I try not to rush my writing; I know it takes me a long time to update but I'm just trying to make each chapter perfect though there far from it.

But this story gave me more inspiration and I decided to write it down to all of my lovely reviewers who took the time to write such wonderful comments. You guys are just seriously the best!

I'd really like to address a certain person who left me a comment as a guest. They said: "Oh goodness. This is the type of story, with those morals and impressions, that makes it more than simply a story, but rather words that breathe life and have, in essence, its own soul. Thank you."

I would like to take a moment to thank you! This comment really inspired me to write on. As did a lot of the rest of your comments such as one from muzicoftheheart, Lyrander, rats xp and so many more! Thank you all so much.

Also, thank you to kirbycasper for finding my really big error! OOPS!

I own nothing. And sorry for any mistakes; I don't have a beta, it's all done by yours truly


Jace couldn't sleep; no matter what position he laid it was never comfortable and the pounding in his head wasn't helping either. His little buzz of alcoholic courage had passed and left behind a persistent reminder as he rubbed his temples. He hadn't slept all night as he rolled with tired and aching limbs out of bed and shuffled toward the bathroom that was adjacent to his room. The light seemed to blind him for a few moments as he blinked at his reflection.

No wonder Clary hadn't given him the time of day before; he looked like hell. The bags under his eyes intensified from his horrible night of guilt ridden sleep. The sun haven't even woken yet; the moon still rose high in the air as if smiling down and hugging everything in its glow. Jace wished he could sleep but he knew it was futile. All he could think of was Clary's face. How disappointed she had looked at him; not one look of hurt or pain flashed across her face as he and Sebastian had lashed out at her.

Only sorrow. And not even for herself but for him.

How was it she could make him feel bad without even trying? How was it she could say two simple words and it seemed to stab his heart every time they replayed in his head?

"I see."

There was no cringe of pain, no look of anguish as he spat those awful words at her; words that now made his mouth feel dry and taste bitter. It was as if the words themselves didn't faze her; but that, Jace supposed, was because they didn't. She didn't give two shits about what the people in this town thought, much less himself and Sebastian, two seemingly unimportant figures in society.

Except he wasn't. He was Jonathon Christopher Herondale, dammit. He was the mayor's son. He was important; he was very important.

"You have three different people in you, Jace. The football player, the popular kid and Jonathon Christopher Herondale: the Mayor's son; I'm never really sure who I'm talking to. But I sure as hell know it's not Jace."

Who was he? Whoever was this guilt ridden and hellish looking boy staring back at him? Was this really what he had become? Or was this who he'd always been? Was he just seeing passed the so-well-kept glamour now?

Suddenly, Jace found himself agreeing with everything Jordan had said. Sitting with shaking legs on top of the pristine, white toilet seat, Jace brought his hands up to rub against his face. His cheeks scratched against his palms from his lack of shave and made a rustling sound as his pulled his fingers through the coarse stubby hair. What had become of him? Of the boy who had caught frogs along the creek outside with the Lightwoods; of the boy who had tried to best each Lightwood sibling with his answer to Robert's question: "Did you have another fulfilling day?".

Where was the boy who had looked for adventure? The boy who would have sacrificed his soul for the people he loved? When had he clouded everything in his mind? When did the person he loved the most become himself?

When did he feel he was the only one he could trust? That there could be no one else. When had he turned his back on the only family he had ever known?

Jace felt his stomach weigh heavily down in him; as if it was trying to stretch itself to the floor. A pain so acute and foreign shook through him as he hissed and clenched at his heart which only seemed to beat faster in response.

Everything was clear to him now. He was nothing; truly and simply. He had nothing but his name. He had no money, his father did, and he had no propriety that was, again, all from his father. He was nothing but a pretty face and a royal name. A name was all he had.

And what did Clary have? She might as well have everything. Because she was a complete Outcast and the rat-faced boy, Jace had remembered seeing earlier, had stuck by her anyway. Would Sebastian do the same for him? If he had no riches or beauty? If he had a different name?

Closing his eyes; Jace tried to let the negative thoughts leave him. He was thinking ridiculously, absurdly. All he needed was a good night's sleep and everything would be just as it was before. But it wouldn't. He knew that deep in his heart; because Clary had given him something no one else ever had.

Freedom.

A place without judgment; free to be whatever he wanted, whoever he wanted. And it was nice; really, really nice. And now he wanted more; more of the feeling he had as he watched her paint that mural on the wall on an old, decrepit building that people walked by everyday without a second glance. More of her equal stares that seemed to cut him to his very core and demand the truth from him; that would expect nothing less; more of the feeling of his finger's brushing her own so softly as if it was a butterfly's touch.

