Clary

A harsh lash hit across my back, waking me up.

I gasped in shock, sitting up, and looking into the cold eyes of Valentine Morgenstern. "Get up Clarissa. I shall train you how to act for your husband and I expect nothing but the best from you."

Jace had sat up along next to me, his curls matted to his scalp with an air of innocence that I doubted he could obtain until I saw it. "Now, now Valentine. She's fine."

This caused Valentine's face to be filled with fury before going back into a cold, blank stare. I wasn't sure which scared me more. "No! She will be perfect and accommodate to your every need. Do you understand me boy?"

Before Jace could respond, I threw up my arms, with a barely heard 'whatever' as I walked over to the wardrobe.

Dresses. After sixteen years, you would imagine I would've been forced to get used to them, but now after just a week with the Wanderers, normal day dresses felt shocking to say in the least.

Every dress was put in order of the rainbow, and I can't say I was shocked out of my wits to see how clean everything was.

Valentine yanked a dress down from the red section and my breath caught. I was the clumsiest woman alive without the full bodice dress.

This dress was full like Cinderella's, but red. Gold droplets covered the dress and the top would've hugged my curves with no doubt.

"I'm going to die in that thing!" I grumbled and the whip collided with my back again.

"You do not complain to what the man says, Clarissa," he snarled, letting the whip fall back down, my blood slightly staining the brown. "Now put it on!"

As I began to stumble towards the bathroom, the weight of the dress pulling me down, I was struck once more.

"In here," Valentine retorted. "He is your husband. You will become accustomed to undressing in front of him if he wishes."

I snuck a look at Jace, whose face was pale and his lips almost white with the way he kept his mouth shut. His fists were clenching and unclenching at his side with shocking speed.

"I do not want her to change in here," Jace finally spoke. "I wish her to change in the bathroom."

The whip lashed once more with a "you heard him! Move quicker!"

No matter how fast I ran, it didn't seem fast enough to get out of that torture chamber in which I had to sleep in. My joints couldn't move fast enough and my muscles had turned to Jell-O.

The bathroom door finally slid shut and I collapsed to the ground in a heap, feeling droplets of blood slip down my back as I pulled some wounds tighter.

I fingered the red fabric, knowing it was red like the blood that ran down the fresh lashes.

He'd lashed at me five more times as I ran to the bathroom in haste, the material tearing through Jace's shirt.

I stood once more with a shaky breath, slipping off the shirt that was torn to pieces in the back.

I slid the dress on slowly, hissing as it connected ruthlessly with my back.

Running a brush through my hair, watching as the tangles carved into ringlets of grace.

The red of the dress contrasted awfully with my hair, making me looked washed out but I couldn't complain. God knows what he'd do if I complained.

I opened the door shyly, noticing that Jace had vanished and the bed lay in a mess of covers and sheets.

The whip was gone as well, out of Valentine's hand anyways, and placed on the nightstand. He expected Jace to whip me.

"Clarissa," Valentine said, holding a pair of dangling golden heels, expecting me to snatch them.

I stayed my hand.

"Good," Valentine smiled. "You're learning. Now, come grab the shoes. Do not make contact with me."

I carefully clutched the shoes, but left them hanging at my side. Valentine's grin widened.

"Put them on," he said.

I slid the shoes on, wobbling as I stood back up, the thin heel making me unbalanced.

"Good. Now follow me. Do not fall," Valentine said, walking briskly out.

This was going to be a long day.

Alec woke, his eyes blurred. He sighed as he took in his surroundings. The computer room, built exactly like his. He supposed it was supposed to mock him, yearn for his home.

Staring at the screen, he realized that his assumption was nowhere close to what he'd hoped.

The Wanderers' thousands of secret codes stared at his face. Alec knew this would take weeks, finding the correct codes, but they would expect them so soon.

A creak came at the door, and a small girl appeared, looking so oddly put together for what Alec assumed was a servant due to the bucket of water dangling from her fingers and tray of food atop her fingers.

