"Stand up," Sebastian repeats. His voice is no different than it had been the first time; I was still unaffected. The Infernal Cup, it didn't work! For whatever reason, I was immune to the power of the Cup's blood.

I begin to smile.

"Is something wrong?" I ask Sebastian, daring to look him in the eyes.

"I'd wipe that grin off your face, Clarissa," he says through gritted teeth. His eyes look deadly, hollow. He's so furious that he has nothing to say. That's when I know he's the most dangerous.

"You can't make me," I say. That was definitely not the right thing to do. Seconds later his boot connects with the side of my face and I collide back against the ground clutching my forehead.

"Grin's gone," Sebastian spits. "Now, stand up."

I pull my hand away painted over with my blood. There was no mercy in that kick.

"Didn't you hear me! Stand up!" I bring myself to my feet despite the overwhelming dizziness in my head, not about to get kicked again. Sebastian circles around me, "You're very beautiful, little sister. Although, I must say, you're very scrawny and much too short. That," he points to the fresh wound on my head, "Will heal within time, but those scars on your back will not."

"What's the point in keeping me here?" I ask, trying to hold myself up with as much power as I can muster.

His fingers stroke my right cheek, "Your eyes are very unique. You are very unique. That extra angel blood in you protected you from the Infernal power and you can create runes off of the top of your head. You, Clarissa, were able to separate an inseparable bond with a sword, only to be held by a greater god himself with hardly any Shadowhunting training at all."

"Simon was able to hold it," I say.

"Hmm, yes, the Vampire. But, if you were more observant, you would've noticed that he was unable to use the sword."

"I took the sword before he could use it, though––"

"You took the sword from him because it was you that had to save your precious Jace. It had to be you to use the sword. You see, Clarissa, you're special. No ordinary Nephilim. Do you know why?"

"I'm not special, Sebastian; I was still struggling to fit in at high school not even eight months ago and I'm not the smartest or the most beautiful, or even the strongest. I'm just me: ordinary."

"That is where you are wrong, you are blind of your beauty and your strength––that I believe is because of your ridiculous mundie-modesty. But, what I'm wondering is if you know why you're different from other Shadowhunters?"

"But, I'm not different from other Shadowhunters!"

"It's because you have Morgenstern blood. We share the same blood and can be unstoppable together! You can make this world ours, little sister. Burn down all that isn't right and help me raise a new race where there is no weakness or fear, only power and brilliance. A world that is perfect."

"What is perfect about a world that has been engulfed in flames! I won't help you burn the world down, Sebastian. It's insane."

"Why do you hide your true identity. I don't understand why you can't see that you're just like me."

"Because I'm not like you, Jonathan. I don't want to see innocent Vampires, and Werewolves, or Faeries, and Shadowhunters die. I can't hurt those who don't deserve to be hurt."

The corner of his lip twitches and his hand slips down to the crook of my neck where he captures one of my damp curls and tugs at it lightly. The back of his hand remains cold against my collarbone and I keep my eyes steady on his dark ones. His eyelashes are so long and perfect; a waist. Sebastian's face is impeccable, hard to believe that it's the face behind such awful and twisted thoughts.

"How were you able to create new Demons," I ask him finally, breaking the silence.

He grins so that I can see the tips of his white teeth, "Must I tell you?"

"You created portals too; you couldn't of done any of that without a Warlock. But even a Warlock can't create new Demons," I think allowed. But, that made me wonder how Demons began to evolve. The first demon could've simply just of been a snake. How did the Forsaken species become what they are today.

"You're right. They can't."

"Who helped you?"

He releases a muffled laugh from inside his throat and looks down at my chest. I have the urge to cover myself up with my arms, but I swallow thickly instead. Now, just standing here like this, the pain in my forehead begins to deepen and I cringe my teeth together. The gash pounds for relief and sends heated shivers down my spine.

"I, don't believe you deserve to know, Clarissa. Not yet."

I scoff, "You want me to help you burn down the world, and you won't tell me who's been making these new Demons?"

I stay still and hold back the growl inside my mouth. His eyes stay immobile over my uncovered skin; the idea of being with Sebastian sickens me. When I had thought Jace was my brother, I found myself crying, wishing that he wasn't because I was so in love with him. I didn't want to be with him though––I did, but I couldn't, no matter how strong my feelings were because he was supposedly related to me. Like Jace had said, it was almost like some kind of sick joke. But, now knowing the truth, that Sebastian's my actual brother, and that he still wants to be with me...it's disgusting.

How could he even compare himself to Jace?

"I don't really care what you want, sweetheart," Sebastian says bitterly, "you will help me."

All I want is to cry; I don't know why I want to cry right now, but I do. It could be because of the throbbing cut on my forehead, but I think it's because I know just how powerful Sebastian is. Even if I were to escape, there would be nowhere to run. He could make me do just about anything he wanted, even help him burn down the world.

If I'm so special, why do I feel so powerless?

"You're dead to me," I say.

He frowns, and lifts his eyes away from my chest, up to my lips, "Am I? Do you not understand how I feel about you?"

"You don't love me, Sebastian!"

"Is it fair for you to say whether I love you or not?"

I spit, "Is it fair to kill billions of humans and Nephilim and Downworlders? Is it fair to keep those poor people behind cell doors and let them nearly starve? What you're doing and what you're planning to do isn't fair!"

"If only you weren't such a spitfire, little sister," he snarls.

"You can do anything you want to me; you can beat me until I can barely move and starve me until I'm skin and bones, but I won't do what you want me to do."

"Bold words, but what if you weren't the one being beaten until they can't even keep their eyes open or starved until all that's left of them is their pathetic skeleton. What if it was your mother," I wince at the mention of my mother and pull my lips into a thin line, "or our new father, Lucian? Even better, what if it was Jace?"