Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile…Each time I think I'm close to knowing, she keeps on growing, Slipping through my fingers all the time…"
-ABBA, Slippin' Through My Fingers
Jocelyn Fairchild, Post-City of Glass
Suddenly, the girl she knew was no longer a little girl, no longer the six-year-old who had carried a pink plastic backpack with a 24-pack of Crayons and Simon's watchful eye with her wherever she went. Suddenly, she was dressed all in black and running wild through dangerous streets, fighting demons and kissing dangerous boys (the kind Jocelyn thoroughly disapproved of, the kind with bad attitudes that looked like maybe they would burn down her apartment for fun).
Jocelyn and Clary had always been close, sharing breakfast in their small kitchen, reading and painting or drawing, talking and walking in Central Park, often with Luke, and simply finding contentment in each other's presence. But Clary had grown up recently (very, very quickly) and Jocelyn knew that the teenager she felt she was just starting to understand had once again slipped through her fingers and fallen into a world without her.
Even though it was Jocelyn's own world, she still felt isolated from her daughter. What had happened to her little girl? What had happened to the Clary Fray of bright red braids, the Clary Fray of cute freckles, gap teeth, and a Disney Princess coloring book? Where had she gone? How had the years slipped by so quickly, between visits with Luke and trips to Magnus and sleepy coffee mornings and art projects and new books? Jocelyn wasn't ready to let it go, but, like sand, it escaped anyway. She tried to clutch her Clary to her, only to find that she'd already leapt into another adventure, grown up in another way, learned through bitter experience the meaning of loss and sacrifice and strength.
Clary had come such a long way from what Jocelyn had just been coming to terms with—a slightly rebellious teenager with an absolutely average life and the occasional fight over independence—and Jocelyn realized she had missed the transition (well, she had been in a magically-induced coma for most of it). It was startling, frightening, and heartbreaking to see her baby girl turned into a warrior.
Jocelyn knew, with a heaviness in her heart, that no matter how hard she tried to hold onto Clary, she would never be able to keep her from slipping away.
A/N: So I leave you for three months and when I come back, all you get is 400 words. I suck. Thanks for anyone who continues to read this and keep up with me, and thanks to the reviewers of last chapter, Milliniumlint, depthsofthemind, and SCawesome98. Please, everyone, return to me and I'll try my best to work my way through this story. European trips and final exams and an alarming tumblr addiction got in the way. I'm working on it.
Reviews are record players and good nostalgic music.