Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clarissa Morgenstern stares down at the motley group of shadowhunters and downworlders with black, black eyes, her mouth twisted into a triumphant smirk. Her hair blazes like hellfire from her head-She is a demon, a fallen angel, a twisted creature who should not have won anything for herself at all-but she has won. Heosphoros in her hand, her brother's heavenly fire snuffed out like a dead bonfire, Clarissa believes she is truly victorious this time. With the Clave and its pathetic shadowhunters overrun by her own endarkened, she has total control over how this story will end.

Her cold black eyes narrow into thin slits as she sees her Mother (Really, her true Mother is Lillith, not this pathetic mortal woman. Why does she still call her Mother?), holding onto her mutt of a lover for support, stare at her with nothing but fury and disgust. Her small, beaten-down whimpers with twinges of old hurt, wailing for someone, anyone to please love her please love her why won’t anyone love me?

Clarissa Morgenstern stamps out her old pain, stamps out the dark memories of once upon a time where all she knew was Father and mindless obedience and the sharp sting of demon metal upon her back. She is no longer the weak little thing who called for her Mother and Brother at night with trembling hiccups, choked sobs and never ending tears. She is strong now, a bright morning star, a queen, ruler of Edom with the power to strike down all who oppose her and wish to hurt her.

Faintly, she wonders if this is how Lucifer felt as he remade Hell into his own kingdom, when he was cast out by his Maker, his Creator.

Her beloved older Brother looks up at her with horror, pain and love balled up tightly in some chaotic mix of incomprehensible emotions as she prepares to deliver her final offer to him-One that will make sure he will stay and that finally she will have the love and warmth that she has coveted for so so long . Jonathan Morgenstern will finally be hers and hers alone, with no friends, no Jocelyn Fairchild or Luke Garroway to pull him away from her.

(She ignores the others, for they are irrelevant, and all she will see is nothing but hatred for her)

“So, Brother dearest, what do you think? As long as you become my king, rule beside me in Edom for as long as I live, you can save them all. A single soul in exchange for your world. ” Laying out the terms, what will be at stake if he disagrees, if he says no . 

“What about my friends? My family? Everyone who’s here? What will you do with them?” Jonathan demands, his spring green eyes reflecting open worry for what may possibly befall upon those he cared for. His right hand gripping Phaesphoros so tightly his knuckles went bone white. 

“They will live. It makes no difference anyways, none of you can harm me, so why should I bother with such trivialities? As long as you promise yourself to me forevermore, I will spare all that you love and care for, abandon Earth and my revenge-which, really, is starting to become a bore-as long as you’ll stay by me; Which is forever, as you should know.” Rambling, Clarissa’s words tumble and spill out of her mouth; she waves Heosphoros around for emphasis in a carefree manner, to show that she is at ease and genuine with the information that she is freely doling out like candy to children.

“As long as I take the throne.” His voice is carefully neutral, betraying nothing.

“Yes.” And that single word hangs in the air, almost like a phantom echo as the moment trails on. In some small part of her, Clarissa is afraid that he won’t accept her offer, that she will have to settle for a broken meatbag that will only give her empty warmth, empty love.

Thankfully, for Clarissa, and for Earth, her brother is a martyr to the end, willing to damn himself for others if it meant everyone else was saved. He steps forward, and resolutely fixes his gentle steel gaze on her. His group starts to panic, telling him that there should be another way, that he won’t have to pledge himself, his very soul, to his ( demonspawn ) sister.

“Then,” His voice wavers a little in hestation, “I accept. I accept your offer.” (That same small part of her breathes a sigh of relief.)

“Then come up here.” She says, and Jonathan does, in even, measured steps that betray nothing, with ears that no longer hear the pleads and cries of his friends and family, with a heavy heart that knows what he will have to do.

They stand together, eye to eye, and she slips heosphoros back into its sheath because she can trust him, trust her brother now (right?). Everything is fine now, and all she has to do now is seal this world, bind her brother to her forever. Everything will go out just the way she envisioned it to be. 

