Arabella
Let's do a small recap here.
1: I was thrown in some stupid jail that didn't actually look like a jail, but in fact a house.
2: There was not a good selection of books, and actually quite a few were written by our dear friend Dr. Seuss.
3: My roommate was completely and totally insane.
4: My roommate also thought she was someone that looked nothing like her except for eye color and hair.
I closed my eyes, breathing out slowly. This place was one hundred percent – no 125 percent – weird. I was getting a massive headache about how everyone could be so kind and polite and then the next second they were coming up with plans that made me feel like I was already dead.
That's always fun. Isabelle hasn't visited me yet.
Not that I expected her to, the threats Jocelyn made seemed completely empty. No matter how ruthless the threats really were.
I turned back to the insane girl who from what I've gathered through her babble calls herself Meadow.
"No you're not. You're not insane." I sighed. Was this how insane people normally were? So bouncy and flouncy and thinking that they were other people, but really, they were just crazy?
"The real Meadow, is yes, insane, but you look nothing like her."
The fraud Meadow giggled, collapsing on the floor and kicking her legs up in the air with a snort. I felt fear curl up inside me, wondering if the girl had schizophrenia. "Oh you're so silly!" She squealed.
I tensed as she stood up, her eyes suddenly flaming – no blazing with anger – and her nose flared, and her hands clenched in fists.
"Unless you weren't joking?" She said threatening. I decided, this one, this personality, is very menacing.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to come up with the perfect statement that wouldn't anger the girl who suddenly seemed as if she had a goal of murdering me and throwing me into a closet like the actual Meadow.
"Yes, yes, I'm being very silly." The word tasted bitter in my mouth, so ridiculous. I forced a small giggled and the fraud once again collapsed on the floor in a heap of giggles.
The laughter of the small girl quieted before her eyes opened startlingly. "Oh," she finally said, sitting up off the floor. "You want me to leave, don't you?" Her voice was threatening and full of deep, twisted malice.
I knew if I said yes I would regret it, but if I said no, I would be at even more at risk for her deciding to slit my throat.
"No, no!" I quickly lied. "I just, um, need to take a shower."
Meadow cackled again. "Oh you are absolutely silly! This is my room. Just like Green Eggs and Ham is my book. I don't like other people touching my stuff. Now, get out!"
I scampered off the bed, and she lunged out at me as I backed into the closet. She hissed, scraping her nails across my cheek, drawing blood furiously. I took a large intake of breath before exhaling with a sigh.
Her nail trailed down my collarbone, making me gulp. What the hell was she doing?
"I just thought I'd inform you," she murmured into my ear, her breath warm and uncomfortable, and I tensed. "I'm not the straightest road on the street."
My eyes widened at her meaning and I thrashed out, hitting her in the stomach.
She giggled maniacally, her face scrunching up into something that terrified me almost as much as the glint in her eyes did. "Ooh!" she squealed. "That tickled!"
I shoved her backwards, making her launch into the bed and she growled as she flipped over it, landing on her feet.
She prowled forward again, her face one of disgust as she lurched forward.
My hands came down on her shoulder, making a scissoring motion directly over her collarbone, making it snap in half with a disgusting crack.
She screamed, thrashing out and her nails raking violently across my cheek and I winced as he fingernails were caked with fresh blood. "That did not tickle."
She stalked towards me, and my only thought was: This is it. I'm dying to a girl who is sixteen and likes Green Eggs and Ham. This is so unworthy.
I heard the creaking of the cage outside clatter shut before I heard the footsteps enter the room on the wooden floor.
"Meadow," Jocelyn sighed, her face downcast and I let myself manage out a shocked gasp as she said her name. "Do we need to have another talk about your problems?"
The brunette was licking the blood off her fingertips, making my stomach churn in violent protest at the sight.
Meadow blushed, looking up from her blood drenched fingers, and I knew her hands would be tainted red for the next couple of days. I don't know if I'd be able to look at her if that were the case.
"No ma'am. She just touched my Green Eggs and Ham book. It made me mad." As if to prove her point, the blood-covered girl stopped her foot.
Jocelyn nodded, biting her lip, her bright green eyes clouded with confliction. "Arabella. Come with me for a moment please. I'll get you cleaned up my dear."
Her hand snatched mine and I tensed as she dragged me out of the room. I was almost positive it was torture time until she took me into a bathroom.
