#isabel: stubborn knight

[justskyla-art]

i'm starting a bug collection guys

(if you wanna use these for your own miitopia save file, you can find my access key here!) ↓↓↓

[s-darling-art]

do you want jason and isabel to get back together

Realistically no.

Because I don’t trust anyone to really write that happening and also it would re-solidify that era of RHatO as canon and everyone is better off without that if we’re being honest. (Or they’d have to retcon just about all of RHatO and RH:O, which honestly is somewhat more likely considering how often they sorta restart Jason at square one over and over) However! From a non-meta perspective, I absolutely would love it.

I’m a huge fan of civilian x vigilante relationships within the cape genre and I really liked Isabel! (squinting through L*bell’s shite misogynist writing) She’s such an interesting character because while a lot of her characterization is, again, written through His writing, she comes out the other end as this super quirky and odd civilian with a crazy daredevil streak and stubborn headstrong temperament that actually complimented Jason and the Red Hood life pretty well! Most notably in Red Hood: Outlaw during Jason’s Prince of Gotham era. Jason in particular I feel is really hard to write a romance for, mostly for the fact that DC hasn’t actually known what to do with him for decades leaving his character to sorta restart every other storyline, but also because he’s not a hero and his morals (while ever changing these days /neg) tend to clash with most of the population.

Isabel is (shockingly) written pretty well in that regard in which her near ambivalence towards Jason killing people doesn’t feel out of place coming from her. They balanced each other out in a way I absolutely would’ve loved to see explored further and deeper; Jason’s lifestyle and general personality gives Isabel that excitement and wild experience and life she craves, and Jason himself says Isabel is grounding in a way very few people have been to him. They’re cute and I miss them!

(Also due to trying to write Jason as this stone cold lone wolf and trying to juxtapose Roy’s new womanizer personality (I’m SO sorry Roy fans) he comes across as quite asexual and generally uninterested in that sort of relationship, but that’s another conversation)

Do I think she’ll ever come back? No. Maybe if they get someone who really loves Jason and has read all his stuff to write him, but she did have a cameo in Gotham Knights tho meaning someone out there is thinking of her so who knows!

[kallie-den]

In Red Eyes

A proud, stubborn, female knight hunts an ancient vampire, but when she looks into the creature’s deep, red eyes, she finds her memories being altered and the source of all her strength and pride being drained away

This is from a Patreon poll from a few months ago. My patrons voted for a vampire x knight story, and of course, I was more than happy to deliver

If you enjoy my work and are looking for more, or you want to support me, I strongly encourage you to check out my Patreon! I  write erotica full-time, which means I need your patronage to keep creating, and my Patrons also get benefits like early access to my stories, extra stories, and the ability to vote on what I write next! So, if that sounds good to you, head over and join the couple hundred patrons I already have :)

—

Despite her sleek, feminine features and silky, braided hair, Ser Isabelle of Verona was every inch the vision of perfect, chivalrous knighthood. With her breastplate worn proudly on her chest and her sword held high, she looked like a figure striding out of legend. But her valor was far more than just superficial. Even since her tenth nameday, Isaballe had striven to embody the kind of knightly heroism she had always so admired by training, fighting, and learning to prove her worth and overcome the limitations the world placed on her for her gender.

Now, after more than ten years, she had finally earned her title. When her father, the prince, had touched his blade to her shoulders and dubbed her a knight, acknowledging her worth at last, it had been the happiest and proudest moment of Isabelle’s life. Soon after, she had taken a questing vow and journeyed to the Carpathian mountains, determined to help cleanse the shadow that seemed to hang perpetually over that land.

That was what had brought her to Castle Dragosi, a grand ruin that slumped down the slopes of one of those mighty peaks. Isabelle had come in search of the undead beast that was terrorizing nearby villages. For all her bravery, though, Isabelle was no fool. She had spent a month scouring the archives of nearby monasteries, arming herself with knowledge of all the reputed weaknesses of the sanguine creature she was setting out to hunt. Only once she was sure of her readiness had she dared venture across the castle’s dread threshold.

Isabelle had been prepared for so much. But, to her eternal shame, the very first glimpse of the vampire’s eyes had utterly unmade her.

As she stood in one of the damp, dark, stone-walled passageways underneath the castle, lit only by the flickering moonlight that passed through the occasional window, they glared at her from out of the shadows that lay before her. Two crimson disks that seemed to glow like lamps, casting the stone in a spectral, unholy light that still, somehow, failed to properly illuminate the creature.