Her hair was the oddest of colors, varying from a black in one area to a blue and then violet. Alec read the messages of them all quickly, blue was for disobedience in the servants and violet meant likely to strike.

She must've always been prepared for a whipping if she had those two qualities.

Then, her dress was a periwinkle meaning age twelve.

"Afternoon," she said, and her voice was bubbly. Disobedient? "I suppose I will tell you your mission. The information has been obtained that you were the technological genius at the camp, and you were in charge of all security. You're duty is to unlock each and every lock. You have fun now."

The door slammed shut behind him, and Alec laid his head on his arm in defeat.

11/7/26/9/12/8/2/11

Alec scoffed. Their government couldn't figure this one out? The pattern was the same for his first ten, and simple!

P/G/A/I/L/S/Y/K

He pressed enter and it quickly flew to the next page.

14/1/20/14/6/19

As Alec typed it, he slowly felt his cheeks fill with heat.

M/A/G/N/U/S

Alec grinned as the flashback came to the back of his eyelids.

"Oh c'mon Alec!" The young boy yelled in his ear.

Alec's fourteen-year-old self looked at the boy whom had chosen to become his true self by rolling around in glitter.

"Go away!" Alec groaned. "I'm trying to concentrate. This is the first mission Jocelyn put in my hands, and I don't want to screw it up."

"She'll never know!" the glitter-bomb sang. "Come on! 14-1-20-14-6-19! Not even that hard!"

Alec quickly thought on the numbers. "Magnus. That's a weird name."

"Which is exactly why you have to enter it!"

"Fine."

Twenty-four passwords later, the door creaked open again. A small redhead peeked her head in and Alec jumped in surprise to see Clary staring at him.

The door slipped shut and she moved quickly towards him, heels clicking.

"Clary!" Alec smiled widely almost rushing forward to check for wounds.

Clary put a hand up. "I expect you to stop where you are, peasant." Her voice was awkwardly formal, but brusque.

Alec looked at her in shock, taking several steps back. Her eyes looked miserable before they hardened once more.

Her heels seemed to pound loudly on the ground as she moved to gaze at the computer before turning her hard gaze onto Alec.

"Twenty-four?" she hissed, and looked around before leaning closer to Alec. He could smell the expensive wine fresh on her breath. "Alec, please, please, hurry! They'll do awful things to you if you don't."

She stepped back, her emerald eyes looking around frantically.
"Thirty-nine?" she turned to Alec with a malicious grin that he could only associate with Valentine. "Good job soldier."

As she left the room, Alec could see an infected scar running up to her neck and felt his stomach twist in pain for the small girl.

Jonathan

So, yeah, I'm the evil guy. I'm Valentine Morgenstern's son, and have killed more people than you have boogers in a deathbed cold.

Man, you guys love to judge!

Okay, so two out of three are true. I'm not evil!

Of course, the guy in a Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe doesn't think he's insane, but this is different!

Maybe.

Yeah, it's pretty damn different.

You see, I probably would've killed myself by now if it weren't for my sweet little Meadow waiting for me back at home.

Which brings me back to the situation at hand. The gunshots, Sebastian, all that jazz.

Isabelle was shivering; her brown eyes wide as she stared at the place that Sebastian had left through. Her whip coiled back onto her wrist, making a deadly bracelet.

She screamed then, kicking sticks along the ground, and I had to stop her before she punched a hole in the tree.

Or the tree punched a whole in her hand.

"I should've killed him! I should've fu-!"

"Language, Lightwood," Simon reprimanded, but his eyes weren't in the joke. "You shouldn't have killed him. It wouldn't have been fair."

She whirled around, and in that moment I saw why they sent the broken little girl out to do their missions. She wasn't afraid. Her eyes were fearless and angry, ready to murder anyone who got in the way of her new mission. "It wasn't fair to the damned innocents he killed! The poor little slaves didn't even have a chance. Isn't that right, Jonathan? You know exactly how it is. You know how to murder, and you know how wrong but powerful it feels. I want to feel that power."