Jocelyn's hands were smooth with the bottle of antiseptic. Her fingers were soft on the cotton ball as she pressed it gently to my face.
I hissed in pain at the sting and Jocelyn smiled apologetically at me. "You've never had alcohol on a fresh cut before?"
I shook my head softly. "We'd never had any medicine of any sort. If we died from infection or anything like that, we were proved weak and there would never be a funeral."
Jocelyn drew in a sharp intake of air, as if what I'd said was cruel. It wasn't cruel at all. It was the way we lived, and she shouldn't have had a problem with it.
She smiled softly, handing me a small bottle of white cream. "Apply that every four hours and you should be clear in the next two days. I'll see you soon, Arabella."
As she stepped out the doorframe and the tile met carpet, I blurted, "Wait!" Jocelyn turned, her eyes halfway concerned. "Why are you so kind to prisoners?"
She flinched backwards before a small smirk appeared on her porcelain face. "Because, sometimes, I don't think the prisoners have a choice."
And with that, her long red hair tied back in a smooth fishtail braid, down to the small of her back, swished back out of the bathroom just as peacefully as when she walked in the room.
Two days later
Arabella
Because, sometimes, I don't think the prisoners have a choice.
What the red headed woman had said echoed in my brain, making a small mantra to mock me as I watched Jocelyn fall down on the ground.
The hair that once had been in a beautiful braid was now combed back in a firm bun, making her features stand out sharply.
Jace screamed so loudly that I was tempted to cover my plug my ears.
In fact, I almost did when I saw the gleam on Jocelyn's chest, moving up and down with her breathing.
Jace's screaming and words were like background noise as I leaned through the cage – noting that her head was only half a foot from the jail – and capturing the key in my hands, pulling it over her head.
With Jace's screaming, Valentine didn't hear the cage slide open as I worked my way out quietly, trying not to alarm the older man with my footsteps.
Valentine then said something only meant for Jace's ears. I couldn't hear - I was too concentrated with what Jocelyn said only a short forty-eight hours ago.
Because, sometimes, I don't think the prisoners have a choice.
I understood now that she wasn't talking about Meadow or me. She wasn't talking about the other people that were in Jonathan's jail because they refused to take pills and what not.
She was talking about people who had absolutely no control over their own mind. People whom had all of their choices taken away. People who were on the pills.
And I'd helped in taking away all of their rights. Prisoners had no rights; they listened to what the officers told them to do. They had no choices on whether or not to not take the pills because we forced them to because we'd never liked them being able to choose, because that made us less powerful.
She was trying to make me feel guilty. And, God had it worked.
Valentine's foot was so close to Jace's chest, with out a second thought I stabbed him with the shiny, silver key that unlocked my cell.
He lurched backwards, clutching his leg.
Jace was staring at me wide eyed as I pushed him away.
I couldn't do this on my own. I knew it - I knew it as clearly as my own reflection in the mirror. I had no one to help me. I wouldn't die from a girl who loved Green Eggs and Ham; I would die doing something honorable.
But I didn't deserve to die like that. I didn't deserve to die with dignity, because those I'd killed didn't die with it. So I couldn't die with dignity and honor, I refused to do it.
I called for the one person who deserved it. The person whom had her sanity taken away by the pills. The person who deserved to die with honor, but also deserved to live on. She could finally have a choice.
"Meadow!" I screamed. "Meadow, help me!"
"Meadow's not here," Jace panted, rolling into a standing position. "Meadow's in her office, writing something."
I wanted so badly to correct him, but I couldn't distract myself from crying out for the girl who had tried to kill me just days before.
"Meadow doesn't have an office," said a new, excited voice. The brunette, Meadow's alter ego, was bouncing up and down, staring at Valentine. "Oh, ew. I don't like you very much. You put pills down my throat. That did not tickle."
And with that, she prowled forward, her movements extremely catlike. I noticed how she'd filed her nails, almost like knives.
Her hands were still caked with my blood.
Meadow's hands scraped Valentine's cheek before she was suddenly launched backwards at my feet.
"Meadow?" Jace asked, his voice in utter awe. "You don't look like – oh my God you do!"
He obviously hadn't noticed the knife sticking out of her side.
"He looks so much like my love," she murmured. "But my love would never kill me, for Sebastian did it. Hello Maureen."
Her eyes slipped closed and I halfway wanted to mourn her, for she had lost so much to me, but I couldn't. Not at that desperate time, for she didn't sacrifice herself to be mocked by defeat.
