Celine inched her way into the library in the Fairchild manor, hands wringing before her. The large oak-wood doors were open and light poured out from the inside. It looked as if it glowed in the evening light, with the final light of dusk setting over the Idris skyline. The entryway was familiar from the few times Celine had stopped by in the past month or so; tapestries hung from the walls with the Fairchild sigil; Fearie wings in hues of kaleidoscope colors. Witchlight hung from the walls, illuminating the stone archway and that led toward the East and West wings of the house. Celine followed the sounds of voices and light, elegant music, her feet padding softly upon the Turkish carpets that covered the floors.

Upon reaching the source of the noise, Celine walked through the glass library doors to find a room full of people – Circle members –making small talk amongst the books before the meeting began. There were settings of food around the room at intervals – cheeses and fine meats. Wine goblets were a-plenty, and an array of bottles with names in Italian and French lay on a tray upon the top of a grand piano by a massive window, which let in the few flickering beams of sunlight.

It was Celine's first time, but she recognized a good number of faces. Jeremy Pontmercy – he was in her drills team at the Academy and was a year younger. She recognized Hodge Starkweather in the corner, nose in a book. Jocelyn was there, laughing and smiling with Lucian Greymark. Every now and then someone would come up and congratulate her on the baby she was expecting, and she would graciously thank them, beaming with her prenatal glow.

"Celine!"

Celine turned at the sound of her name, and smiled as she recognized Valentine striding toward her. She could hardly believe his infallible kindness to her since they'd met. He'd offered her his small house in town so that she wouldn't have to accept charity from the Clave – and after much insistence on his part, she'd accepted. He'd even taken to stopping by to invite her to dinner, making sure she was settled and comfortable. And whenever she even hinted at any slight difficulty, he was eager to lend a hand in her studies. She felt she had learned more with him in a month in terms of technique than she had from years at the Paris Institute.

"If I'd had a sister," he'd told her one afternoon while helping her practice landing from long distance jumps, "I imagine she'd be something like you."

And now, as he strode toward her, putting an arm around her slowly and gently enough that she did not flinch, Celine felt as if she'd found the family she had been meant to have all along.

"Celine, have you met my dear friend Michael?" She shook her head as Valentine waved over a man in an elegantly tailored pin-striped suit. The man smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners of his dark brown eyes, and offered his hand. "Celine, this is Michael Wayland. Michael, this is Celine Montclair."

Celine took Michael's hand as they exchanged pleasantries. He was very sweet; married, his wife at home on bed rest, expecting their first child. He even introduced her to his parabatai, Robert, and his wife Maryse. All around her people greeted her with smiles and welcoming words.

It wasn't quite what she'd expected. She had almost imagined people in dark cloaks circled around a sacrificial altar in a room full of burning torches. She certainly hadn't imagined something the likes of cocktail hour at a refined high-society function.

And, admittedly, she'd hesitated when Valentine had first told her about the Circle. "Isn't that just a bit… sacrilegious?" she asked. She vividly remembered the horribly offended look on his face, and the guilt she'd felt at questioning the nature of his intentions when he had been nothing but kind and gracious to her since the moment they'd met.

"No, no – Of course not! Dearest Celine, this is about righting the wrongs, exposing the corrupt… The aim – our only intention – is to ensure that the Nephilim are better than to be tainted by inexcusable and unjust behavior," he'd paused before adding, "Such as that which you endured for far too long."

When the sun had finally set, Valentine came to stand before the crowd of Nephilim, calling them to attention. Silence fell around the room in an instant, and Celine took a moment to admire her friend. He was as charismatic as he was kind – and he commanded attention with none but his presence.

"My friends," he began. "Thank you for coming this evening. You all give me hope, give me proof, that the Nephilim are not as the Clave represents us. We are willing and capable of reform; of bringing Shadowhunters into the light of the angel once more."

There was an appreciative applause, and Celine watched as Jocelyn beamed at her husband, an unconscious hand placed gently upon her womb. That was the family that Celine had always dreamed of; A father worthy of praise, a mother with a will to love and to protect. That life had never been hers, and it was but a dream that it one day might be. A husband, loving and devoted. And a child… golden haired as the sun, and never in their life doubting the love of their parents. Valentine and Jocelyn would give that to their child. Their love for him or her would be as plain as their love for each other. Oh, to find that kind of love…

"Stephen," Valentine spoke, and Celine concentrated once more on the here and now. A man with fair hair stepped forward from his place among the crowd, releasing the hand of a woman with lovely chestnut hair. "Have you spoken to our mutual friend on the Council?" Valentine asked.

"Yes, sir," Stephen replied. "He sends his regards, as well as confirmation of his full support."

Valentine's face lit visibly, but he maintained his composure. "That is wonderful news. Thank you, my friend." Stephen nodded, a slight smile on his face, and returned to his place among the crowd. "Mr. Herondale here brings news that we now have eyes and ears on the Council. With him as a source, it will be far easier to gather intelligence that will aid in the construction of reform negotiation,"

There was another general sound of approval before Valentine turned to face another. "Maryse, where are we with the wolf pack in Chicago?"

