The Mortal Instruments: City of Glass - What could have been

Chapter 2

As it turned out Clarissa wasn't close to as prepared as Jonathan had been. He knew where they were going, who to talk to, he even knew exactly what rooms that where theirs. The Penhallow manor was big, two families were going to stay at the house already. Clarissa and Jonathan's rooms where on different sides of the hallway on the second floor. The Penhallows where already there, the other family, The Lightwood, the ones running the New York institute, the ones her father had fought trying to get the mortal instruments, was arriving that afternoon. Not knowing anyone, she got her own room. It was bigger than her room back home. And a lot prettier. All the wooden furniture matches with carved details on the legs of the bed, the big desk with a mirror hanged over it had the same carvings on the edges, and so had the closet's legs and sides. The room came together with a velvety pink rug. It even had a window seat. The window's view, though, was not as pretty as the one she was used to. Instead of meadows filled with flowers and trees there were only houses and streets.

She packed up her clothes and hung them in the closet. She lay her weapons on the desk and the rest she let spill out on her bed. A pile of makeup, hair and teeth products and her painting tools and colors. She picked up her sketchpad and pencil case. She flipped it open on a blank page and sat at the window, looking out. The view weren't as pretty as the one at home, but still pretty. And new. She sketched out the building apposite from the Penhallow manor. She drew out the streets and streetlamps, the signs hanging outside of shops, even the people walking down under her. The last two days had gone fast. Too fast and drawing relaxed her. She looked down at the pad. She loved catching new sights on paper. Like a journal she kept her pad for herself. Not that she had people in her life to keep it from except her father. All the places she visited, the people she met, the things that came to her in her taught and dreams, it was all in her pad – she had been drawing for years so she had more sketchpads under her bed in the house she liked to call her home.

Someone knocked on her door, breaking the flow she had from drawing, bringing her back to reality. She put the pad down and went to open it, expecting it to be Jonathan. It wasn't. Instead a long girl with black hair and almost as dark eyes stood in front of her. She wore a tight top that showed of her cleavage and a pair of black pants and heels almost twice as high as Clarissa's.

"Hello?" the girl said, looking confused. "I'm guessing this isn't my room." Smart girl, Clarissa thought. She forced a smile.

"Guess not." Clarissa reach out her hand for the girl and their hands shook. "I'm Clarissa Branwell. Are you one of the Lightwoods?"

"Yeah, just arrived. My stupid idiots of brothers, whom I love very much, are sharing a room and are already nagging at each other" she pointed at the door a cross from Clarissa's with her thumb.

"Izzy. Well Isabelle, but you know, call me Izzy." What an obnoxiously, friendly girl. Clarissa kept smiling. But she does seems nice, and she is a Lightwood so I should probably be nice back.

"Nice to meet you, Izzy"

Clarissa helped Izzy with her room and then followed the girl downstairs where everybody seemed gathered. The Penhallows she had met. They had a daughter, Aline. Then there where new faces: the Lightwoods. The parents – Mr and Mrs Lightwood – both had dark hair, the fathers, slightly more grey. The youngest looked about seven or eight. Izzy had mentioned him, his name was Max. One of the older boys shared the same hair as the rest of the family and had the blues eyes Clarissa had seen. They were the kind of eyes you could drown in. The other boy looked nothing like the others. His colors where the complete opposite. He had blond, almost golden hair. Matching golden eyes and tanned skin. He was tall as well, not as tall as the first boy though. The golden boy was beautiful. Her fingers ached for her sketchbook. She had never wanted to draw someone as much as she wanted to draw him.