My eyes snapped up to the girl that killed Meadow, according to Meadow her name is Maureen, she then slid a knife into my leg, making me collapse on the ground. The pain overwhelming me, but I had to see what the golden boy would do. He lunged forward, but Maureen, the highly trained soldier of what I believe to be evil prevailed with elegance as her arm flew forward. She punched Jace in the forehead, making him slump to the ground.
I clutched my leg with a scream. I'd felt undeniable pain before, but that was never true, bloody pain.
"Betraying bitch," she seethed to me, kicking me once more to the wound. She turned to the man with the key still protruding from his leg. "I am a messenger sent from Sebastian. His message is: Hello Father. You can't control me. Don't think you can ever again."
And with that, my vision shattered into thousands of pieces.
Sebastian
He was with her. The girl with long black silky hair, the girl he supposedly tortured and was assumingly back in her jail.
She raised the pistol, aiming directly at my heart.
My hands grasped flesh, another boy that looked like the aftereffects of a failed experiment. My knife dug into his skin, drawing little beads of blood that trickled down his pale neck. I grinned maliciously.
"Can't shoot me now, can you?" I teased.
She tensed, her eyes observing the situation at hand. Her eyes were odd at the moment, one blue and one so dark brown it almost looked black.
It did look black in the rising dawn, but I'd studied this girl, and I knew how she worked.
Isabelle Lightwood, The girl who is afraid to love.
Isabelle Lightwood, the girl whose mother was turned and the reason why she ran away.
Isabelle Lightwood, the twisted, and the broken.
The files ran through my brain quickly as I analyzed her more.
You could see the way defeat ran through her body as she stared at the boy in my arms.
A tear trickled down her cheek and I saw the flashback in her eyes. Instead of the boy in my arms, she saw herself.
I'd seen the video many times – Valentine mocked it for months.
We always mocked our new captures.
"Mom!" the thirteen-year-old girl shouted, tucking her long black hair behind her ear. "Someone's at the door!"
"Who is it?" a feminine voice replied.
The actor murmured a name lightly and Isabelle yelled, "Jace Herondale!"
"Oh!" the woman exclaimed, racing down the stairs.
The actor snatched Isabelle wrist holding her close to his chest, a knife piercing her smooth throat.
Maryse Lightwood stood at the bottom, her once so beautiful blue eyes widening in fear at the compromise her daughter was in.
"Jace is here?" a voice exclaimed, male and young this time. A boy with black hair slid down the stair's banister, landing at the bottom gracefully before stopping and staring in utter shock.
Alec Lightwood, the gay boy.
Alec stumbled backwards into the wall. "Mommy, what's going on?" his voice was fearful, and I was positive he didn't mean to say mommy.
"Alec, dear, stand back," Maryse said soothingly. "Let me deal with this. Go back upstairs and watch T.V."
Alec shook his head, his skin pale.
The knife dug further into Isabelle's skin and she gave out a strangled cry.
Maryse took the gun out of her pocket and the actor dug the knife further into Isabelle's neck, drawing out beads of blood.
"Can't shoot me now, can you?" the boy hissed. His unoccupied hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a bottle of pills, tossing them to the woman.
The bottle rolled uselessly at her feet.
"Take them," the boy demanded. "I'm not afraid to slit her neck."
"No Mom!" Isabelle said through a strangled breath. "Please no."
"You won't kill her," Maryse said. "You wouldn't. Then you wouldn't have a bargain. Just a dead girl and a very angry woman."
The actor laughed, tossing his head covered with brown hair back. "Sure. Sure, you're right. We'll just torture her then. And you won't be able to see. Just listen. Listen to her screams as they echo through the basement in which we'll trap her. The room will be stone, the walls course coated in broken glass. She'll be in pain every time we use her."
Maryse dropped the gun, a tear rolling smoothly down her cheek. She picked up the bottle of pills, fumbling with them. She opened the bottle, taking a pill in her hand, and then a shaky breath as she swallowed it.
"All of them, Maryse," the brown headed boy said.
She poured the bottle down her throat, choking and gagging before collapsing on a heap on the floor.
"It was all your fault," Sebastian said. "If you hadn't answered the damn door, she would still be your mother. It's all your fault."
The tears rolled faster down her cheeks, splashing onto the dirt ground.
"Isabelle," Simon said. "Just shoot. I'm all for sacrifices. It's going to be for the greater good."
