The Dark Artifices One Shots

Jules

Hmm maybe let's add some Jules . . .

For death and mourning the color's white.

Julian looked down at his hands. Pale, dry fingers held a thin and faded photo delicately. It was taken it about two years ago, when Ty and Livvy had first discovered how to function a Polaroid camera. The five Blackthorn siblings had crashed in the computer room that day, eagerly waiting for Emma to click the button that would spit out their photo. Ty was seated on his chair, cross-legged with his hands folded in his lap. His head was tilted to the side so that his jet-black hair hung over, a crooked smile was plastered across his face. Dru was flopped onto the couch, and Tavvy in her lap. Julian himself was stretched out on the floor like a cat. And there was Livvy. Little Livvy was hanging upside down off of the couch in soft denim shorts and a faded yellow T-shirt. Her long hair hung all the way to the floor, and her Blackthorn blue-green eyes glittered with mischief, matching her crazy grin.

White silk for when our bodies burn.

Little Livvy. It had been only a few days since the fight in the Council Hall. The funeral had been a quick and hurried thing— right in Alicante. Julian suspected that the Clave did not want to assert the evidence of how Annabel had defeated them in their place of power.

And yet Julian felt he could still walk into the training room and find his little sister cooing to her saber, or in the computer room cracking codes with her twin. The entire funeral had felt fake to him. The fight on the balcony was unreal. How could his little sister— his baby sister—be dead?

The Los Angeles Institute felt empty without hearing Livvy's laughter echoing throughout the halls, or looking up to see her mismatched socks dangling off of the upper level when spying with Ty. None of the Blackthorns' lives would be the same as it was in the photo.

Julian had once been able to mend their family after the Dark War, when Mark, Helen, and their father had been taken away. But this loss was too great. There was nothing that could heal the shard of glass deep in Julian's heart.

The others had been coping their own ways: Julian often found Ty sitting against his twin's bedroom door, or some place else all alone. He'd seen Kit try to join Ty, but the other boy would usually shrug him off with few words. Dru had seemed to keep her feelings to herself. She would always have on a fake smile—one that looked so painful it seemed it had been surgically placed. Julian knew she was never one for sadness and emotions, but he had seen the traces of salt on her face every morning. Tavvy was too young, and yet Julian knew the little seven-year-old felt the absence in their home. And Mark— he had just gotten to the teenager Livvy. He had taken over Julian's role in the family, and, of what Julian inferred, was trying to keep the Blackthorns from falling apart; the same as Julian did after the Dark War.

As for Julian, staying cooped up in his room was his way of grieving. He let Mark take over the younger siblings and was almost always hidden away by himself. After the Dark War, he was forced to take responsibility, but now it still felt odd how eager Julian found himself to let his burden fall to Mark.

The shutters were closed in the dark room, and Julian sat on the floor with his head between his knees, still staring at the photo. Shadowhunters were supposed to lay their lives down fighting, and yet two years ago, he never thought a battle would take down any of his siblings.

The door to his bedroom cracked open. Julian didn't look up as Cristina's head slowly peeked into the room. "Julian?" she said in almost a half-whisper. "Lunch is ready. I just need to know if you're coming."

He nodded his head without much energy, still not looking at her. "Julian, please say something this time," her words were soft and yet so urgent. "They need to know that they haven't lost two siblings." Her voice paused as if she wanted to say more, but the head backed out of the room, and the white door closed.