chapter 9

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I awoke to the bittersweet taste of blood in my mouth. The piece of fabric around my mouth was making me gag when I shivered at the approaching figure. "Had yourself in quite the pickle back there little sister." I choked back the bile that the sight of my brother gave me. He stalked around to the other side of me "So Clarissa I bet you're wondering why on earth I would bother dragging you out of a war. I did it because I still want you to join me."I struggled after remembering my brother trying to make me drink from the infernal cup. "And because you're here Jace will follow you. I'm going to take the gag off now and lock you in here." When he left the room I looked around to see four white walls.My only company was the walls there wasn't even a door. I checked all my pockets in hope of finding my stele. It was obvious he would have taken it but I had to have hope. It was the only thing I had left.

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A few hours later was when I started hearing the voices whispering in my head. The voice wasn't recognisable as anyone I knew. The voice didn't speak to me as if I was a person but as if it was chanting. It repeated itself for days. Just three words "death will claim". The voice was my destruction but also my saviour.

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"Clarissa!" the stern voice woke me from my slumber.  "Sebastian?" I was shocked to see him stood in front of me. He started towards me when I let out an almighty scream. His eyes filled with tears.Who knew monsters could cry? "Calm down Clary." I shook my head frantically he replied only with a solemn nod and disappeared.

In the place of Sebastian appeared a tray full of art supplies and a note to the side.

                 I'm sorry, Clary. I brought the art supplies so you
                 wouldn't go stir crazy. It appears my judgement left
                  it too late.
                  Sebastian.

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It was weeks until I heard anyone's voice again. I got so lost in my work that I began painting the walls. I painted the world that I wished I lived in.It was so simple but so beautiful. Eventually I ran out of room on the walls so I began painting myself. I didn't draw runes or anything to do with this world or love and death. I drew what I saw. Sometimes it was patterns other times it was people.

Nothing lasts forever though. My supplies were filled every night but there was never a canvas. The day I ran out of room was ironically the day I was empty.

The voice spoke to me when I stopped painting.It said to me "Why are you worth so much trouble. You're nothing."

It repeated the same phrase for two months. This was the first day that a piece of me died.

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