"It's all my fault…it's all my fault…it's all my fault," she repeated as a mantra.
The gun shook in her hands, and she dropped it, falling onto the ground. "It's…all my fault."
I laughed mercilessly, and I imagined the rising sun making my eyes glint and certain planes of my face highlighted.
"That's right. It is."
Jonathan took a step forward and anger filled me. Such horrid anger that it almost made me drop the gun. He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, murmuring something into her ear before pulling back with a grin.
"No," she hissed. "It's all your fault."
I watched as something slithered down her wrist, almost like a snake. It was golden, gleaming like the hatred that burned it Isabelle's eyes.
I felt Simon's breathing picking up, almost as if he were hyperventilating. What was that thing?
It shot out, grabbing my hand, and I yanked it backwards in surprise. The knife dropped out my hand, and the golden thing released me before grabbing onto Simon like a lasso, and gently tugging him over to her.
It was a whip.
As soon as Simon was out of the way, the whip lashed down on my face, making blood drip down it.
I cried out, grabbing my face before growling, "You really shouldn't have done that, Isabelle Lightwood."
Her eyes narrowed and I jumped backwards, the whip grazing my shoulder. "And why not, Sebastian Morgenstern?"
"Because," I whispered, ducking low before the whip could hit me once more, and then rolling over to her. "I can run all I want, but I'm not scared of an orphan."
She froze, her dark eyes blazing with fury and I took the chance to leap backwards and disappear off into the woods.
Jocelyn
Two days later
Valentine grinned, ducking down low as my chained hand flew over his head. "Now, now Jocelyn, that wasn't very nice."
"I haven't been nice for seventeen years, Valentine," I replied sharply. "Not since you turned the boys against me."
His eyebrow furrowed slightly, and I took the chance to swing again before he caught my hand and twisted, one centimeter away from breaking it. "You think our sons are against you, Joyce?"
I snarled at the nickname, rage taking over me. I couldn't believe I ever loved this man.
"No, only Sebastian is. Jonathan is like you. He's so soft. He can barely kill a man," Valentine replied lightly, gripping my wrist tighter. "He keeps track of each kill, which is wrong. You should see the marker that litters his body. He has to redo it so often, but I assume he doesn't care."
"Good. That's the way it should be," I replied.
He released my hand and I took in a sharp breath as he backed away. "You still love me, Joyce. You wish I could be the way I used to be, before our children came along. You wish I could've helped raise Clarissa."
"Don't you dare bring my daughter into this."
He laughed mockingly, and I winced. "She's the only reason you're still fighting isn't it? But if I did kill her, you would fight even harder, wouldn't you?
"I have her, Jocelyn. My scientists captured her. And no, I won't kill her. She is my daughter after all. I think I'll bring Jonathan and Sebastian here, and you've taken quite a fondness of Jace haven't you? Perhaps him and Clarissa can…reproduce."
My mouth opened, but his hand cracked across my face as sharp as Isabelle's whip.
I spit the blood at him, tempted to scream words of harshness and indignation.
Before I could say anything, he left.
Clary
Two days earlier
"Seize them!" a scientist snapped, throwing his clipboard on the ground. "We shall take them to Valentine!"
Magnus whistled as another person entered the room. "What the hell have you got here Meadow? You little stinking traitor."
I whirled around and sure enough, there was the demon herself, her hair drenched with water.
"I-I don't know," she whispered. "They always let me in, and they always treat me so kindly."
A man's hand yanked me, trying to open my lips.
Pills. The cold, blue and white pills.
"No!" Magnus cried, reached out for the man's hand, before he was yanked backwards. I pressed my lips tighter together and the scientist pulled on my chin.
"No, please stop!" Meadow cried, trying to reach out for me.
"Be quiet Alice!" a woman snapped.
"Don't touch me!" Alec growled, pulling his arm away from the woman yearning to yank on him and pull him toward her with a violent tug.
I gritted my teeth together, hearing that groaning sound that teeth make when gritted.
"If they're going to act like animals," a man called, his voice vaguely amused, "treat them like animals." A tranquilizer dart entered my leg, and I passed out on the floor, but not before I felt the coldness of a pill enter my mouth. I don't even know if it slid down my throat.
Clary
Two days later
A man leaned over me, his obsidian eyes gazing into my own. "Hmm. You also got Jocelyn's eyes. Good."
I was lying down on a silk made bed, and I wasn't even put underneath the covers.
