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i.
this is how it starts:
Isabelle feels the rush of wind, hears a rustle of feathers, sees a flash of red. Then she is met with a smile as bright as sunlight, a laugh that whispers over her skin like droplets of the softest summer rain. She feels like falling, like her wings are giving out when they have never failed her once.
ii.
this is how it ends:
The world burns, Clary bleeds and Isabelle untangles the strings of time, one by one. Her fingers work fast, scratching at the pieces that rebel against her cause, tears through the flesh of the universe.
Who dares?
I do, she replies and raises her chin to the stars.
Heaven falls, Earth breaks apart. Her soul is torn from her body.
See you soon.
iii.
this is how it goes:
Clary is reckless, far more so than Isabelle herself – who loves a little rebellion, no doubt but something always tugs her back. Back to her family, back to her duty, back to her destiny to serve Heaven.
Clary breaks the rules without regard for consequences, with a singular belief of what is right and wrong. She laughs in the face of danger, flits through the sky and clouds and evades the angry yells of her superiors. At first, Isabelle thinks she brushes off their insults like specks of stardust falling down. It is only months into their slow-building partnership that she realizes: no, those insults land; those words hurt. But Clary takes them all with a raised chin, an eye roll, and a quick remark and hides them away until she is alone.
They get tasked to watch over the rise of an empire, a queen on a throne that rules with a heavy crown atop her head and a gentle smile around her words. She must stay in power, be protected and guarded for the fate that Heaven wants Earth to take to unfold. So, Clary and Isabelle watch and guide, shadow her steps and push her out of the way of daggers, smack cups of poison from her hand, weave truths into her dreams that she will see to fruition.
On one of those nights, with Isabelle perched on the windowsill to the queen’s chambers, moonlight dancing off her hair, she watches Clary approach from above. Her wings are a shimmer of white and silver in the milky midnight lights, majestic in their grandeur; her hair is a trail of red in the wind behind her, like a roaring flame of justice.
Isabelle catches the quick movement of her hand, wiping at her cheeks and sparkling droplets like diamonds vanishing into the night air. When Clary lands soundlessly next to her her eyes are still rimmed with red and there are tracks the tears have left on her cheeks she cannot hide.
Isabelle remains quiet. A part of her wants to reach out, lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. But Clary and her are not that close, are not ones to lend each other warmth against the punishing glare of Heaven. Maybe in the future, maybe a few decades or centuries down the line, they could think of each other as friends. Isabelle realizes she would like that.
So, it surprises her, startles her, when Clary’s voice cuts through the night’s quiet breeze, trembling like the leaves in the palm tree beneath their dangling feet.
“It is all a lie.”
She does not elaborate and her gaze remains somewhere far away, lost on the dark expanse of the horizon where endless masses of sand meets the sky. Isabelle does not dare ask, although her brows pinch together and she stares at the angel’s soft profile, barely lit up by the milky starlight.
Three turns of the moon later, Clary’s father falls from Heaven into the deepest circle of hell, cast out alongside her brother. Clary is spared only, Isabelle realizes later, because of her.
When Raziel had summoned her one night, asking of her mission, she had thought it was a regular questioning, a way to keep them under watch and remind her who she answers to. He had asked about her partner too, about the work she put into the mission and if she seemed dedicated to Heaven’s cause – a question, she knows from Alec, he tends to ask to ensure everyone’s loyalty even when none of the Archangels can be present.
Briefly, she had recalled Clary’s words on that otherwise silent night where they had sat side by side until the sun rose and the queen did too from her bed. The first time they had exchanged something that felt more meaningful, felt real.
In the end, Isabelle had reassured Raziel of Clary’s loyalty and left, clueless she had been only a breath away from turning her fate.
iv.
this is how the end draws near:
“Are you here to stop me?” Clary breathes a hiss through clenched teeth. Her eyes are black moons, her hair a wild mess of red curls, an untamed fire across the dark grey sky. Blood drips where her knuckles grip at the black burning sword, falling onto the burned earth below, the only terrestrial entrance to Heaven.
“Clary-,” Isabelle tries but what is there to say.
She knows she could overpower her easily, her body vibrating with all of Heaven’s golden light while Clary is hardly more than a shell now. Her skin is almost paperwhite, sweat gathered on her brow and her limbs shake so much Isabelle is half-scared she will collapse any moment. Drained from all her powers, her wings burned to grey and black that sticks to her like a second skin, Isabelle can feel through all the webs of the universe how out of place she is so far above the ground.
Leave, hisses a voice inside her. Let her fall to Earth or even further below.
But those are words from lifetimes ago, from when she had blindly followed every order and law and silenced all of her own doubts and desires. Now she knows better and wishes, oh how she wishes she could turn back time to hours, weeks, decades ago, to change it all and kiss Clary when it truly mattered.
