelace. "Come on, Miss Fray, to the office with you," she said, and then mumbled, "again."

"But she started it, she…" Clary trailed off. The world got away with everything, and she got away with nothing. She knew why. The angry red scar that sliced her face in a sharp diagonal, splitting her lip, left her not only less desirable, but less believable as well.

She walked two feet behind the supervisor, her head held high until they were outside the doors, and then her whole posture drooped in defeat. With a quick stop to clean the excess sauce off her clothes, the two made their way down the familiar walk to the principal's office.

Clary sat slumped in a chair outside the office, her hair coming to rest in front of her face. Her feet bounce on the floor in a frantic tapping, her anger and her nerves mixing as she waited to get in trouble again.

The door opened and the principal stuck his head out the door. "Come on in, Miss Fray."

Clary let out and angry sigh as she rose, and made her way past him into the room. She sat down in one of the metal chairs across from where Principal Herondale perched on his plush one. The office was clear of personal effects save one, a small five-by-seven picture of his family in a plain frame on his desk.

"This is the third time this week, Clary," he said, switching to the more familiar first name, as if they were friends. She wondered if that would change if she started calling him Stephen.

Clary lifted her head, her hair falling back, causing Principal Herondale to flinch at the red puckered skin. He couldn't help but do it, and she couldn't blame him, after all, her own mother still had that reaction after all these years.

"She called me beast," Clary said.

"You have to learn to ignore them," he said patiently. "I am going to have to call your mother."

"Please don't," Clary begged.

The principal seemed to consider this, and then sighed. "Okay, but this is the last time. You can't let them get to you."

The look he gave her made her blood boil. Clary was sick of pity.

"Do you have some extra clothing to change into?" he asked, gesturing to the huge stain on her shirt.

Clary nodded, and he returned it. "This is the last time, Clary. If you are caught again, it's going to be a suspension."

"Thank you, sir," she replied dutifully as she rose to make her way back to her locker.

By this time, kids were back in the hallways, getting their books for their next classes. Clary could feel their eyes on her, burning. The tears welled up fast and she pushed open the bathroom door, opting to hide until the bell rang. She made her way into the first stall and closed the door behind her, locking it. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, she wanted this life over with. There was no future for her, no one would ever hire her, not with her face. She had long lost hope that she would ever have a boyfriend, a husband, a family.

The door to the bathroom opened and two girls came in, giggling. Although Clary couldn't see them, she recognized them both once they started talking. Isabelle Lightwood and Maia Roberts were a couple of the bolder girls who teased Clary. And Maia was the reason Clary was hiding in the bathroom stall right now.

The girls were both beautiful, but in very different ways. Maia was biracial, giving her light, mocha colored skin that always appeared flawless. Her dark hair hung in perfect ringlets and her dark brown eyes expressive. Where Maia was curvy, Isabelle was tall and lean, towering over most of the boys in the school. Her hair was long and black as the night, her eyes just as dark, set off by the paleness of her skin. She was easily the prettiest girl in school. Clary hated them both.

"I thought beast was going to lose it on you," Isabelle laughed. "Her head looked like it was going to explode."

"It's not my fault she's clumsy," Maia retorted, adding some shiny gloss to her lips.

"What do you think really happened to her?"

Clary tensed at the question; she'd rather them tease her about something they didn't understand than try to find something real about her.

"I heard she's a werewolf, attacked one night when she was a baby and now she carries the gene, turning to a beast on full moons. That's where the scar comes from," Maia said pointedly.

The conversation was cut short as the bell rang. The girls swore as they realized their dawdling had made them late. They rushed out the door, leaving Clary alone in the room once more.

Clary hadn't even felt the tears until she saw them in the bathroom mirror. She quickly swiped at them and turned from her reflection. She still had to get changed, but the hallways would be empty now. As she stepped out of the bathroom, she collided with another form, far sturdier than her own, and it knocked her to the ground.