I was wearing a plain strapless white dress that was of course, floor length. My hair was pulled into a simple braid over my shoulder, and I felt it tickle my face. My legs were curled up and the man moved to the side so I could sit up.
I imagine in that moment I would look like a princess, with my fiery hair tamed into something a professional could only do. My white dress flowed around me as I sat, the fabric covering my pulled up legs.
"Roselia will do your hair," he said quietly, exiting the room.
I felt a cloud of confusion wash over me. Was that really Valentine? And if so, why was he being so kind? Everyone described him as an awful man, and yet here I was, perfectly fine.
You are his daughter. There has to be some parental love somewhere in there.
A girl with short blonde hair entered the room, wearing a floor length green dress. If this was a servant, she was dressed awfully nice.
"Hello. I am Roselia. I am Valentine's maid, and I suppose now yours as well."
She took my hand, leading me over to a vanity table. Her fingers raked gently through my hair, pulling out the beautiful braid that reached to my waist before picking up a hair straightener.
"This is an awful lot of hair to straighten," she muttered in a thick accent, I am guessing she had a speech disability, and I blushed.
I watched the clock as she began, the minute hand making miniscule movements as each second ticked by. It seemed as if the world had slowed as the straightener tugged my hair with a soothing matter.
She was right, it took her three hours to do.
"There, beautiful," she smiled. "Now come, we must get you ready for your wedding."
I think I just choked on my own spit.
She giggled. "I think you like who you marry. He very attractive."
"I'm…sixteen!" I blurted. Before all of the pills and things, most people would get married at age twenty-three to twenty-seven, but fifty percent of them divorced. That is why the Addicted never married.
Roselia waved a hand, rolling her eyes slightly. "Pish posh. You be just fine."
I gawked at her as she pulled my hand, leading me down the dark and twisted halls, and I was almost positive that I would not be able to find the way back to my room.
Many same painted walls, and staircases later, we arrived in what appeared to be a closet filled with thousands of wedding dresses.
Fantastic.
"You've got to be kidding me," I murmured, wondering how on Earth Valentine managed this without looking insane while buying all of the dresses.
Roselia giggled. "It beautiful, no? At least you have choice of a dress. I got to wear stupid over decorated dress with lace and then wide skirt! Who the heck designed that? And it a waste of money too. The guy who married me is a complete douche. He never deserve an expensive dress."
I was overwhelmed by white, some thin and some wide. Some were extremely decorated and some were simple.
I walked forwards, feeling as if I were going to throw up. Valentine was sick for making his daughter do something so evil.
I fingered a white dress; the first one I laid eyes on. I wasn't going to spend hours searching for one; especially if it wasn't a real marriage to someone I loved.
I took it off the hanger, and slipped into the dressing room, even though every dress was my size.
And of course, the dress fit perfectly.
It was slim and tight fitting, making it clear of how I had no curves, but it's not like I cared. The husband I am getting will just have to deal with that. The skirt was looser and had a sea of loose ruffles going down to the right.
I walked out and Roselia clapped her hands, smiling.
"Ooh! I have perfect hairstyle to go with that!" she exclaimed, jumping up and down.
She took my hand, yanking me through the door and down another series of three thousand hallways.
Roselia gasped at my split ends, picking up a pair of scissors, apparently not noticing them in the three hours she'd worked on it. She chopped through my hair, making the end stop above my waist instead of my thighs.
I'd never gotten a haircut before.
I didn't pay attention to what she did next – it was extremely disinteresting. All I know is that she ended with little smooth curls running down my back and little twists holding my hair back from my face. She ended with a small white flower digging into my scalp.
Roselia tried doing some mascara, but I always blinked whenever she moved the wand close to my eyes, so she gave up, letting me go with the natural look.
She slid on a red floor-length dress before yanking me out the door, claiming that we were two minutes late.
The white haired man I'd met when I'd woken up sat at the opposing end of the hall, a small smirk on his face and wearing a black tuxedo.
"Clarissa," he smiled, holding out his elbow. "I shall hand you off to your future husband. You look beautiful, dear."
An organ started to blast an unknown song and Roselia began walking, and then the man and me.
I almost stumbled at the man who was standing on the alter, a frustrated look on his face.
Jace.
Jace-
I was busying myself by staring at the hideous man on the alter next to me. He said his name was Hodge, and that he was the ordained priest that was going to marry me to my wife.