“They took it all from me, Isabelle.” Clary’s voice breaks, her gaze unfocused. “I will fall no matter what and surely burn in all of Hell’s fires. But I must at least try – they must at least pay for some of that pain.”
Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth too, her body fighting a losing battle against the toll Heaven’s powers take on a mere mortal.
“I know,” Isabelle whispers full of hot, wet tears. “But if you do this I-… I cannot protect you.”
Clary laughs at that, but it’s far from the melodic sound she has gotten used to in the past centuries, soft and jingling like bells and warm like sunlight. It’s the scratch of a throat, sandpaper on stone, a sound that makes the hair on Isabelle’s arms rise with the horror it implies.
“I never needed your protection.” Clary sobers then and for a second, for the blink of a moment, her pupils shrink, black conquered by bright green and filled with the all familiar longing they did not heed for all the past lifetimes. “I only ever needed you by my side. That would have been enough.”
Isabelle swallows against the lump in her throat that threatens to render her speechless.
“But if I have to die by anyone’s hand,” Clary continues and some horrible grimace of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “I am glad it will be yours.”
In the past, at every turn, she had chosen something else; her family, her duties, the familiarity of air in her wings and her staff beneath her fingertips. All of these decisions she regrets now.
So, she shakes her head, then nods towards the ink-black sword clutched within Clary’s palm.
“Do it then. And make it count.”
Surprise flickers over Clary’s features, a realization, an ancient longing, and her shoulders lift with the breath she releases.
Then, like an avenging angel she no longer resembles, but no less glorious, she raises the Morning Star over her head and thrusts it right into the essence of the universe with a cry.
The sky splits and bleeds red, thunder roars, day blinks into darkness all within seconds.
Before long, screams can be heard, up in Heaven and down below where the mortals dwell.
Clary collapses, trembling with fever and exhaustion. Isabelle is there to catch her, soften her fall onto a grey cloud, brushing the blood from her chin. And then, she gets to work.
v.
this is how isabelle falls:
“Come on,” Clary shouts above the roar of the wind – a gentle breeze on the earth below but almost a storm up in the clouds of Heaven.
Her wings flutter, carrying her effortlessly through every flurry and her smile is a blinding ray of white.
“We have a mission,” Isabelle counters though her voice lacks any real heat.
It’s been a century and a half since their first mission, since the queen died old and grey in her bed, surrounded by her seven daughters who wept and then went to carry on her legacy. Her kingdom is still flourishing down below, one of Earth’s greatest nations and Isabelle would be a liar if she said she was not a little proud of the part she played in that.
Since then, Raziel had paired her and Clary together for almost all newly assigned tasks. Because they work well together – was the official reasoning and not an unusual one, since most of them work in set pairs. But Isabelle remembers the almost too gentle words, nudging her in a direction without being too forward: that she is there also to keep an eye on Clarissa.
“Please we have sent the right wind to bring this ship to safety. Sent the other storm to sink that armada. We need to take time to ourselves too.” Clary pouts, honest to God sticks out her bottom lip like the child she hasn’t been for four hundred years.
“Clary, I really do not think we can simply-,” But before Isabelle can scold her, hold her back or give in to the grin tugging at her own lips, her fellow angel has folded her wings and is falling, hurtling towards Earth.
Isabelle’s heart lurches in her chest despite herself – angels don’t fall, wings will always carry them through the toughest storms or greatest heights, there is no injury on Clarissa to make her lose control like that – and then she’s reaching forward, following, flapping her wings like never before to get closer.
The wind bites at her cheeks and eyes, cold so far up above the clouds. She catches a flash of red, a singing melody of laughter. Then suddenly a hand closes around her wrist, tugging her around with force. Their bodies collide a little too roughly and Isabelle lets out a grunt that dies on Clary's cheek.
“Got you!” Clary laughs, her green eyes shining in amusement and completely unaware of Isabelle’s thundering heartbeat.
She can feel blood rising to her cheeks from the closeness and warmth of the other's body.
“Are you out-”
Again, her scolding is cut short because Clary dances out of her reach, sunlight glinting off her silver-white wings.
“Your turn. Find and catch me if you can, Isabelle!”
Then, she’s gone, hidden between clouds of white and grey and Isabelle, floating on the spot, can’t help but laugh, can’t help but smile and think to herself that she would, catch Clary, find her, always.
vi.
this is the choice isabelle makes:
“How could you?” Isabelle wants to scream but it’s a whisper, barely audible among the roaring of wind and thunder in the background.
Raziel barely spares her a glance, just stares out into the open skies, his pale face set into a mask of determination and cold calculation.
“I did what needed to be done. She was asking too many questions, defying too many orders. She was growing too powerful.” He scoffs, his wings fluttering in a wave of barely suppressed anger. “Should I wait until she turns out like her father?”