"Perhaps, I was wrong. I thought you were different. I put too much pressure on you because I thought you could take it. I thought I saw something in you, Jace Herondale. But I was wrong."

But she wanted nothing more to do with him. And how was he to blame her? He had no claim to her before and he certainly had no claim to her now. Something about Clary made him think no one could claim her truly; that you could only settle for a part of her that made up the larger whole. But it was so worth it; that small part. Because it was all you'd ever need.

But he'd been dumb and naïve. He couldn't handle the thought of the judgment; of the crowd's cruel stares if he sided with Clary. Because no matter what he really was weak. Because no matter how strong he pretended to be, it was all a mask that could break at any given moment as if made from glass. But Clary, she was made of pure steel. Nothing could break her because she was too distorted to begin with. Her views and opinions of life were so strange and yet held nothing but truth; it was as if she had lived thousands of lives rather than just being a 17 year old teenager. She had a wisdom in her eyes that could only come with years of knowledge; she held a maturity that was hidden in even the eldest adult. And now he would only watch her from afar helplessly and full of want. And wish to hold her hand and walking strongly beside her.

So, that's exactly what he did. He watched her from afar as she floated down the hallway of Kingsley High as if not even gravity could hold her down. And as one week turned to two Jace felt the hole in his chest, made by those two little words she had spoken, tear open even more until he was sure he had no heart at all.

With his head bent down in his car and the thick purple circles that had grown so familiar under his eyes, he headed off for home. Driving past the large oak tree, where he had his first kiss with Penelope Hertz when he was twelve and toward the railroad tracks that hadn't been used as proper transportation in years. The row upon row of parked cars to his left sparked just enough curiosity in him to slow his speed and gaze out the window. With furrowed eyebrows he looked at the crowd of people gathered around each other as they stood staring and Jace, unable to stop himself, glided swiftly from the lane he was in and parked diagonally beside a purple, rusted Stratus. He slid his door open and looked up, his eyes following the pointed fingers and undisguised gasps.

A sharp breath was released from his chest as he looked at what hovered above the crowd of gawking admirers; as people took pictures and posted it on any social network they were a part of. It was beautiful the art that hovered high above his head. He remembered the night it was born. He had remembered that night all too well; the feeling of his sore limbs as he rushed to catch up with her. The feeling of peeked curiosity as she dared him to follow; he remembered watching as her small, porcelain white hands worked in fast strokes. The look of pure concentration on her face as she tried to both balance on the old, rusted garbage bin and complete the work of art before them. The way his heart seemed to stop and restart its beat as he watched her. He remembered the blissful look on her face as she had glanced up at him; the feeling of her soft hands under his harsh ones. The side of her hip had dug into his thigh and he remembered wanting nothing more than to pull her closer, run his fingers through each bleeding strand of red hair.

He did not, however, remember the words that were elegantly written on the bottom; each letter looping and twining together like vines in a jungle. The bluntness of each word contrasted sharply with the softness of the picture floating above. His heart stopped and his lungs screamed for the air that got caught in his throat making his mouth dry.

Because Clary had added a sentence below the picture; a sentence, he was sure, that was just for him.

"'It is unwise to be too sure of one's own wisdom. It is healthy to be reminded that the strongest might weaken and the wisest might err.'"

And as if compelled by something completely out of his control Jace hurled his body into his car and stepped on the gas, peeling away from his parking spot with a squeal. He clenched the wheel firmly as the tightness in his chest increased; his knuckles turning white from the strain. His chest felt as if someone was sitting on it as he heaved and rounded a corner far too quickly almost running over Mrs. Benson walking her manicured poodle. He didn't bother apologizing as he stepped harder on the accelerator and kicked up dust in his wake as he headed down the oh-so-familiar dirt road. His lips felt chapped and his eyes were burning as he stopped the car and slammed it into park before leaping from the vehicle; not even bothering to grab his keys from the ignition or turn off the Camaro. He didn't even glance back at his "baby" before he jumped up to Clary's porch and slammed his hand down onto the doorbell.