"No, actually, you don't," I corrected. "Because it's not power. Congratulations, you can kill someone that can't actually think for themselves! You get the participation award!"

Simon snorted. "Everyone gets a participation award."

Isabelle glared at us both, effectively cutting off our laughter. "Sebastian can think for himself, in case you can't recall."

"Oh, I recall," I shot back. "The little bastard thinks a little too well."

"C'mon, let's get to camp. We can help for the greater good once we get there," Simon reminded us, and I felt a coldness spike down.

Yeah, I was seeing the love of my life again, but that wasn't what I was worried about.

She'd been too insane, which is why they dropped her off in the middle of nowhere in the first place.

The Wanderers were a military group. They were fighting for the greater good, but that didn't mean everything they did was good. You couldn't win a war being pure.

What I'm trying to say is that Meadow could just as easily be dead as she could be alive.

I wouldn't ask Isabelle. Isabelle had described a girl that wasn't my Meadow. It stung.

"Yeah, let's go."

Luke

"Tell me what you know now!" The mystery weapon collided with my back again, and a hoarse scream ripped from my throat. I didn't know who was doing it. The voice was raspy and unknown, and I had a blindfold wrapped around my eyes.

"Stop it!" Jocelyn cried, and I heard again her straining groans as she pushed against something. My guess: ropes.

I inhaled deeply, bracing myself for another hit. I hung limply from some sort of metal contraption, the handcuffs digging into my wrist.

I felt another slice of my skin, and this time, the pain was tripled.

The smell of medical alcohol rose into my nose and I groaned.

"He doesn't deserve this!" Jocelyn hissed, and I heard her shifting around some more. My determined little wife, fighting until the end.

"Maybe not," the voice rasped, "but you deserve to watch."

The crap of a whip, and the feeling of pain laced across the back of my legs. Three hits.

"That's all for today," a young boy said, and I heard the smooth tone, knowing it was Jace. "I'm Valentine's son-in-law. I recommend you stop."

Names meant a lot.

"Yes sir," the voice rasped, and metal footsteps echoed through the room.

"Key," Jace ordered.

A door slammed shut moments later, and the sound of soft footsteps graced the air. Metal slid against metal until the handcuff came loose and I dangled from one.

"Try to weaken your fall," advised Jace, moments before I hit the ground, pain echoing through my body.

The slice of a knife and I heard a female sigh of relief. Jocelyn.

The cloth tied around my eyes fell to the ground in tatters. I looked around the room, seeing the blood on the floor next to two vertical poles. I looked at Jace, smiling at him painfully before moving my eyes over to Jocelyn.

Bags hung underneath her emerald eyes, and her hair hung in clumps around her face. Dirt caked her, making me wonder how many days were spent with me passing out and returning for more pain.

"Oh Luke," Jocelyn said sadly, rushing over to me. She crouched down, turning my face side to side to check for wounds. She looked at Jace. "Cut his shirt open."

Jace nodded once, and Jocelyn got up to go get the alcohol.

"You going to survive?" Jace asked. "These cuts look awful."

"You have to hope, Jace. You have to hope."

Jocelyn returned, and her face looked downcast but determined. So beautiful.

"This is going to hurt," Jocelyn said, shaking the bottle, "but it's the only thing we have."

She set to work and I felt my muscles contract as the pain hit repeatedly on each gash.

"How's Clary?" Jocelyn asked softly.

I looked up at Jace, and his eyes looked distraught. "I don't know. Valentine is with her right now. He came in with a whip and beat her awake. He left the whip on our nightstand. He expects…he expects me to whip her." His voice had cracked and he ran his hands through his hair sadly.

Jocelyn intake of air was loud, but she sighed with defeat. "I've just got to convince Valentine to let us go."

Jace looked at her incredulously. "Do you know how hard that's going to be?"

"Not to a woman whom he loves," Jocelyn whispered. "He'd do anything for me eventually."

The door slammed against the wall, and bright light was cast into the dim room.

There stood the man who loved Jocelyn.