(Clarissa will finally have something that is wholly hers )

She turns her head back towards the pathetic group, and sneers. It won’t do for the king and queen to have such...disobedient subjects. So she orders them to kneel . (Faintly, she can feel the waves of horror coming off her darling brother. No matter, eventually, he’d come around with the fact that rulers need obedience, and that obedience is best gained quickly.)

It takes practically ages for them to submit. Which won't do at all-later, when all this is over, she'll have to train them to do better. Amatis is the one (loyal dog she is) who snarls and bears her teeth at them, forcing them down faster, to show more respect to her glorious mistress.

Lucian Greymark looked to be in pain to see what his sister had become. Good. It is also his fault that Jocelyn Fairchild abandoned her, left her to be with Father, and took Jonathan away from her .

One by one, they all kneel.

Satisfied, she turns to her brother, and tilts her head up to look at him in the eyes. Black meets green, and Clarissa finds herself wanting a final...indulgence, before sealing the borders. 

And so, with all the seriousness of the angel Raziel, Clarissa asks him, “Kiss me. Kiss me like you truly love me.” (She knows he does, but their love is an impossible one in this world. In this world, he either had to submit or be forced to submit to her terms. Clarissa is too damaged, too fractured to ever truly let go. There was never any gold to fill in the cracks for her.)

One step, and another. Clarissa slowly closes the distance between them, until their chests brush together, and there is no more space between them. Their eyes are locked to each other, and slowly, as if to not startle Jonathan, she brings her small hands up to cup his fair cheeks.

“Kiss me,” Clarissa repeats. “Kiss me, Jonathan.”

So he does, and then it is sweet bliss-something soft and pure and nothing tainted at all-when their lips meet. Jonathan’s left hand is cupping her own pale, freckled cheek gently; his mouth is kissing her softly. And then suddenly, suddenly , there is a swish in the air-too quick and unexpected for Clarissa-and suddenly , the two of them have been impaled upon Phaesphoros together, the dark sword having entered from her scarred back and through both of their bodies.

Clarissa feels nothing but shock and betrayal and brother why? She chokes a little, and there is nothing but blazing heavenly fire and pain pain pain scorching her veins, eating up every drop of demon blood within her. Arms scrabble and cling on to the other person as if they were their last lifeline. Black ichor sizzles from her wound, the acidic blood and fire a dangerous concoction of hot, flaring pain-continous as if she was being repeatedly branded with a hot iron over and over again. Flames dance across her skin, and blind her sight with such bright light that she sees nothing but white. Clarissa throws her head back and screams her pain and agony out. But heaven does not discriminate, and so the fire burns Jonathan Morgenstern as well. His own cries mix together with his sister’s to create a horrible duet of pain. 

They stumble together and fall to the ground like stringless puppets, the brother clutching on to his sister, curling in towards her. Faintly, they register the pained shrieks of the Endarkened as well.

Together, the siblings of the Morning star burn as brightly as Lucifer did before he fell.

Clary, after what seems like an eternity of pain, opens her eyes-green, they are unmistakably green -and is greeted with the visage of her brother’s pained face. She opens her mouth, and nothing comes out. Wetness builds rapidly within her eyes, and soon, Clary realises she’s crying.

“Brother…” Her hands tremble and shake as she fights the phantom pains of burning and cleansing to cusp his cheeks once more. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry- ” A strangled sob chokes out of her bleeding mouth, and her fingers dig in lightly into his cheeks. Her head bows down, and strands of curly red hair tumble down from her shoulders to obscure parts of her face. Clary is unable to handle looking into Jonathan’s eyes that are so sad and pained yet so terribly, horribly kind and forgiving . Everything feels so light , and there is no undercurrent of rot within her-This sensation is so foreign, so new to her.

It takes a few seconds for her to compute the feeling of her brother’s hand soothingly brushing down the angry red curls, the sound of his voice making quiet shushing sounds, and Clary realises that her brother is comforting her. She enjoys this quiet moment, until the strange peace that had settled in the room broke once more.