The organ began to play, and I sighed, having to stare down the church aisle. It was better now to find out who she was than later.
On Valentine's arm was Clary, stumbling down the aisle.
Valentine murmured something in her ear before heading off to go sit down.
"Well," she muttered. "This is a plot twist."
I smirked, ignoring as Hodge began to speak words of utter ridiculousness.
"Be glad you're not having to marry some old guy," I winked and Hodge stamped down on my foot, trying to shut me up.
I stuck my tongue out at him, and Clary giggled.
"Please state your vows," Hodge said, his face beet red.
"Well, I don't have anything prepared for this," Clary said, a wrinkle of defiance in between her copper eyebrows. "I mean, I heard about this about three hours ago. So I guess I'll wing it." She cleared her throat and I was wondering what on God's earth she was doing whenever she began to speak, "Jace, I don't think this is a real wedding. Sorry, dude. No hard feelings right?"
I heard Valentine's grumble of irritation before I began to speak. "I thought we had something?"
Clary shook her head. "My apologies, my dear. Peace out."
She walked down the stairs from the alter and after she ran out the door, I chased her down, trying to hold down the bubbling laughter.
My hand caught hers and she smirked at me. "Running back so soon?"
"We never did get to kiss," I murmured, and her smirk disappeared and was quickly replaced by a raging fire on her cheeks.
She bit her lip, tempting me with green eyes. "Well I suppose we ought to do that, huh?"
She tilted her head up, catching my lips in between hers.
It was pretty synchronized, as if we knew what the other was thinking.
She pulled back, biting her lip again and blushing tremendously.
A slow clapping came behind me, and I tensed, and watching as Valentine slowly appeared in front of us.
"I am not, to say in the least, very pleased with either of you," he rumbled.
Clary's face drained of color as she stared into his lifeless black eyes.
"I don't appreciate being humiliated Clarissa," he droned on. "That is a warning. Now, Roselia, show them to their rooms."
A girl with short blonde hair, and apparently named Roselia, saluted, and began racing down thousands of hallways and staircases before drawing out a key and unlocking the door.
She shoved us in, slamming the door behind her and I heard the lock slide into place.
"Is that really Valentine?" she asked.
I nodded, slipping off the uncomfortable jacket before slumping down on the silky bed.
"I'm going to change," she said quietly.
I nodded again, slipping my eyes closed before hearing Clary's shriek of horror.
I sat up in a flash and looked at her pale face. "He cannot be serious."
In the drawer she had opened were dozens of lingerie.
My eyes widened as she shook her head. "It said on the chart this was nighttime clothes!"
She began opening all the drawers before shaking her head in disbelief.
"Of course! A man as twisted as him would love – you know what? I'm not even going to finish that sentence."
"Clary," I said, standing up. "There's some t-shirts for me in there. Would you like to wear one?"
She nodded, sprinting over to my dresser and flying through all of the clothes before pulling out a shirt and heading quickly into the bathroom.
I changed in the room, not wishing to think that I was already married, even if it was to one I felt the most passionate about.
She came out, biting her lip nervously and I smiled at her as she sat down the bed shyly.
"You look fine, Clary," I murmured. "Now come to bed. It's been a long day."
She curled up onto the bed and I flicked out the light curling in next to her. My arms slipping around her naturally. I could feel her blush but I pulled her closer any ways.
"Goodnight Jace," she said quietly.
"Goodnight Clary." I said realizing that I really like the way that her name slips off my tongue.
The soothing sound of her even breathing quickly put me to sleep, and I felt myself slip into the world of beauty and the pain of nightmares.
Word Count: 5,342
Edited by: HopelessRomantic1599
Disclaimer: All characters and books of The Mortal Instruments belong to Cassandra Clare. The plot of The Founding belongs to me.
So…it's been a while. Let's just say I'm super busy. You wanna hear my schedule? Of course you do!
So I wake up at 5:15 every morning to go to school. School goes on until 2:20 and then I have Cross Country practice until 4:30. We typically go somewhere after that until 5:00. Then, I do my homework and get ready for bed. Pretty inflexible schedule.
And, no, I cannot update on weekends. I have meets every Saturday (for Cross Country), and Sunday I have church until twelve and I spend about four hours studying, doing homework, and cleaning. Then is writing time, though I enjoy reading and typically do that more than writing.
So…is that good enough? Hopefully, I will update more after November, but our team might get to go to Texas and compete by state. Just depends.
~Bethanie