"Sorry," the boy stated, and he held out his hand for her. Clary didn't even look up as she took it. She was too embarrassed, covered in spaghetti sauce, and her cheeks still wet from tears. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Clary snapped and stepped around the boy, scurrying off down the hall. She looked back when she reached her locker, seeing the blonde curls of the most popular boy in school disappear into the classroom.

Clary grabbed her gym clothes and ignored the tingling feeling in her hand that didn't seem to want to go away. She had been knocked down many times in the hall, but this was the first time anyone had ever said sorry. Surely he had said it before he had known who she was.

Heading back to the bathrooms, Clary changed quickly and made her way to her class, her mind off the incident in the cafeteria, and moved on to something else entirely. Something new.

~~XXXX~~

Clary's daydreams through the rest of the day came to a complete halt as she made her walk home. She could ignore the looks she got at school, she had long learned how cruel kids could be, but confronted with adult strangers on the streets, she had to face the truth. She was hideous. Truly, she was a beast. The fear on the face of a woman who passed her by was enough to confirm this. Clary pulled up her hoodie and ducked her head, keeping it down until she was home safe again.

Kindness, as Clary had discovered, was a double-edged sword. The moment it gave her hope, something came to rip it from her. Not that she'd dare hope that a boy would like her, but every once in a while, she felt as though maybe it would be possible for her to have friends. Those hopes were usually dashed as quickly as they came, spiraling her into bitterness and depression again.

The door banged loudly behind her as she kicked off her shoes and headed straight up to her room.

"Don't slam the door," her mother yelled from the kitchen.

Clary responded by slamming her bedroom door. It wasn't that she wanted to be this way, she couldn't help herself. The moods inside her festered and grew until they were beyond her control.

Her bedroom was simple. Long gone were the extravagant trappings she used to enjoy as a child. Everything had been broken in fits of rage and inconsolable desperation. Now the walls, painted an off white color, held nothing. Her desk was sparse, only a cup holding pens and a few supplies in the drawers. Her bed was covered in a green comforter but had no extra pillows, no childhood toy to sleep with, it was empty.

There was nothing in the room, save one thing that Clary had any real attachment to. While most of the children her age hid diaries in their mattresses, Clary hid something else entirely. Reaching between the mattresses, she pulled out the small photo album and opened it as she lay down on her stomach.

In the beginning of the book was a rose, pressed tight in the pages, a memento from the day of her transformation. Her mother gave it to her that morning before they went to the park. Clary hated the memory but she couldn't seem to get rid of the rose, even though as the years went by, the petals would fall from it when she opened the album. There were only three petals left, and Clary flipped the page, choosing to look at her pictures instead.

The pictures were of a different time, the young girl in them had a perfect face even if it mostly held a scowl. "Why were you so angry?" she asked her former self. "You had everything and you took it all for granted."

It wasn't until she saw the drop on the album that she realized she was crying. She had spent many hours of her life looking at those pictures, wishing she could turn back time, praying for a magic spell to come and make her better; instead her thoughts only made the ache in her chest grow larger.

"Clary," her mother's voice followed a knock on the door.

Clary wiped her face and shoved the album back into the hiding spot. "Yeah?"

Jocelyn came in. The years had not been kind to her as well. The guilt she felt, she wore like a badge on her face, each set of wrinkles and lines spoke of the ways she had failed her daughter.

"Your principal called," she said as she sat on the side of the bed and put her hand on Clary's back.

"He said he wasn't going to," Clary stated.

"You've got to stop doing this, Clary."

"You don't know what it's like," Clary replied. There was no venom in her words; her anger with her mother had long faded.

"I know, baby," she said, leaning down and kissing the top of Clary's head. "But you need to let go of this anger. Just try."

When Clary didn't respond, Jocelyn stood with a heavy sigh and left her daughter alone. Clary rolled on her back and stared hopelessly at the ceiling. It felt like she'd been trying all her life. It was time to face the facts, there was nothing else for her but being alone.