“Lady Clarissa!” It is Amatis, with rage and grief on her face, rising along with the other endarkened. “Kill him! Kill the boy!”

Clary whips her head towards them, horror painted so starkly on her visage, “No!” She cries, “Get back! All of you, get back!”

The dark shadowhunters, Clarissa’s, no, her Endarkened, all stumble to a stop, frozen in confusion. So Jocelyn Fairchild ( Mother , Clary thinks, faintly) pushes their irregular lines apart, and rushes up towards the two dying siblings. 

She kneels down, and pulls them both into her arms as best as she could, careful not to accidentally jostle Phaesphoros and cause them more pain. Jocelyn was crying now, silently, her back ramrod straight as she took in the sight of both her children dying in her arms. Years ago, she had lost one, and now, years later, she was losing both.

It is yet another completely new, and foreign experience-Clary is not used to Jocelyn Fairchild being near her without wanting to kill her. She wants to bask a little more in the warmth that she feels with her brother, the care her biological Mother is showing to her. But Clary knows that when she dies, all the innocents in this room, along with Jonathan, will all die, swiftly and quickly, cut down by the furious Endarkened thirsting for retribution for their fallen mistress. So she quashes her desires, even if all she wants to do is sleep peacefully with Jonathan forever, and pushes herself to put an end to the darkness she alone had created with her tainted hands.

“Jace, where is Jace?” She says, as loudly as she could. Clary feels the confusion from both her older Brother and Mother, and ignores it. They will understand soon.

Jace steps out from behind the Endarkened as well, quickly making his way up towards the dais. He is beautiful, like gold, even when dirty and bruised. (Clary thinks, that perhaps, in another world, she would have loved him instead, were it not she had already cut out her heart for her dearest Brother.) “I’m here.” He says, face hard yet pitying, looking upon what should have been one of the angel’s children.

Her hand fumbles for Heosphoros, until she manages to wrench out the short sword out of its sheath. “Take it,” She holds up the sword towards him, akin to presenting an offering to a god. Jace hesitantly takes it, confused. Her breath stutters a little from holding on to the little life she has as hard as she can, there will not be enough time, she needs to do this quickly. “And cut that thing open.” Clary hopes that he will understand what she means, cryptic as she is. She is losing her strength fast, and the words she painfully forces out slowly but surely eat up her remaining lifespan.

A look of understanding washes over his face, and he moves quickly towards the behemoth demon, striding past the circle of runes, past the Endarkened. The others follow him with their eyes, all confused, waiting to see what would happen next. With Heosphoros in his hand, he slashes through the demon and cuts it wide open. Demon entrails spill out onto the floor, along with the infernal cup-dirty and stained with demon ichor (Just like its maker once was). 

“M-mother,” Her breaths are already coming out ragged and short, and Jonathan entwines one of his hands and fingers with hers in a gesture of comfort and support. “Please, t-tell him to throw the cup into the circle.”

Mother’s voice is loud and clear, “Throw the cup into the circle!”

Once again, it is Amatis who reacts first, her head snapping back towards Clary.

“No! If the cup is gone, so shall we! Lady Clarissa, do not let your loyal army be destroyed!” Amatis is desperate, pleading for her life and the lives of the other dark shadowhunters.

Clary forces her eyes to meet with Amatis’ own, green meeting blue, and waves of regret wash over her. “I’m sorry, to you, to all of you,” For every single shadowhunter life she had sacrificed in her madness. “I should have never created any of you.” Like her own selfish father, she had sacrificed too many lives in pursuit of her own goal. Regret and disgust tastes bitter on her tongue.

Then the cup shattered, and Amatis looked once more, as Lucian Greymark’s sister, towards her little brother with recognition, and painful, all-consuming love. So short and brief, but still there as she died with all the other Endarkened, her limp body hitting the ground as an unresponsive corpse.

