The Angel-Blooded One (Shadowhunters ff)

2 - The Birthday

Clary

Clary stared at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights of the hospital room casting a sterile glow. Three months. Three months of tests, scans, and endless appointments, yet the answer remained the same: unexplained amnesia. Every week, she walked through the white halls of New York Presbyterian, clinging to the hope that Dr. Stieg, the neurologist with kind eyes and a weary smile, would offer a magical cure. But so far, there was nothing.

Unexplained. The word echoed in the hollowness of her mind. There was a life before the amnesia, a life filled with memories, but it felt like a foreign country, a place she'd only read about in books. The doctors spoke of her past. Her mother, an antique store owner? Simon, her best friend, an accounting student? Luke, the police officer? These were supposed to be the people who mattered, the ones she'd lost. But no emotions surfaced, no faces materialized behind the words. It felt like a fabricated story, a life borrowed from a stranger.

She'd met Simon's family once, offering empty condolences for their loss. His mother had been hysterical and hi sister, Becky, had a haunted look in her eyes. They had offered they had also grieved for Clary's mother but it had felt like an act she couldn't understand.

The past year was a blank slate to the NYPD as well. Disappeared. No trace. No explanation. It was as if someone had erased her existence, only to deposit her back a year later as a ghost of her former self.

The only remnants of her past were these overwhelming emotions – bursts of joy and crushing sorrow that ambushed her at random. A walk through Central Park could trigger a wave of inexplicable happiness, while the sight of ice skaters could plunge her into a pit of despair. Lately, the emotions had infiltrated also her dreams, transforming them into blurry nightmares that left her gasping for air, the terror clinging to her even after waking. Dr. Stieg suspected PTSD, a result of the trauma she'd apparently endured.

The Brooklyn Academy of Art offered her a lifeline. A full scholarship, a small apartment in Brooklyn – a chance to start anew. Child services, treating her like a lost child, had provided her the basic necessities. They had signed her up for the summer classes in the Academy. To keep her occupied and off the streets.

Clary closed her eyes, the silence pressing down on her. The world felt like a jigsaw puzzle with wrong pieces, a melody with discordant notes. She wanted to understand, to reclaim the life stolen from her. But for now, all she had were fragments – dreams, emotions, and a heart that ached for something it couldn't remember.

***

The August night hummed with warmth. A gentle sea breeze ruffled Clary's hair as she walked home from the Academy. Her studio apartment awaited, a haven of solitude in the hectic city. It wasn't much, but it was hers. Her life had shrunk to its familiar walls, to the rhythmic scrape of brush against canvas.

A voice, bright and insistent, shattered the quietude. "Clary!"

She turned, startled, to see Aria jogging towards her. During the summer program, Clary had built a fragile wall around herself, pushing away anyone who dared to get close. But Aria, with her warm smile and hair the color of cotton candy, had been impossible to avoid.

They'd fallen into a hesitant rhythm – speechless moments in the art studios, quiet meals where Clary mostly listened, a comforting presence that filled the void without demanding explanations. Clary didn't understand Aria's unwavering kindness, but sometimes, in the face of her own emptiness, it was a welcome respite.

"Lost in thought again?" Aria asked, her voice laced with concern despite the playful smile.

Clary forced a smile. Aria's presence, as always, soothed the chaotic storm within Clary. She was dressed in a flowy white dress that seemed to shimmer in the twilight.