"I heard you were released and came down immediately," Valentine said. "This was never supposed to happen. Who the hell said for it to happen?"

"Bullshit," Jocelyn hissed. "You intended this all to happen."

"I intended not, actually," Valentine replied sharply. "I would never allow my best friend to be injured so. Come along Lucian. We have better cleaning materials. Jace, go tend to your wife. She's having a mental breakdown."

Jace rolled his eyes. "Of course she is. She spent a day with you."

"Get out of here boy!"

Jace

I hurried up the stairs, determined to see the injured girl.

The hallways of the bedroom corridor were intricate and beautiful. There was paisley on a red violet, the paisley a dull gold with lacing of green.

The door I put my hand on opened smoothly, and Clary sat on the bed, her head in her hands. Red curls fell over her hands, and a sob ripped out of her throat.

She didn't look up, but by the tensing of her body, I knew she heard me.

"Clary?" I asked gently, approaching her cautiously. "Clary, what happened?"

"They know where they are," Clary whispered. "Our only chance of getting out of here and they know where they are."

I rested a hand on her frail shoulder, feeling the boniness of it. It somehow set me on edge to feel how fragile she actually was. "Know where who are, Clary?"

She looked up then, her emerald eyes bright and almost maddening. "Isabelle. They know where Isabelle is."

Alice

Dear Jonathan,

As I write to you, my love, I must say I am frighteningly ashamed of what I am about to write.

I'm leaving. I don't deserve the Wanderers camp and all they do for me. Plus, I'm sure I'm not assisting them by going on mad killing sprees and then returning to a state of loneliness. It's a miserable thing that I do, but I can't control it.

I'm not going to tell anyone. If I tell them, they might try to convince me to stay, as good people do. You would do it, Jonathan; I know you would. And if I imagine how you would try to stop me, I wouldn't be able to leave, because I know you might hate it.

Oh God, I'm crying as I write this. It's so hard to leave the people you've come to love, knowing you may never see them again. Was it hard for you whenever you left me? I try to convince myself it, but by the time you left, I was already a maddened girl. You couldn't want that as a girlfriend, a fiancé, a wife, and a mother. You couldn't possibly want that.

So Jonathan, know that as you're reading this, I may be dead. I may be alive. It doesn't matter anyways; I'm just a burden.

I never stopped loving you. I swear.

Love,

Meadow

I set down the pen hesitantly. I didn't know whether or not I should even write Meadow. I was just an imposter for a girl that was loved. I just had all of her memories.

The feelings I had were unnatural, but I couldn't stop them from venting out onto the paper. After all, I possessed all of the girl's memories, and it seemed to jump out at times for me.

After Alec, Magnus, and Clary were captured, they sent me back after a forced set of pills. They'd explained all that had happened to me, that my name really was Alice Jones. I'd given up my mind for the greater good, wanting to help in every way I could. So they set Meadow and I up to a connection of wires, and in minutes, I possessed all of Meadow's memories, and mine were merely forgotten.

They'd programmed me to where every time Jonathan killed someone, they'd have me kill someone as well, to keep Meadow seeming as if she were insane, even though she was locked away.

It hurt me to know that I was once a criminal, that I thought everything those damned scientists was for a good cause.

And now I had some poor girl's memories locked away in my brain.

"Meadow?" a soft voice asked, and I looked up to see a small boy standing in the entryway of my room.

I calmly folded the letter, knowing that if I made hasty and careless movements the boy would suspect something.

Parker Kane walked into the room quietly. Even at seven, his steps were catlike and graceful. He was a reminder to me how many years the camp had actually been around, even before Jocelyn took control.

I smiled at him. "Hey Kane. What's up?"

Parker wrinkled his nose. "You're talking to me like everyone else. Like I'm some small child. I just saw people die and I still made it here. I'm not a child."

It was true. Explosions and gunshots were still produced in the early morning sky. It was nearing three a.m., and the stars that were supposed to twinkle brightly were stopped due to the flashes of light coming from the thousands of gunshots.

And little Parker still made it here. It was no small feat.

