Chasing Reality.

1 - Time Apart.

Six years later.

The view was picturesque. Old mixed with the new, the city of lights was truly as iconic as they say. Skyscrapers and nineteenth century, houses, looking like a meshwork of flowing grace lined the roads. The roads themselves were lined with trees with luscious green leaves swaying slightly in the breeze, while Mademoiselles and Monsieurs in drifting scarves were appearing and disappearing amongst the trees on their scooters.

Drivers took their time to take in the distinctive fragrance of Paris; world-class cuisine mixed with heavenly pastries, add a dash of freshly watered roses and the finest perfumes the world had to offer. It looked like even the pedestrians who were immaculately dressed were caught in the rapture of Paris' pull. They counted their steps, darting in and out of fancy shops lining the paths.

High in a classy restaurant, complete with the magnificent Eiffel Tower gleaming in the background, Paris went along with its daily activities with fervour, the view was amazing from where she was - if only she could see it.

A young lady was whispering harshly to her phone, well set on having her way in the conversation- agruement rather. Waiters breezed past the young lady that was sitting around with a cane on one side and a small white dog on the other, that had been sipping wine since her companions left.

A waiter holding a wine bottle walked up to her and offered her a refill, she raised her head to him, gave a simple nod and continued her hushed conversation. The waiter filled the glass in front of her while stealing glances at the lady (who seem to not notice his behaviour), her golden blonde hair was in detailed waves till her mid back, her skin, sun-kissed, like she liked staying outdoors, her bright blue eyes, bleak, and her face lifting in amusement every now and then. He wondered who she was and why she was here, but he couldn't wonder long, the glass was full. "Hope you are enzoying your day?" He said to her in his thick French articulation.

"Why yes, I am. Paris is very lovely." Her voice reminded him of his Maman's and her smile of his sister, Genevieve. "Zhat iz good to hear. You have a lovely voice."

"Thank you." She said and he walked away with a spring in his step for talking to the lady.

Once the waiter's footsteps were out of hearing range, Clary hissed into her phone, "It's none of your business who I talk to, what do you care if someone whisks me away for a glamorous Parisian day. You left me here remember."

"I left the restaurant, not the building. Relax and enjoy the view - no, wait, enjoy the food. I'll be right back." A voice creaked back.

"You said that thirty minutes ago! I swear on your head Milo if you're with that brunette we saw on the way in, you're dead." Clary responded, just before a female voice cooed at the other end. "Milo Carlos Florentino, if I get my hands on you, you're dead! Dead!"

"Sorry, gotta go," Milo said quickly and hung up.

"Don't tell me he's with that brunette," Almira, a sculptor who became Clary's female compadre two days into the institute. "I found this one next to samples for some hair products." Almira regarded their Mexican friend, Diego.

"What? Can't a man take care of his hair?" He defended himself as he took his place next to Clary.

"Sure he can but he mustn't be obsessed with it," Clary said petting Snow on the head.

"I'm not obsessed." Diego took large gulps of his wine, "It's therapy." Diego said, picking up the menu they had already ordered from, he pretended to be busy.

"Sure, therapy, " Almira mocked dryly. Taking her wine glass in her hand, she turned her attention to clary. "What did he say?"

"Who?"