But the effect those eyes had on Isabelle was far more sinister. As soon as she met the vampire’s gaze, she was utterly transfixed. The muscles she’d spent so long honing simply refused to obey her. She could not look away. Even the sweet relief of blinking was denied to her. She could only stare in horror as those two crimson lights drew closer.

“Well, well, well,” the creature mused, in a refined, feminine, lightly-accented voice. “What do we have here? A knight, it seems. And a girl, too.”

Despite herself, Isabelle shivered. The vampire’s voice had a touch of the archaic to it, but moreover, lying beneath her words was a deep, base tone that no human throat ought to have been able to produce. It spoke of hunger, and the terror of ages past.

“Name yourself, trespasser,” the vampire commanded. She sounded accustomed to obedience.

“I am Ser Isabelle!” Isabelle replied. Mercifully, her voice did not quake. “A knight of Verona. And I have come to be your final death.”

The most unnerving thing about the vampire’s rich, ravenous laugh was how relaxed and unhurried it was.

“How amusing!” the creature purred. “Tell me, do you know whom you address?” She took Isabelle’s silence for an answer. “Ser knight, understand that you are in the presence of Countess Mihaela Dragosi. This castle, built by my ancestors, is my home. And I am determined to see it restored to its former glory.”

Her words sent a shiver down Isabelle’s spine. She had read the name ‘Mihaela Dragosi’ in an old monastic tome, dated to centuries ago. There could be no doubt that she was dealing with an ancient and formidable creature. But Isabelle was not about to let that rob her of her convictions. She clenched her sword tight in her hand, and strained her every sinew in an effort to move forwards.

“Then you will fail,” Isabelle growled. “I will not allow you to prey upon the people of this land any longer.”

The passageway echoed with the sound of footsteps, and the glowing red eyes that held Isabelle rooted to the spot grew larger.

“What a foolish sentiment!” the countess scoffed. “Prey upon? Does a farmer prey upon his cattle when he takes them to slaughter? I think not. It is simply the natural order of things.”

Her words kindled a righteous fire in Isabelle’s heart. It gave her fresh strength, and with it, she was able to make her limbs move - just barely.

“Your words are lies and vileness,” Isabelle spat. “Nothing more.”

In her mind’s eye, she could already see the sword stroke that would part the countess’s head from her body. Isabelle knew exactly what to do. She had trained for it her entire life, and she had no little amount of experience in combat. She just needed to save her resolve for the vital moment.

“I have no need for lies,” Countess Mihaela retorted. She sounded as immovable as the mountain. “But I will deign to teach you the error of your ways, Ser Isabelle of Verona. Behold the face of your rightful superior!”

She stepped further forwards, until the dim moonlight finally fell upon her face. Frozen mere paces away, Isabelle was able to see and stare at every horrifying detail.

Countess Mihaela Dragosi was beautiful. That was the first thing the knight was struck by. She had been expecting something vile and demonic, or perhaps weathered by the weight of centuries, but no. The countess looked like she could have been the darling beauty of any royal court. Her skin, though deathly pale, was flawless, and her high cheekbones and dark, perfect lips spoke of the nobility she claimed. Her raven hair fell about her in long, curled locks, and she wore a long, elaborate, corseted dress that trailed along the floor behind her as she walked. The effect was stunning. She looked like the kind of classical beauty that artists and sculptors would have longed to immortalize.

But beneath the beauty, there was terror.

After a few moments, a creeping sense of horror settled across Isabelle. When she searched for its source, she realized that the proportions of the countess’s face were all wrong, somehow. Below her imperious cheekbones, her cheeks were far too hollow and emaciated. It made her look desperately, impossibly hungry. There was something slender and pointed about her face that gave her a predatory air, and her mouth, when she opened it to speak, opened just a little too wide. Behind those perfect lips, there were fangs, razor-sharp and long.

And, of course, there were those eyes. Those glowing, crimson eyes.

Aristocracy layered atop monstrosity. The countess was truly everything the folk tales spoke of.

Isabelle needed to slay her. A creature like this could not be permitted to roam the world. The mere thought of it was abominable. Stomach-churning.

“My!” the countess exclaimed. “A maiden of your beauty is a rare gift indeed. How very fortunate.”

Too late, Isabelle realized that the countess was already within arms reach, and was studying her every bit as closely as she had been studying the vampire. Once she became conscious of it, it started to feel like Countess Mihaela could see all the way through her. At such a distance, her sinister eyes dominated Isabelle’s vision.