"Yeah, right sorry. What are you here for? I'm a little busy and you should be with your pregnant mother," I reprimanded him.

Parker bit his lip nervously. "That's just the thing. Mom's going into labor, and she wants you to help her since no one else can."

Magnus

"Oh you're kidding me!" I cried, tugging on the restraints once more.

Albert smiled and I winced once more. His smile was evil and his name was absolutely pitiful. Who named their kid Albert? "Not at all," Albert said in his nasally voice and I winced again. "I don't kid, if you haven't noticed."

"Oh please," I replied. "Those glasses have to be a Harry Potter reference."

It was true. His glasses were round and wiry with a piece of Scotch tape stuck on the middle. Besides that, the kid was pure ugly. He was chubby with dark brown eyes that radiated rudeness. His hair was spiked up and travelled to the right of his head, but his face was too round to actually pull it off. His laugh was crazy and loud, and his voice was deep and obnoxious.

"I wouldn't be talking. I'll see you around Mr. Maggie," Albert sneered.

I rolled my eyes. He'd come up with multiple obnoxious nicknames in the last hour, and they drove me to the brink of insanity.

"How adorable Albiboo!" I shot back as the door slammed.

I slumped against the wall, wondering how the hell I'd even gotten myself into this situation.

My eyes started to slip shut, as staring at bars in a jail cell was quite boring, but before I could close them a voice called, "You must be new here."

I jolted awake, my chains jingling as I lifted my head off the bench suddenly. "No, not really. If they're going to keep me here, I'm going to have my fun. I've been in plenty of situations like this."

My neighbor scoffed. "So you are new here."

"Oh shut up."

Arabella

The first thing I saw when I awoke was the blue streak in my hair. Shit.

I rose unsteadily. The servants' chamber I recognized well, having spent so many nights there.

Servants got their own room, and in fact, it was an honor to be a servant of Valentine Morganstern.

I had a new room, though, a blue room. Blue for disobedience. The color didn't distract from the beauty of the room, though. Close to the windows were where the bed was placed, and above it were picture frames of myself and of a dozen more scenarios. A small white nightstand stood at the right, a blue lamp posed on top of it. Crammed next to that was a white bookshelf and connected, a dresser with a wooden chair pushed underneath to make a desk.

Of course, even with the bed, I was still placed on the carpet.

Most servants were classified by age, but higher ranks were classified by whom I was serving. Purple was an unknown color for a dress.

I sat up groggily and the door burst open. Eva shot through the door suddenly her violet and blue hair appearing as she lunged towards me.

"Arabella!" she cried. "You little backstabbing bitch!" She then began laughing joyfully. "You go girl!"

Eva was a disobedient servant, known for being extremely rebellious and violent. What I liked most about her was she was extremely loyal and honest. I could always rely on her to do exactly what I needed her to do with no hesitation.

"No, but seriously. That was pretty damn stupid of you," Eva said, her face grim. "You're never going to be allowed out again, and they'll be keeping a very close eye on you. I wouldn't be surprised if they put a bug in your shower," she winked, "pervs."

"Oh gross Eva!" I hit her arm lightly and she snorted.

Eva grinned, her pink lips pulling up into a smile that crinkled her chocolate eyes. "Guess who I had a run in with today." Her face suddenly turned into a grimace. I leaned forward expectantly. "Alec Lightwood."

I raised my eyebrows. "And that's a bad thing because…."

It was no secret that Eva hated Valentine. She was the reason security guards were placed outside his doors every night. "It means Valentine's winning. They have one of the last camps in America under lockdown. They were our only chance."

I gritted my teeth. There was no convincing Eva that her wishing of the Wanderers winning was ridiculous. Millions were set against hundreds. The only chance the Wanderers had – secrecy – was destroyed when Isabelle spoiled it all.

"Eva, you know that you're being too hopeful."

Her chocolate eyes narrowed. "If we could just get the damned people to wake up, it wouldn't be impossible! Killing Valentine would be a major plus, but we'll see."

"Eva –."

