Alright...I hate to do this, but read this next chapter at your own will. There is a bit of depressing thoughts from our lovely red-headed character and a bit of depressing...everything in the next chapter too. I hope you read the summary before you even clicked on this chapter and didn't think that none of this would happen.

Remember, this is rated M now.

Prepare yourselves a bit. Language will be getting a bit more rough in this chapter and the more to come, along with the actions and thoughts of our characters.

Thanks for keeping up with me and my terrible updating.

Now go henceforth and read, my darlings!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any characters.

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Clary's P.O.V.

The painting was...depressing.

That was the only way I could describe the contrasting thick and thin dark bends and curves that flowed endlessly across the snowy canvas, creating an unknown form.

I hadn't left my art room since I arrived at my house. I didn't know what time it was, or if anyone was home yet or not. My music, currently playing A War Against Ourselves by Joel Faviere, blasted through my speakers. I'm surprised that my windows didn't shatter.

I love this song. I never knew way. I knew what it was really about. Self-harm. Not being understood. But I took comfort in the lyrics, like they were the only thing that I could relate to at some points in my life. The points where I thought no one understood what I was going through, and no one asked what was wrong.

Little did I know that I hid the feeling so well in public, no one knew in the first place. Not even my mother.

It didn't matter what happened in those times. Only that I never, ever, wanted to relive them again.

"They break me down

I can't block the sound

So I turn to the one thing

I know will not let me down"

I sing with Joel, letting the lyrics define my current actions. Painting. The thing I turn to, knowing it won't ever let me down as long as I live.

But I know the songwriter has a different thought in his mind. The shiny blade, etching a single line into his skin. The thick, hot liquid pouring out from it, coloring his clothes, the sheets, walls, and floors a dark red-

STOP!

I snap myself out of my...creepy...thoughts, not noticing until now that a red line of my own has formed on my wrists.

No, it wasn't blood. Only paint. I must have grabbed my red brush and pretended to complete the actions that my mind thought of. Thats...not good. Not good at all.

The song ends, and I notice that it was the last one on my playlist. Damn...I never put it on repeat.

I take another look at the dark lines sprawled across my piece and sigh. It's just going to be another reject painting to sit in the corner, along with a failed portrait of my old time friend Maureen and a once beautiful landscape of a waterfall which had a dark orange streak across the center. Simon's work.

Standing, I hit next, shuffle, and continuous repeat on my iPod, and take my seat at my easel again.

Just as another random song flows from my speakers, I faintly hear a knock on my trapdoor-the only way to access my sanctuary.

No one comes into my art room without me present, or not at all. Simon was an exception, but when he accidentally ruined my rainfall, I closed all the doors, metaphorically and realistically, to this room.

I turn the music down to a low hum, knowing that if it was my father, he wouldn't like it one bit.

The floorboards creak against my weight as I make my way over to the trapdoor. As I toss it open, I'm surprised to hear,

"We need to talk. Now."

And have a fly of color burst past me as Izzy enters my once closed off sanctuary. This better be good.

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Isabelle's P.O.V.

Right after school, I went straight to Clary's house. I told Alec not to let Jace know, and he agreed. I was happy to see that he noticed something going on with Clary too.

As I pulled into her short driveway, the music, probably coming from her room, was audible from the street. Man, it's like that girl wants to destroy her hearing. Well, she might when I'm done with her.

Jon had just got home, so he let me in and I bounded up the steps into her room. The source of the music seemed to be coming above me, and Clary was nowhere to be seen.

Art room. I think to myself.

I've never been into her art room. It was her personal space, and I respected that like she respected my journal.

I ascended the spiral stairs to the attic and knocked on the trapdoor. No response. I tried again, but ended with the same results.

I sigh. Probably can't hear me over the damn music.

I knocked harder. Still nothing. Then the music quieted down and I heard feet shuffle around above me. I thought she was actually coming over to me, but I know I'm wrong when the music starts up again. I quickly knock...again, and this time the music quiets down and the creaks of the boards notify me that she heard this time. A sudden tug on the door reveals my best friend: red hair piled on top of her head in a very messy bun, paint splattered on her clothes, and a look of confusion plastered on her face.

I quickly rush past her, knowing that she just close the door in my face if I try to explain, and say, "We need to talk. Now."

I honestly could say I had this entire monologue on how to approach Clary at this moment, but I was taken aback by the beautiful mural displayed before me. Everything...just flowed perfectly. I couldn't understand the complexity of it all, but I enjoyed not knowing. I just let my mind flow with the swirls and patterns bestowed before me on her wall.

"Are you here for something important? Because I have a painting I would like to finish." Clary's soft voice broke through my trance. I looked at her, paint splotched and all, and couldn't deny the fact that this girl had the power to create the masterpiece I just saw.

"Um...uh...Yes." I finally decide. "I need to talk to you. About...you."

A look of uncertainty crossed Clary's freckled face, "Uh, what about me?" she asked.

"What's up with you lately?" I nod then look at the floor, noticing that the hard wood is beaten a bit, but the paint is minimal, so I sit and motion for her to sit too. "You've been acting a bit different lately, and I can tell that you're always a bit, I don't know, uncomfortable. Even around Jace."

Clary takes a seat right in front of myself, and I can see the unhappiness in her eyes as I talk.

"Come on, Clare. You need to talk about this. I know you do." I try to keep my tone quiet, but I'm kind of pleading with her at the moment.

She's silent for the longest time but then, she says the one thing I least expected anyone, especially her, to say,

"I think someone's out to get me."

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SO...I would love Love LOVE to thank you for reading this chapter. Sorry for any mistakes. It's late...again, but I feel like I write the best at night...so...yeah.

I know that that things are starting to get a bit serious between Clary and Izzy at the moment, and that this story is turning out to be a bit...harsh, but please don't give up on me with this.

I'm going to try my best to upload another chapter tomorrow, but no promises.

Thanks again! Love you all, my beautiful mangoes!

And don't forget to review. I really want to know you're reactions to how this story is going. :)

shadowwarrior898