“I am no maiden!” Isabelle’s voice didn’t sound as even as she had hoped. Something about the vampire’s presence made it impossible to stay calm. She was struck by the uncomfortable notion that this must be how deer felt when they noticed an approaching wolf. Sweat was dripping from her brow, and her heart was starting to pound. Still, she would not yet herself yield to cowardice. “I am a knight!”

“So I see,” Countess Mihaela cooed. “But that strikes me as a terrible waste, dear Isabelle. I would hate to see this pretty face marred by battle scars.”

She reached out and stroked a single fingertip across Isabelle’s cheek. Only then did Isabelle notice that each one of her nails was a sharp, wicked talon. Her touch brought with it the sting of pain, and then the wet of blood.

It was unbearable. Isabelle made her move.

With all the fierceness and fire she could muster, she forced herself into motion and brought her sword down towards where the countess stood. Her muscles still rebelled against her commands, and so it was a slow, clumsy stroke, the kind that Isabelle might have made when she was first learning the sword. But she poured into it all her righteousness and all her experience. The countess’s evil would end here.

The blade flew cleanly through the air, and made an ugly sound when it struck uselessly against stone.

Isabelle blinked sluggishly. Countess Mihaela had moved… perhaps? There had been a blur of something, but it had been too quick for Isabelle’s eyes to follow. What was happening? She could tell the power of the vampire’s eyes had sapped her speed, but she still had not expected this.

“You see?” came the countess’s voice, from Isabelle’s blind side. “I think knighthood does not suit you.”

“Silence!”

Isabelle instinctively wheeled to face the vampire as quickly as she could, but as soon as she did, she was once again made a prisoner of her wicked eyes. Her movements slowed to a crawl, and an overwhelming lethargy ate at her limbs.

“You are a delightful thing,” Countess Mihaela mused. “I have a terrible thirst, but it would be a shame to see you spilled all over the flagstones. A waste. No; instead I will grant you the honor of a high place in my court.”

“A place in your…” Isabelle was aghast at this mockery. Her noble face twisted into a hateful expression. “I would never serve you,” she snarled. “I would die before becoming your knight.”

The countess gave another rich, regal laugh. “I do not need a knight, Isabelle of Verona. I need a bride.”

“W-… what?” For the first time, Isabelle felt truly lost. Her? A vampire’s bride? That was ridiculous and repulsive for a dozen reasons. She detested that she needed to listen to this for even a moment, but it would take time to regather her strength. “That’s nonsense!”

“Why?”

The question was so simple it was almost disarming. Isabelle was left speechless for a moment.

“I have been fighting for my entire life,” she began, trembling with rage, “to be anything else. Princess. Bride. Maiden. I have been fighting to escape all that! I’ve fought. I’ve trained. I’ve defied-“

“Oh?” Countess Mihaela interrupted effortlessly. “Is that how you remember it?”

She sounded amused, like she was enjoying a joke beyond Isabelle’s comprehension. Isabelle frowned. She wasn’t given to reminiscence. Especially not at a moment like this.

The countess, though, was not to be deterred.

“Tell me what you remember,” she insisted. As she spoke, her eyes seemed to glow brighter, turning even the shadows a deep, haunting red. Isabelle felt a sudden weight pressing down on her shoulders. It was as if the vampire had suddenly brought her full presence to bear against her. “Tell me a memory.”

“I…” Isabelle’s eyes widened as she started to speak. It was as if there was a fishhook in her tongue, dragging the words out of her. “I… remember…”

“Struggling?” Countess Mihaela said, when Isabelle trailed off uncertainly. Her voice was thick with dark amusement, and she seemed to loom ever larger and larger above the paralyzed knight. “Just look, Isabelle of Verona. Look deep into my eyes. You can find your memories there.”

Against her will, Isabelle looked. She found herself staring as deeply as possible into the crimson portals of the countess’s eyes, until her entire being was flooded with red light. And then, without warning, she felt herself tumbling into the past.

***

There was a sensation like being plunged into icy waters, and then, suddenly, Isabelle was back, standing above the courtyard of the keep in Verona, as a girl. Not truly, of course. Isabelle could tell that much. Her eyes were open. Beyond the unnatural light of Countess Mihaela’s eyes, she could still see that she was standing underneath Castle Dragosi. But that didn’t seem to matter. Her memory was more real than reality itself, and she was wrapped up in its recollection.