His fist slammed on the door frame in a panic as the piece of hard oak pulled open slowly. Jace stood heaving on the other side as the full affect of what he'd just done hit him. He had no idea if Clary would even answer the door. He had a 50/50 shot at it really, but what if Old Man Hodge answered? What if he had a shot gun or a rifle to shoot him? Or perhaps he would just wound him so he could drag him into his house and torture him like he had his wife? Suddenly, Jace was frightened; more so than anything else and wanted to run back to his still idling car but couldn't find the strength to move. It was as if his feet were glued to the floor.

The door opened gradually, creaking as it did before a gray face popped forward. It was a man with deep graying hair and a trimmed mustache, the circular glasses that balanced on the end of his nose made him seem even more harmless as he regarded the boy that stood before him. Warm brown eyes rich like the finest chocolate stared deep into his own as if assessing what was to be told of the shaking boy before him. All the stories he'd ever heard; all the rumors he had listened to with wide eyes and open ears looked to be extremely false.

Because Old Man Hodge looked and seemed nothing like what everyone said about him.

The deranged look in his eyes was not present nor was the gangly body that was supposed to resemble that of a spider's. The tongue that darted out to wet his chapped lips looked nothing like a serpents and his towering stance was not a stance at all. Old Man Hodge was perched in a wheelchair; his legs thin and useless as he pushed forward with his hands.

"Can I help you, boy?" Hodge's voice was nice and elderly. His smile was easy as if he had no idea what the people in this little town thought of him. He seemed so small and feeble like he was no stronger than brittle glass; but something about the look in his eyes told Jace an entirely different story. He'd seen that look before, that smile that seemed so easy as if there was not a care in the world. It was Clary's face that flashed through his mind when he looked at Old Man Hodge. And suddenly this man's opinion meant the world to him as Jace stepped forward, his temporary paralysis overcome, and stuck his hand out for the elder man to take.

"Um, hello, sir." Jace said with a shaky voice as Hodge gave a bigger smile and wheeled forward to grip his hand tight; it was a comfortable shake. The kind exchanged between two equal men. "I'm, Jace Herondale, a friend of your granddaughter's. And I was hoping I could talk to her."

"Ah, the Mayor's son." Hodge answered with a knowing nod of his head.

And as if unable to stop the words that gushed out of his mouth like a flowing river, Jace spoke fast as Hodge held his gaze. "I messed up. Pretty badly, sir, and I just want to make it right. I. . .I. . ." Jace trailed off unable to put words to the emotions that he was feeling; unable to fully understand why he felt the need to explain and why the hell wasn't he shutting the hell up. "I just really need to fix what I broke, sir."

Something flashed in Hodge's eyes as a look of waywardness settled in his expression. The smile on his face was relaxed as he furrowed his eyebrows and put a hand to his chin. "I believe she said something about a night sky that needed painting." Hodge raised his eyebrows as Jace blinked at him. Even though he tower over Hodge in height, something about the wisdom in the old man's stare made him feel small and nothing but a child. "You wouldn't happen to know what she meant by that, would you?" His voice suggested that he was teasing Jace as the teenage boy let loose a large smile.

"Yes," He nodded quickly before turning and jumping down the steps. "I know exactly what she meant. Thank you!"

Hodge let out a bellowing laugh that made Jace feel that if Santa were here that's the way he would laugh. "Bring her home safely."

Jace paused a moment to give the man who had now pushed himself out onto the porch with admiring eyes. "Of course, sir." He revved his engine before pulling slowly out of the drive; feeling the eyes of Hodge on him as he reversed and pulled out onto the dirt street. It wasn't until he was sure Hodge could see him no longer that his foot pressed heavily down on the accelerator petal and made him feel as if he were flying to her.


He ran into the drama room; his hands pushed heavily on the thick steel doors that closed around the auditorium. It fell with a crash behind him and seemed to explode in the all but silent room. He looked with frantic eyes before he spotted her. Her back was completely to him as he watched her hand move with fine strokes across the wooden board. The stars , which were white from the paint, shined under the bright lights of the stage making them really glow and, as if some type of mystical creature, Clary stood with confidence and elegance. Her red hair in tangled, fizzy loops down her back looking like dripping blood and her old, worn boots made scoffing sounds against the polished floor.

His pulse seemed to be increasing its tempo and he wondered if she was ignoring him because she had to have heard the way his heart pounded against the cavity of his chest. He moved with silent grace to the stage where she stood; her profile illuminated under the sharp lights. Her small nose had a dab of white paint on the tip but she didn't seem to notice as she scrunched it occasionally. Her green eyes were bright like gems as she stared at the wooden board but as if she wasn't truly looking at it at all but was staring beyond it. She was trapped in her own world. A world he so desperately wanted to be a part of.