"Lakewind sends good news," Maryse said curtly, her blue eyes piercing. Celine didn't like to admit it but she found the woman with raven-colored hair intimidating… "That pack leader was restrained this past week. They have contained the pack and are determining the guilt of each of the members,"

"Excellent," Valentine clapped his hands together. His good mood was infectious. It was as if he radiated positivity. "And my dear friend Celine here has provided excellent insights into the Parisian vampire clan as well. They have had their run of the city for far too long – but as a united front the Circle will bring them to justice."

Celine smiled shyly, blushing furiously. But on the inside she beamed. It was truly the first time in her life she had ever felt needed – by anyone. It was the first time she ever felt like a contribution rather than a hindrance. It made her heart ache to know that this was how kind people could be, when her whole life she had only ever seen what 'kindness' her father had shown her, what 'love' her mother had displayed with her inaction.

"See how – how essential you are?" he'd said to her when she'd spoken to him of the Le Poison Morte vampire clan the week before. "Without you we could never have imagined making such positive changes. You are invaluable."

Slowly, all the updates on the Circle and the Clave's movement were shared. Plans were formed for cohesive action; more patrolling and containment of high risk areas, more negation construction and debate…

What scared Celine the most was the ever-increasing possibility of physical conflict with the Clave. If they were too stubborn – if they didn't listen – the Circle would be required to use force. And a war amongst Shadowhunters… it was unimaginable. But Celine knew in her heart that things needed to change. The Law was hard, she knew, but perhaps not upon the right people.

"You look consternated," a voice suddenly pulled Celine from her reverie. She jumped slightly – and cursed herself for doing so. She had gotten so much better at containing her little quips that were unbecoming of a Shadowhunter. She turned, and was surprised to face Stephen Herondale.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, taking a step back. He was rather close, and seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

"Consternated," he repeated, his face drawn and serious, but she thought she could see a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "You seem rather young to be plagued by issues leaving you consternated."

She wondered if he was the sort of immature man to be amused by the similarities between the words "consternated" and "constipated."

"All Shadowhunters face troubles beyond their years," she said in return.

He seemed to slow in that moment, to consider her. His eyes took more of the sight of her in, and looked calculating. "And how many years are you?" he asked.

Celine grimaced. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that it is impolite to ask a woman's age?"

"I learned many things from my mother," Stephen said, crossing his arms and leaning easily against the piano beside him. "How many of those lessons I retained is another matter entirely," he quipped. After a moment of her staring, he returned to being serious. "I apologize if I have offended you,"

Celine stared at him through narrow eyes. Celine didn't know much about boys – or men, for that matter – since her father had kept her close at hand all her life, and she'd never had many friends growing up. But what she did know came from gossip amongst the citizens of Paris, from the Downworlders inhabiting clubs; Fearies laughing their musical laughs over a violet colored drink, vampires seething about the wrongs their lovers had done them while sucking blood through straws in drinks with little umbrellas… And what she had gathered from these whispered conversations was that an man outwardly displaying a joking, blasé façade, was a man with deep, deep troubles. Deep troubles, and sometimes a good heart. As she looked at him, she decided that it was better to give him the benefit of the doubt. His apology seemed to be genuine.

"Seventeen," she said.

Stephen looked surprised, his eyes widening fractionally.

"What?" she snapped. "Do you think me a child? I'll have you know –"

"We are all children here," he said morosely. "Or, we should be. But… you are right. As a general rule, Shadowhunters are more than their years." As he spoke, his eyes grew sad. And for a brief second, Celine wondered what troubles haunted those icy blue orbs.

"Now you look consternated."

At that, Stephen laughed. "I imagine I did." He held out a hand. "Stephen Herondale," he said.

She shook his hand briefly. "Celine Montclair,"

"Good to meet you Celine. Valentine has given you high praise. You seem an impressive woman for seventeen."

Celine blushed. "Valentine is more kind than I deserve." She whispered. Then, because she could not help but share her worries with another, "Do you think negotiations with the Clave will work?" she asked.

His expression darkened, a shadow falling over his face. "The Clave is content to continue on as it has for hundreds of years – they won't be will to even consider negotiations unless…" Celine waited, and he sighed. "Unless we can gather enough support that they have to. And that would have to be the majority of the Nephilim – and most of them are afraid of change." He shrugged. "There's no certainty, but one can hope."

"Hope," Celine echoed. She looked out the window at the shadow-covered hills, imagining what path this road could lead her. If war broke out between the Shadowhunters, it would be the likes of which the world had never seen. Downworlders would run rogue, unchecked while the peace-keepers of this world fought amongst themselves. Would there be time to scourge the earth of demons? Or would they be too busy killing each other? And how could they even do that? They all knew one another, had grown up together. Not one person had a neighbor or cousin or parabatai who had not at some point in the past shared an ancestor. The Shadowhunters shared their history with each other, intertwined through the ages.

And yet here they were, a house divided upon itself. And what would be left in the end? We are but dust and shadows

"I should be leaving," she said suddenly, pulling her eyes back into the room and herself back into the present. The future was too daunting to consider too deeply. "I still have classes tomorrow,"

"Well it was a pleasure to meet you, Celine. Perhaps I'll see you again in the future."

"Perhaps," echoed Celine, still feeling far away – far in the future, never to know that the future she was imagining was quite centered upon the man she was leaving behind her.