“Clary is nothing like Valentine,” Isabelle hisses between clenched teeth, drawing closer. “She only ever wanted to do what is right.”
Raziel turns around then, eyes furious and lightning strikes down, between clouds and winds, surely wreaking havoc somewhere on Earth.
“That is not her place. The Archangels decide what is right. You are there to carry out orders.” His voice lowers a little then, disappointment dripping from every note. “I thought you, at least, understood that.”
Isabelle did. Once. A long time ago, when she was young and only ever wanted to make her parents proud, to bring greatness to her bloodline. It took her centuries, gentle pushing and late-night talks and seeing with her own two eyes the destruction Heaven would bring onto Earth if something angered the angels; if there were not enough prayers in their names or temples in their honor or sacrifices to make them stronger.
Now, finally and too late maybe, she sees it all for what it is: a play of power and dominance she feels ashamed to have been part of.
She cannot change the past. But there is a future still unwritten.
“Do not be foolish, child,” Raziel calls after her when she turns to leave. “Clarissa has long since fallen from Heaven. I burned her wings myself. There is nothing left for you to do.”
“There is,” Isabelle says, her chin held high, her wings unfolding to go and find the one her heart longs for, has been taken by for half an eternity. “You will see when it all crumbles around you.”
vii.
this is how they fall apart:
Bodies crumble to the ground before her, uttering one last aching sound. Her staff is covered in blood, so are her hands, the white of her armor, even her wings. Isabelle wishes for rain to wash her clean and soak the earth beneath her feet with life again.
Another soldier falls to their feet before her, eyes wide in shock and death. She shudders, her fingers clench around the metal of her staff but she does not falter. Striking and killing as is Heaven’s wish.
An army defending itself against another empire invading their land. Heaven wants it so; needs to make it so that their perfect vision of Earth stays intact. Or because the invading nation simply paid more sacrifices, uttered more prayers asking for Heaven's blessings.
At her back, she can hear Clary’s labored breaths. They’ve been fighting for hours or days maybe, it’s hard to keep track since her muscles don't burn or feel a strain. Her aim is as true as ever, her strength never faltering. Looking upon the bodies she wishes, for a fleeting moment, she too could lie down into the ground and rest.
Later they float in silence under the cloak of midnight. Below them the humans are cleaning up the battlefield. Burying their dead, robbing the enemy’s bodies.
Clary stares out into the open sky when she says: “This is the last time.”
Isabelle turns, watching her profile beneath the pale moonlight for a moment before she can get the question out. “Last time for what?”
Clary stays silent for a while, swallowing hard. Her eyes flicker towards Isabelle, dancing over her face as if to consider again; as if there is some sort of fear or danger to be found.
“The last time I am on the side Heaven forces me to fight on. No more.”
“Clary-,” Isabelle tries, because these words are dangerous, are treason, could get her exiled from Heaven and turned right into the deepest pits of Hell.
“No, Izzy,” and Isabelle’s breath catches at the nickname the other angel has never used before. “I am done doing their dirty work. I am done fighting wars I do not believe in.”
“Clary-,” Isabelle tries again but she chokes on the sound when she sees the smile Clarissa gives her. Small and sad and so incredibly fond.
“Isabelle,” Clary counters and reaches out. Her fingertips run along the feathers of Isabelle’s left wing and they both shudder. “Beautiful, brave, strong-willed Isabelle. I hope one day you open your eyes and see it too.”
I already do, Isabelle wants to answer. I do and it scares me and I do not know how to do this without you.
But before she can, Clary leans in, suddenly and desperate and kisses her the way she has been longing to for centuries, day and night and never dared to act upon.
There is a sigh from both their throats that mingles in the hot slide of their mouths, a little too hard and too desperate and tasting of goodbye instead of a beginning. Isabelle clutches at Clary’s hair and neck and hip to keep her close, tries to make her lips say all the things her voice can’t; tries to make this kiss the one to convince Clary to stay, stay with her, figure it all out together, slowly.
Instead, Clary wrenches herself away with half a gasp, breathing heavily and putting a cold distance between them. Her pupils her blown wide and her hair is a mess and her lips are red from kissing. She looks destroyed and put back together all at once; equal parts joy and sadness warring within her eyes.
“Clary-,” Isabelle’s voice breaks again on the word, tossed to the night time wind that is unaware of the world shifting beneath her.
“Think about it,” Clary says instead and then she’s gone, swallowed up by darkness and leaving Isabelle’s heart pounding and her arms empty.
viii.
this is how it starts:
over and over again, for lifetimes. sometimes they find each other, oblivious to their pasts and shared history, happily in love until their last breaths. a few times they don't. sometimes they break apart. sometimes they dance under sparkling lights and exchanged everlasting vows. often they break each other's hearts. most times they get it right as if to counter all the centuries they had it all wrong.
ix.
this is how it ends:
it doesn’t.