Chapter Text
Clarissa Fairchild didn’t know how long she had been standing in the single beam of sunlight streaming through the only window cut from the stone wall facing the west. The way that the golden streams of warmth filtered through the iron bars, wrapping her in a lover’s embrace, reminded her of how precious the simplest of things could be.
Behind her towered three stone walls, their cool, cement walls pressing against her back as she stared out of the window. The wooden floor beneath her barren feet creaked as she shifted from one foot to another, her soles aching under her weight as she swayed lazily to a silent melody in her head.
The room was sparsely furnished, a single iron bed frame topped with a flattened feather mattress was her only source of comfort in the otherwise cold and hard room. She was lucky enough to have her own chamber pot, a humbling piece of painted glass that sat at the foot of her bed, reminding her of the life she was living.
The air smelled of stale bread and aging cheese, an old, rusted silver platter piled high with days old leftovers laying abandoned just inside the wooden door that led to an unknown hallway outside her small room. She had never seen that door open since she had been brought here, stolen from her home in the middle of the night. She wondered if there were other rooms like her’s, cold and unwelcoming. She shuddered at the thought of others being trapped in this cruel place, cut off from their families, destined to live a life of forced solitude and for what?
Why had she been brought here? Who had brought her here?
These questions plagued her every waking moment from the time her eyelids fluttered open until she forced them closed to shut out the shadows that came in the night.
The sun was her only constant companion, save the thing that brought her here. Her days were spent waiting for the sun’s warmth to descend towards the western horizon, where she would meet it at her window to watch the sun disappear behind the Earth’s natural curve. Even now the sun had begun to settle against the darkening night sky, painting the universe in a vast array of stunning pink and orange hues.
For those brief moments, standing in the light and warmth, Clary could close her eyes and almost fool herself into believing that she was anywhere else in the world. Anywhere, but here.
A beach. A warm cottage. A brilliantly lit castle.
Home.
She thought of home. A lot.
Clary swallowed the rising lump in her throat at the thought of home, letting her mind drift into a state of restfulness as her body soaked in the last minutes of sunlight. She knew that the shadow’s weren’t far behind, ushering the sun from the sky before turning their hungry gaze to the lingering tower in which she was held in. They watched her from the other side of the bars, peering in at the young maiden, a caged animal, trapped in a stone prison at the mercy of an even greater shadow.
The last of the sun’s light was cruelly ripped from the stone beneath her feet as she chased it’s warmth by leaning into the iron bars, savoring the way the light coated her like a suit of armor. It was the only protection she had against the night and it’s many demons that rattled her cage, taunting her with their cries, calling for her flesh and blood.
Her mind was brought out from her spiralling thoughts when the harsh sound of metal rings assaulted her ears, the decibels ringing against the stone walls and wooden floors. She tugged at the stinging, cold metal of the color that held a tight grip around her neck, chaining her to the single piece of furniture in her room. Sometimes when she stood still for a long time, she forgot about the chains, forgot that someone, or something, had stolen her from her home and forced her to live like this.
Cold.
Alone.
Vulnerable.
Clary watched as the sun finally fell behind the Earth’s crust and took a deep breath; they were coming.
The shadows.
Her chains rattled behind her as she felt the invisible tug, pulling her further into the depths of her cold, dark cell, not a flicker of light to guide her way as she was dragged into the darkness. The blackness was so thick, so suffocating, that Clary imagined that this was what oblivion looked like.
Oblivion. Her new home.
Clary felt the transformation as her other senses began to compensate for her lack of sight. Her ears perked up to even the slightest sound of tiny paws scattering amongst the wooden floors beneath her, the wind just outside the bars like a whistling tune in her ears. But most of all, she could feel a movement in the air, a sort of hyper awareness that allowed her to feel as though she could see everything and nothing at the same time.
Her skin tingled, tiny electrical currents mapping her skin as she settled into the night, feeling the invisible eyes of those who watched in the dark sit on their perch and gaze down at her. She didn’t quite understand this unique gift, but when she really thought about it, she chalked it up to pure, survival instinct.
However, disappointingly, Clary never found the opportunity to use her new found capabilities to free her from her current imprisonment. She stood there, her feet pressing against the cold, wood floor that chafed the bottom of her heels just as she had the very first night she had been brought here.
The first night she has fought with every ounce of her strength, pounding on the door and begging her kidnapper to return her to her home, her family. But the looming shadow, the beast that held her prisoner, loomed in the darkness, it’s nostril’s flaring with flashes of light and eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. The beast never spoke to her, never gave her the answers to the questions she cried out into the night. Nothing. Just stared.
Clary had told herself that she was imagining things, that monsters didn’t exist and kidnap girls from their beds, but this great beast returned just as she would persuade herself that she was lost in a nightmare.
Clary moved among the shadows, her hand outstretched so the tips of her fingers grazed against the cold, hard wall, her memory leading her from the window to her bed. She had memorized the layout of her cement jail, each nook and cranny cataloged in her memory, allowing her to move with ease even under the suffocating darkness.
When she felt the familiar roughness of a single stone, she knew she had made it to the other side of the room, coming to a full stop just as her knees hit the rotted, iron metal of her bed frame. She gently lowered herself to the bed, careful not to tangle herself up in the excess chains that littered the bed and floor around her, their rattling, high pitched noises seemingly bouncing off of the walls making her head spin.
It was always too quiet at night. There were no birds, at least none that she could hear. She couldn’t hear any woodland creatures around, but she supposed that she was too high up to hear them scuttling around on the ground. The only sounds that she heard at night were the rattles of her chains reminding her of her captivity and the slow inhale and exhale of her breath from her chest.
Clary slowly stretched out on the cot, resting her head on the an old, flatted cushioned she used for a bed. Pulling herself into a tight ball, she unfolded a long, scratching blanket made of wool over her petite figure, thanking whoever was listening that she wasn’t any taller than five feet four inches.
The bed springs creaked under her even if she didn’t move and the blanket barely kept her safe from the cold, frigid nights, but it was all she had. To keep herself warm, Clary often dreamed of the bed that laid empty in her old room. A queen sized mattress with a pillow top and enough fluffy pillows to bury yourself with. It was a dream that lasted only moments before she was coldly ripped from reality all too soon.
A cold whip of unforgiving air assaulted her bare shoulders, causing her to shudder as she drew further into herself, hoping the thin, wool blanket would provide a little more protection against the night air. Her teeth began to chatter as she was pulled further and further from peaceful oblivion, but in an instant her body froze, not because of the frigid temperatures, but because of the sound of wings, powerful wings flapping in the distance.
The Beast.
He was coming.