A Broken Future

Chapter Twenty: The White Dress

The bell rang eight times. Breakfast was in half an hour.
Clary, having made sure their plan had no loose ends, went as calmly back to her and Sebastian's room as she could. She felt as if she had come back to grim reality, to returning to a room without Jace, to returning to her daughter. Some things she would never want, and some things she was bound to love.
She pushed open the door, and found Sebastian calmly sitting on the end of the giant bed, legs crossed. He regarded her with mild distaste, and for a moment she feared he knew their plan. But he couldn't, could he?
"Good morning, Clarissa."
"Good morning," she croaked nervously.
"Enjoy your night with Jace?" He asked bitterly.
She didn't answer, only stared at him blankly.
"You know that this is my dimension. I have nearly limitless power here," he said, sliding off the bed.
"Yes," she replied. "But what does that have to do with anything?"
"I can see you whenever I please, sister," he said, taking the status one at a time.
Shit.
"I saw you last night. I could see the way you kissed Jace."
Maybe he hadn't seen the heavenly fire after all.
He walked up to stand very close to Clary, but did not touch her. He only looked down at her strained face. "How many times, little sister, must I tell you, that you belong to me, and me alone?"
She glared up at him, and he narrowed his eyes.
"I will show you that you are mine. You think you are his, but that is a lie, Clarissa. I will show you that you belong to me."
Clary swallowed again. "What are you going to do to me?"
"Nothing. You have already paid the price for your actions."
He left the room.

Clary's heart raced. What had Sebastian done to punish her? She knew that when he wanted to be, he was merciless and cruel, and she feared for whatever he had done.
Her first thought was Jace. Had he been mad enough to break their agreement and hurt one of her friends? But no, she had been with Jace moments ago, and it made the most sense to punish him since he had been a part of it.
Next she thought of Seraphina. Her breath stopped short to think of any harm coming to her beautiful daughter, and raced over to her crib.
Clary screamed, throwing a hand over her open mouth, and slammed to the ground on her knees.
There in the crib, surrounded by white sheets, was her baby girl. Seraphina lay unmoving in a pool of her own blood, a ragged slash across her throat. Her green eyes, fringed with pale lashes, stared upward. The salt-white hair, just beginning to curl at the ends, lay untouched.
Clary sobbed loudly through her fingers, hot tears running down her face. Her daughter, her baby girl, lay dead in her crib. She let her forehead fall onto two of the bars of the crib, grabbing onto one with her free hand, and closed her eyes. She lets the tears flow.
Her child, her precious daughter. She would never grow up, be saved with the rest of them, return to Clary's home dimension. She would never know the beauty of the land, never run in the grass or gaze at the miracles of the rivers and lakes and animals. She wouldn't know thriving cities, or vast stretches of rural fields at the farmhouse, or have friends of her own. She would never fall in love, grow up, get married, have babies of her own. She would never know any kind of love but the parental and familial she had been given during her short life.
Soon Sebastian returned, but Clary had no intentions of pulling herself together. She wished to mourn her lost daughter, but grew furious to think that he had killed her.
She stood up suddenly, still sobbing, and spun at him where he stood calmly in the middle of the floor.
"You did this!" She screamed. "How could you! She was my daughter! She was your daughter!"
He blinked calmly. "There is a price for everything, dear sister."
"No. No! Don't tell me about paying prices, you bastard," she spat, marching up to him. "I can never forgive you for this, and I won't!" She shoved him hard in the chest, and he rocked backward, away from her.
Clary sobbed violently, approaching him once more. She brought her hands up to hit him again, but he grabbed her wrists roughly.
"You will not attack me, Clary," he rebuked. "Or you will find out who is next."
She gave him a look of pure, unfettered hatred.
"And do not be late for breakfast."
Once again, he left her.

Clary's tears were still constant, but now she was silent. She walked slowly to her daughter's body, time seeming to drag on with each footstep. When she saw the small, delicate girl and a fresh pang of sorrow struck her. Gently, she pushed her eyelids closed and pulled a white linen blanket up to her chin. Now she could be sleeping, if not for the scarlet that had begun to seep through the fabric.
Next, she trudged over to the dresser. with a small bit of searching, she found a white dress, made of silky fabric that fell down to her knees when she put it on. It had a straight neckline just below her collar-bones, with cap sleeves that made it look neat and clean-cut.
For death and mourning the color's white.