Isabelle knew the moment well. It was the moment that had started her along the path of knighthood. Even so, more and more details kept crashing over her, shocking in their vividness. The weather. The scent in the air. Things she had never bothered to commit to memory.

In just a few seconds, Isabelle was about to descend the stairs to where the master-at-arms was drilling her father’s men. Armed only with a girl’s stubborn pride, she would demand that he train her too. He would laugh - they would all laugh - but eventually, after some arguing, he would agree to indulge her. Even then, it had been obvious to her that he wasn’t taking her seriously. But in the years to come, Isabelle had shown him better.

In memory, she started to move. But as she did, a warning chill began to creep up her spine. This was wrong. This was all terribly, terribly wrong. But why? How? She couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of her dread.

It took her far, far too long to realize that the scene should not have been cast in such awful red light.

In memory, Isabelle looked up, as if admiring the sky. But there was no midday sun hanging overhead. Instead, there were two baleful, crimson orbs that drenched everything in the color of blood.

Those eyes. Her eyes.

Once Isabelle noticed it, everything started to change. To dissolve. In memory, the world around her started to melt, the way Winter’s snow melted at Spring’s first touch. It was slow, to begin with, but it quickened at a horrible pace. The keep. The master-at-arms. His men. All of Verona, visible over the keep’s walls. Even the stairs beneath young Isabelle’s feet.

It was all quicksand. It all lost its shape and started to fall away into the sudden abyss that Isabelle sensed hanging underneath the whole world.

The worst part was that she couldn’t even make herself scream.

And then, there was nothing.

***

Isabelle felt herself jolted back into the present. She was fully herself again, confronting the countess. And this was her chance! She should strike again, while she had the strength.

But she couldn’t. She was overcome with a terrible, gnawing sense of loss that begged all-consuming questions.

What had she been remembering? What had happened that day, as a girl?

Isabelle did not know.

“Did you lose something?” Countess Mihaela asked. Her voice was poison, and full of even darker amusement than before.

For the first time, fear entered Isabelle’s voice. “W-what did you just do to me?”

“Don’t worry,” the vampire assured her. The gleam of her fangs was almost as bright as her eyes. “I can fix it. I can fill that hole in your heart. Look deeper.”

The knight could not disobey, and the glow of Countess Mihaela’s eyes once again stole her back into the past.

***

It was the same moment again, and Isabelle found herself infinitely reassured. Thank God it was not truly lost. She was a girl again, on the stairs of the keep in Verona, and she was about to run down to speak with the master-at-arms.

But again, the whole scene was bathed in crimson.

This time, though, something changed. A shadow appeared over Isabelle. Looking up, she saw a woman towering over her. She was wearing an elaborate, old-fashioned dress, her hair was dark, and her corpse-pale skin marked her as a foreigner to Verona.

“Hurry back inside, Isabelle,” the woman chided, in an accent Isabelle could have sworn she recognized. “Your mother is looking for you. It’s time for your lessons.”

In memory, Isabelle pouted briefly. Her mother’s lessons were always boring, girly things. Needlework, dance, poetry. But after a moment, she acceded. It wouldn’t do to keep her mother waiting. The courage she’d been mustering dissipated. She turned and headed back inside to her lessons.

***

That was the end of the memory. Isabelle felt herself once again being roused toward the present. As she awoke from the strange, nostalgic stupor, she tried to tell herself that it was false. That it hadn’t happened that way. But those thoughts started to melt away beneath the vampire’s gaze, and she felt the new version of events effortlessly slot into the hole that had been left in her heart.

Isabelle blinked. Something had happened again. But what?

“Are you alright, my dear?” Countess Mihaela asked mirthfully. “You look a touch unsteady!”

“You did…  something?”

Isabelle’s mind was in turmoil. She could sense that some kind of tectonic shift had occurred within her, but it was getting harder and harder to determine where or how. The new memory - whatever it was - had seared itself indelibly into her mind, but it was already setting down roots like a sprouted tree. It was building connections. Spreading seeds.

Changing her.

“What is happening to me?” she breathed.

“I believe that you were about to strike me,” Countess Mihaela suggested. “Would you like to try?”

Her words drew attention to the sword raised in Isabelle’s hand. It seemed heavier than before. Isabelle realized that her hand on the grip didn’t feel quite right. Was she holding it improperly?

Why wasn’t she sure?