A loud throat clearing cut me off. Sebastian Morgenstern stood against the doorframe, a sour grin on his face. "Oh Eva. You'll never learn."

She yelped as his foot came out to kick her. It was hard to believe that the strong girl could be taken down by only a kick.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "All talk and no walk. Arabella. Father wishes to see you."

Eva snarled. "Tell him he can send that wish so far up his ass –!"

A flash of silver cut her off. "Want to finish that thought, Eva?"

Eva's eyes filled with hatred and she snarled. "Get off me, you bastard."

Sebastian scoffed, and shoved her aside. He picked me up by the hair and a sharp pain rifled through my scalp. He began dragging me out the door, muttering about stupid twelve year olds.

"Go, while I deal with your poor choice of friends," Sebastian demanded.

I swallowed, nodding slowly as I backed away before turning and running. My feet raced up the stairs until reaching the top.

My violet dress had been too long and I'd tripped multiple times until the fabric had torn. My face had grown clammy from the amount of flights and I'd never even brushed my hair.

Valentine would not be happy.

I knocked once before opening the door.

Valentine Morganstern sat with perfect posture; his face straight, and suit without a wrinkle. Hatred filled my heart.

"Arabella," he said with raised eyebrows, "sit."

I walked forward gracefully, trying to not catch my feet on the dress.

"You've made a mistake, Arabella," Valentine said. "And I understand that you were caught in the heat of the moment. You've always had such a strong passion to be a hero. You're mother died a hero, and your father was a coward. You wanted to prove yourself more like your mother than your father, despite your looks. I understand.

"My wife has convinced me that you should not be punished, but only a warning. She manipulated you, as I was told. It's an awful thing, manipulation."

I closed my eyes briefly, a flash of annoyance shooting through me. The word hypocrite sat on my tongue. I wanted so badly to say that manipulation was his specialty, but I was determined to make it out of this alive.

"Jocelyn," Valentine called, and my heart froze.

The woman walked in, her head held high. She looked so different than the woman with the fishtail braid, the woman with compassion and wisdom in her eyes. It reminded me that she was not always a compassionate leader, but the wife of a dictator once as well.

Jocelyn's eyes examined me lazily. Her green eyes sparked before fading away once more into hardness. Her hair was placed in an intricate design of curls and bobby pins and hairspray. "Not even a thank you?"

I rose quickly, curtseying. "Thank you, mi' lady."

"This is my new servant?" Jocelyn asked coldly, looking at Valentine. I examined him as well, the way his eyes lit up as he gazed upon her lovingly.

He rose as well, taking her hands. "Yes, my love."

Jocelyn's face was unmoving. I wish she had flinched; had slammed down his hands in disgust; had shouted profanities of what a sick man he was. It would've been better than not knowing anything about the woman you'd thought you'd halfway understood.

"Excellent," Jocelyn said, and she smiled. It wasn't a kind smile, but one full of cruelties. I wanted to cry. "Follow me, disobedient one."

Hi!

Okay, maybe not the best way to say hello after a month.

Maybe I should put up a white flag, yelling "Have MERCY!"

Yeah, no.

So you guys wanna know what's happened in my life recently?

Of course you do.

Well, we had State competition for Louisiana Cross Country, and my concentration was pretty much solely on that and making good grades. I got 57th out of 276, my team got 8th out of 25 teams, and 11th in my grade.

Then Thanksgiving week I almost had my mother write my eulogy. I had an awful cold. Yes, a cold made me feel like I was dying. But, this was no ordinary cold! I had a killer headache, couldn't sleep at night, and couldn't eat because of how sore my throat was, snotty nose, horrible coughing, no voice, and slight nausea. It was worse than the flu.

So, after dying, I decided to update. You're welcome.

By the way, finals are soon! I have to study for English and Geometry and yeah.

Fun right?

I should update at minimum three weeks (maybe sooner!) and at maximum six weeks.

-Bethanie Dunn

4,851 words

Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments. I do not own any characters except for Arabella, Albert, and Eva. Cassandra Clare does. Yay.