Serendipitously on a wet night, a soft, subdued knock sounded amidst the downpour; the rain hadn't let up. He stood up, brushed off his clothes, looked at her eyes for reassurance and went to get the door. Faintly, It sounded with a click as he opened it. The guest was not at all who he expected it to be - he had not actually expected anyone. Panickedly, she stood, carrying a pale pink parasol, her skin and lips as pale as he had always remembered them to be. She ran to close the distance between them and began to hurtle noises that sounded like cries, vaguely. He was taken aback. Clear disgust plastered on his face; he pushed her back by her shoulders, instantly as fast as he could manage.
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Cordelia was in the library, a cozy room with 4 meter tall bookshelves packed with hundreds of dozens of books. Eagerly waiting for James, who had yet to come back; she stood up after a minute of staring blankly at the half-opened door, mustering all her strength to hoist herself up. Seemingly, It was a terrible mistake to stand as her left leg had fallen asleep. She had to hold onto the side of the chesterfield behind her, a mahogany-coloured sofa with worn out cushions. Had James not insisted upon a talk, Cordelia would've gone straight to her bed, regardless of her dampened petticoat.
The day's event replayed in her head; Cordelia, her hands gripping the hilt of cortana, advanced her sword into belial and drove it home. Thinking of Belial, James' great grandfather, a greater demon with spikes inflicting its back, made her shudder. She knew that sooner or later he would be back to get his revenge; since a greater demon like him, didn't simply die. She shook her head, as if to release the hold of all her thoughts and walked out the door to the hallway. She was baffled by a sudden greeting of very palpable tension in the air, one that she could discern down to her bones. James was standing still in the doorframe, his head looking down, his fists clutching hard. Grace stood across him; she was stuttering, her petite body quivering, tears trickling down her pale cheeks. Cordelia couldn't audibly perceive what Grace was saying from such a far distance, for the rain had hushed her dreary voice.
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Grace lives in the old blackthorn house, beyond the dreadfully grim forest, within the miserable briary gates, surrounded by overgrown Fortinggal Yew trees. The house was stripped of flamboyance and life; without the luminous light from the sun, the house was pitch black. By the time Grace got home after the day's dire event, the sun had melted away, replaced by the pouring rain, indifferent to her sour mood. With the rain and the rumbling nimbus clouds, she strained to peer through the murk from the window.
Grace allowed her thoughts to wander out and about as she sauntered towards her room, a chamber that had once belonged to Tatiana, wide and spacious with a single queen-sized bed dominating its centre. All she could think of was visiting Jesse, the only person she had immensely loved, her true brother despite their different bloodline. She was secretly glad that Tatiana was not at home, for it was the only time she could disregard all the horrible things she'd done. Instead of walking to her room, she found that her legs had brought her to the massive ballroom (at least it was once a ballroom). It was where Jesse was placed, inside the glass coffin, laid atop soft velvety silk.
It had just seemed like yesterday that Jesse was sitting next to her amid the lush garden, laden with pigmented dainty daisies and laboriously tended grasses, a veneer that veiled the once vacant soils. His presence, steady and unyielding, had been her only shield against the bitter veracity of the world; before his passing, frightened as she was to shadowhunters' warfares and lethal demons in its entirety, he had been there for her.
She remembered, seated across from each other on the beige-tinted frayed Chesterfield, inside the voluminously lusterless study that had once belonged to Rupert, Jesse and Tatiana were talking to each other. Disallowed from hearing their conversation, Grace, who had been 10 at that time, attempted to eavesdrop behind the door and failed considerably as the door creaked open when she had inadvertently leaned against it. Instantly, Tatiana stood up with her hands akimbo, cleared her throat in an amusing manner, raised her high-arched eyebrows and riveted her gaze towards Grace's. Grace tore her gaze from Tatiana and faced Jesse, tilting her head to the left side, instinctively, trying to comprehend Jesse's reaction: his hands covering his mouth as he laughed silently after he'd seen Grace's dismayed expression.
When they noticed Grace's eyes starting to water, her tears on the verge of spilling, Tatiana stretched out her arms, motioning for Grace to come; walking rather slowly and tentatively, Grace reached upon where Tatiana stood and placed her hands on top of Tatiana's. She was greeted by a hug as Tatiana's hand came around her petite form and Tatiana's voice in her ears, telling her that it was okay and not to cry. Grace mumbled an apology, sincerely. Not long after, She felt Tatiana shake, she was startled- she'd thought Tatiana was crying until she looked up and saw that it was quite the opposite. In fact Tatiana was laughing, hysterically.
Thereupon - as if laughter was something contagious - she began to laugh as well, quietly and nervously at first and then louder. Warmths pooled inside her like steaming hot vapour with just the perfect temperature. Contrasting to the reality that had hit her like chilled freezing ice water. Her heart ached as she thought of the memories they had shared together, of the laughter and contentment she thought she'd never felt again after the death of her mama and papa.
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To dash along the empty and distant halls leading her to Jesse's room would mean the same as entreating Tatiana's inevitable wrath, for she had forewarned Jesse and her - not once or twice but countless of times - not to risk bothering the spirits that meandered along the walls. Of course that was simply Tatiana's way of providing herself with some moments of quietude; but Grace, who was spooked of absolutely everything in its existence, took upon Tatiana's words. So, slowly she crept across the halls, always conscious of the sounds produced by her every step; once or twice, she would pause to look at the portraits of the patronymic (Blackthórn) families that were hung up - to be honored for their life, remembered for their contribution and esteemed for whatever they're worth. Oftentimes, though it was rare, she would find herself lingering at some of the portraits, longer than she had surmised adequate to satisfy her momentary curiosity or more so, to bestow herself something to look at.
Thenceforth, her life revolved around the manor: in the mid-mornings, you would find her sitting comfortably atop the soft pillowy cushions by the giganteum windows. Aureate Lights streamed in and glistened the shelves of the most quintessentially vintage library ever existed (at least according to Grace). It was Jesse and Wilkie Collins' intricate books - especially her favorite, "The Women in White" - and partly Tatiana that decorated her utterly unadorned days like the bedazzling jewels that accessorised a naked silver necklace. Infrequently, when they weren't there, out of some sort of shadowhunters business she was forbidden to attend, it was the presence of the manor and her dexterous shadows that became her confidante- fluidly accompanying her wherever she went.
YOU ARE READING
some sort of COI retelling
Fantasymeticulous descriptions entailing the COI, belonging to Cassie Clare :) feel free to comment,,, ill keep on updating the story! I hope they are to your liking! this is my first wattpad ~ so hello wattpaders ;)