He didn't deserve her friendship but he really wanted it. He wanted it very badly.

"Who said you could take over my job?" His voice held the teasing tone he always used around her as her fingers stopped momentarily and her head turned in his direction, the same smile he had seen not even ten minutes earlier on Hodge's face was stretched across hers. Jace noticed that her nose wasn't the only place she had gotten paint on but also on her cheek and her forehead; he watched as she moved a piece of red hair with a flick of her fingers making the once crimson color streaked white. The scene brought a smile to his own face.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure, Mascot?" Clary said with a wider smile; her teeth shining and her face brightening. She really was beautiful.

Jace suddenly furrowed his eyebrows; he'd never really paid attention to the nickname she always called him but he felt the need to correct her as he gave her a quick laugh. "Why do you always call me that?"

"Well, aren't you?" She said with a knowing smile.

"I'm the Quarterback, Pixie, not the Mascot."

Clary stared into his golden eyes for a few beats too long before she nodded her head; her hair seeming to come alive under the strong lights. He felt as if he, somehow, answered that question wrong. "I see."

There were those damn words again. The same words that made him clench a fist to his shirt and make his heart crawl back down his throat as he watched her with a fury in his eyes. He didn't like the feeling she left him; the inner turmoil she seemed to leave him in as she gazed at him with that damn knowing smile. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

So much for coming to apologize. If he didn't stop now he'd never get her back. And her friendship meant something very important to him; but all of a sudden his pride also seemed very important. The pride that made people stop and stare at him; the same one that had the teachers falling to their knees to praise him and for the girls to kiss his feet.

Clary shrugged as if his harsh tone and venomous words held no merit to her. That only seemed to make him angrier. What was she? Made of stone? "I was simply making an observation."

"An observation on what? You're wrong; I've been the Quarterback for 3 years at this school. The youngest student to ever make it to Varsity as Captain." His voice was growing louder as Clary dropped her paint brush and gave him her full attention. "We've been undefeated for 3 years because of me!"

Clary nodded as she listened to him; her eyes still twinkling with a knowledge that just upset him further. What could she possible know? He had lived those years himself! There was no way he was wrong."Yes, I know all that. I think everyone in this town does."

Jace blinked in confusion as he stared at her. "But. . .but. . .I don't understand." His words tripped over in his mouth and sounded like a jumbled mess.

Clary's smile softened as she approached him. "You've won enough games to get your name in the paper. You've showed you have promise and potential to the whole community." She said with a nod and pause; her pink, soft lips pushed together in a hard line. " You also step on anyone you deem different; you laugh at the expense of others and you hold yourself in such a high esteem everyone around you feels the need to please you." He furrowed his eyebrows as he watched her in fascination as a deep dread settled in his stomach.

"Open your eyes, Jace." Clary said with a slight disgust crossing her face; the most emotion he'd seen from her since he walked in. "The school has a giant picture of you mounted on the wall beside the trophy case." She gave an unbelieving laugh. "This whole school strives for perfection and they use your image to do it." She raised her eyebrows at him; they looked like deep, bleeding slashes against the white paint on her forehead. "Now, think about that and tell me how you're not even close to being a Mascot."

Jace felt all the air leave his chest in a hurry. He wanted to tell her she was wrong. That he knew exactly who he was. That he was Kingsley Hawk's best Quarterback; that she could never understand because she wasn't him.

But that was just it wasn't it? If she were in his shoes, this whole town would see differently. She'd never stand for anyone to be put down for their beliefs. She would never allow people to be ridiculed for their strengths and their dreams. But he did and so did the rest of this sorry excuse of a town.

Because he did. Clary was one hundred percent right; just like always, she seemed to see the things he didn't. Even the things about himself.


She was right, though I would find she was right most of the time anyway, I was everything she said and more. I was Kingsley High's Mascot. More so than that, I was this whole town's Mascot. I was exactly what she said and I'd never even known it.

The way the people of this town treated me, looked at me; all the leniencies I had gotten suddenly felt cheap. That was because they were. And the very thought of my whole image: the one my mother praised me for everyday and the one that seemed to make women bend to my will disgusted me too. The car that I drove seemed appalling and the house that I was raised in; the one that had made me feel oh-so-important and proud seemed ostentatious. It made me sick to my stomach as I thought of all the things I had deemed so vital to life; I felt foolish and disappointed in myself.

My polished and golden world was slowly falling apart; like fabric becoming ripped at the seams, yarn being unwound. And I had no idea what to do, no idea who I was. All I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was that I needed Clary.