The ones still left in the room hear Lillith’s wails, her cries for her now dead children, every single one of them gone forevermore. The sky is blood red, like Clary’s hair, and like the red runes of the fallen Endarkened.

“They’re dead.” Lucian Greymark is solemn and quiet, with tears glistening on his face. His words are an echo of what had happened. The Lightwoods, the daylighter, and the warlock are silent.

“Clary,” Jonathan turns his head towards her, mouth bleeding like her own, his expression one of pain and tenderness. “Do you know...how can they all go home?”

Clary does not answer him, and with her own blood, draws a final, swirling rune on the floor. “Use this,” She says. “On the window, behind the thrones. Use it, and it will take you all home.” She draws out a stele, and presses it to Jocelyn; Clary knows her Mother will take them all home.

Their lives are fading fast, and Clary uses the last of her energy to peck her brother the forehead, along with giving him a hug that she will never let go of until the end. “Goodbye, Jonathan,” She says, giving a bittersweet smile paired with trailing tears. “I’m sorry for everything. I love you.” 

A final, shuddering breath, another smile, and she closes her eyes.

Clary dies first, in Jonathan and Jocelyn’s arms.

Jonathan follows not much later, cradling his dead sister with one arm, their hands clasped together with another arm. He nuzzles his face in her hair, and dies with closed eyes and a smile that gives Jocelyn memories of more carefree times.

(Later, Jocelyn breaks down and cries her heart out when she watches their bodies burn together.)

Chapter Text

Clary was drawing when he appeared again. She could feel his presence, cloying and heavy and very much there. Quiet like always, he watched her carefully, keenly observing Clary’s every move with something heavy in his gaze. (Something similar to Mom, yet strangely different-Clary couldn’t tell what it was)

A large hand (Cold as always) placed itself on the mess of carrot curls, beginning to gently stroke her head. Clary hummed in pleasure, a cute smile curling up on her little features. Her small hands continued to color her latest masterpiece-black for the eyes and the swirling patterns on his skin, white and barely there yellow for the hair, red for the clothes (that looked more like armor than casual clothing really). A gift for her first and best friend, even if he couldn’t actually keep it.

Just a little more…

And she was finished. 

Clary shifted her position on her chair to face him, “Here! For you.” Shoving the paper at his semi-translucent body, she eagerly awaited his reaction. She hoped he liked it. Nervous energy coiled into tight knots inside. So she sat up straight, forced down her underlying worries and thoughts that maybe he wouldn’t like such a childish drawing, and waited.

He carefully held it in his hands with long fingers, an unreadable expression crossing his face as he looked at the drawing. A simple picture of two people holding hands in a flowery meadow, with a bright sun shining down upon them both. They looked happy. They– 

Were experiencing something he never got a chance to have, once upon a time. In another time, perhaps even another world. (How...lamentable it was, to have never been able to know such light until he was nothing but a cooling rotting corpse and a specter wandering through shadows. The only respite about being dead was that the dead did not feel pain–no scorching acid in his veins, no ever-present sting and itch and gnawing burn from the silver spiderwebs on his back.)

Fingers subtly clenched harder at the edges of the paper, wrinkling them ever so slightly. His mouth opened to speak, and only silence came out. He closed it. Then breathed and pushed the past away. This Clary knew him, adored him, and quite possibly even loved him. 

And really, that was all Sebas–no, Jonathan ever wanted from even just a single one of his family members. That was the dream of the young boy who knew nothing, who wanted nothing but just some attention and care and just a little love for himself.

Dark eyes misted over with verdant green.

Jonathan looked back at his tiny little sister and smiled. Smiled, in that gentle, happy way that he’d never really known how to until now.

Seeing that smile made all of Clary’s earlier worries vanish like scattered ash.

“So...Do you like it?” Clary asked, just in case–and so that she’d get an actual (verbal) confirmation.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Jonathan placed the drawing back down on the table. “And for that...” he knelt down to her height and pulled her into a tight hug. “You get this.”

The unspoken words of “Thank you” hung in the quiet, tranquil air of the room as two siblings embraced.