I need a friend; one that would stick by me and not turn their back. I needed more than that.

I needed love. I felt I needed to find it.

I wished I would have known it was standing right in front of me all along sooner than I had.


Jace felt his eyes close tightly as if it was all a bad dream and he would wake up as it was before. As if he never said those things to Clary, as if he never spoke to Old Man Hodge, as if she had never made him think of what he truly was. Of what he was truly worth.

But she had and he had. And there was no undoing what was already done. His legs seemed to quake as he sank to his knees and placed his face into his hands. He had never felt so alone until this moment; he never felt so truly lost and forgotten as he did now. He wanted nothing more than to run at that moment but where would he go? Home? He didn't really know where that was anymore and the thought only saddened him further.

"God," He didn't understand who spoke; but it couldn't have been him. Not the broken and shattered boy that whispered in a shaking voice, it couldn't have been. "When did everything become so messed up?"

It was a rhetorical question. One that only he could really answer but he didn't want to. He didn't really know either way and thinking about the whole mess only made him want to weep. Was this what he'd become? Someone so broken that they couldn't be fixed? That he was so weak as to cry?

And suddenly as light as a soft snowfall an arm wrapped around his shoulders; pulling him forward into a warm embrace. His forehead felt the material of her soft t-shirt, his nose lightly dipped into her belly button through the cloth. He knew that he could really take advantage of the way Clary held him now; maybe break that so-well-put together shield she had built and make her pant and shiver below him but the thought of that actually disgusted him. To take advantage of her kindness, of the way his body seemed to curl into hers as his arms wrapped around her hips. She stroked his hair softly and muttered reassurances he didn't deserve. And the thought of her friendship seemed so much more important now than it was before. Because all Clary did was give him a hug and it felt like some little piece of him was being stitched up and put back together. He couldn't lose that feeling; above everything else, he just couldn't.

"I need you." He muttered into the soft fabric of her t-shirt. His arms tightened as if afraid his admission would scare her off as if Clary was afraid of anything. "I need you to stay with me."

It was simple what he said; many could have interoperated it as they wanted. He could have meant he needed her physically, which he did if he was going to be honest, or he needed her emotionally or mentally. In truth, he needed all of it. He needed all of Clary. Of her soft smiles and warmth; of her knowing eyes that made him so mad and intrigued at the same time; he needed Clary's freedom. The freedom that she gave away without judgment.

He needed her.

"But you don't want anyone to know about us. Our friendship." Clary said as she gazed on something far off in the distance as if it was a new adventure waiting to happen; all Jace saw were a bunch of empty seats and dark shadows. She hadn't meant the words as a question; Jace knew she wasn't stupid enough for that.

With a sigh he leaned back and ran a rough hand through his hair, he could feel her beside him as she sat down; her warmth. It radiated from her simple jeans through the fabric of his own pants. "Yes." He felt like that wasn't enough, he felt he owed her more though she gave no indication she needed more as she softly smiled. "I'm not strong enough yet." He had no idea why he'd said yet. In honestly he didn't think he could ever be strong.

Clary chuckled softly to herself, not in a way where Jace felt threatened or made him think she was being condescending; but more of a laugh where she couldn't believe in what he said. It held a bewilderedness that made Jace's cheeks turn pink. "'Man often becomes what he believes himself to be. If I keep on saying to myself that I cannot do a certain thing, it is possible that I may end by really becoming incapable of doing it. On the contrary, if I have the belief that I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it even if I may not have it at the beginning.'" The words seemed to flow from her mouth like water from a stream as her eyes sparkled with renewed vigilance. Her smile told him he was forgiven; but did he forgive himself?

Jace smirked before pursing his lips and placing his hand on his chin in mock thought. "Emily Bronte?"

She let out another honest laugh. "No. Mahatma Gandhi."


I guess, you could say Clary really liked Gandhi.

And because of his words I'd gotten one of the most important people in my life back.

So, I'd taken a liking to Gandhi too.


The drama continues!

Will Jace realize his feelings for Clary?

Does Clary hide behind a well made mask herself?

Will he ever let people know of his relationship with her?

Find out!

If you didn't please read the author's note at the top.

Someone commented on the fact I didn't put a "Question for the reader" question anymore. And I'm so sorry! I totally forgot. I didn't know it really meant that much! But it tickles me pink that it does so here's your question:

If you could choose to be a mystical creature, what would it be?

Thank you all for reading.