“No?” The countess laughed. “My mistake, it seems. Then instead, I think, you were educating me about your upbringing! You told me… yes, that was it. You were always a dutiful daughter. You always strove to meet your mother’s expectations for the little princess of Verona.”

Isabelle winced. Princess. Strictly speaking it was correct, but she’d always loathed that title. It was so girlish. Moreover, Countess Mihaela’s words had her perplexed. She didn’t remember telling the vampire any of that, and yet it all had the ring of truth to it.

Her head was a mess of fog and doubt, but more memories were starting to form out of the gloom. She remembered sitting through innumerable lessons in everything that was expected of a courtly lady. She remembered that her duty had always come first, no matter how much she’d wanted something more.

No matter how often she had looked out of the window, and watched her father’s men training.

“Yes,” Isabelle agreed slowly. “I… suppose.”

“Then how strange, that you ended up at my door!” Countess Mihaela mused. “Not that I am complaining, of course. You’re a lovely thing. Except for this. It really doesn’t suit you, you know.”

As she spoke, she reached up and stroked her fingertips along the flat of Isabelle’s blade.

Fueled by a sudden surge of strength, Isabelle snatched it back protectively.

“Silence!” she demanded, anger making her voice firm. “I won’t hear that. Not from a creature like you.”

No matter what, Ser Isabelle of Verona was a knight. Even though her duty to her mother had made training difficult, she had still spent her nights pounding away at training dummy after training dummy to hone her strokes. She had made do without a master-at-arms’s tutelage.

This sword was her life.

“My, my!” Countess Mihaela mocked. “So proud! You must know it well, that sword of yours.”

“Yes!” Isabelle answered, with a measure of her former fierceness. “Do not mistake me, fiend. Call me the princess of Verona all you like. The hours I have spent with this blade shall-“

“Is that truly how you remember it?” Countess Mihaela hissed, overriding Isabelle with demonic, regal authority. “Look at me, dear Bella. Look.”

Her command was iron. Isabelle looked into her deep, red eyes again, and lost herself in their mesmerizing glow.

***

This time, when the memory took hold, Isabelle was transported back to Verona once more. She was down in the courtyard, alone, and she was training. She always liked to practice in the evenings, when there were fewer prying, judgmental eyes to see. And after her mother’s lessons, it was a good way to vent some of her frustrations.

In memory, Isabelle planted her feet carefully. She raised her sword into a guarding posture and took careful aim at the practice dummy in front of her, ready to thrust.

But something was wrong.

The tip of her blade kept shaking. She couldn’t seem to hold it steady. Why? Hadn’t she done this thousands of times before?

Or was it hundreds?

Or was it just dozens?

And why was the courtyard bathed in an evil, crimson glow?

In memory, Isabelle looked up at the evening sky. Two moons hung overhead, and both of them were the color of blood.

Was this really how it had happened?

Isabelle couldn’t seem to call any alternative to mind. This was the only version of events she knew. That she had ever known. What could it be but the truth? With that comfort in mind, she raised her sword once more, ready to strike.

But first, she closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, Isabelle was assailed with a throbbing headache. The world, as she remembered it from that night, was doubled up upon itself. In her mind’s eye, there were two different memories fighting for the same space. As both of them forced themselves in, they each blurred around the edges, becoming unreal.

The other memory took place inside. She could tell that much. And she was holding… something. Something sharp. Everything else was indistinct.

The dissonance was unbearable, and Isabelle was gripped with an urgent need to determine what was real and what was not. And in her desperation, the accented voice that came to her as if drifting on the night wind felt like a blessing.

Look, it called. Look up. Look deep.

In memory, Isabelle looked up. She let the crimson moons overhead transfix her. Somehow, as she stared the knot of tension in her head started to slacken. She relaxed. And as she did, the courtyard and the training dummy melted away like candle wax.

Moments later, in memory, Isabelle found herself sitting in her chamber. It was as if she had never been practicing her swordsmanship outside - and indeed, that memory was fading fast. Overhead were not moons, but rather two odd, red lamps hanging from her ceiling.

She looked down. In her left hand was a frame for embroidery, and in her right was a needle, raised as she was about to thrust it into the fabric like a sword. In memory, Isabelle smiled. What a childish little fancy!

The childhood temptation to become a swordswoman had still been with her, at that age, but only just. Instead, Isabelle remembered resigning herself to her filial duties, and spending long hours practicing her needlework to become the princess her mother had always so wanted.

Then, in the memory, came a knock at the door, followed by her mother’s voice:

“Isabelle?” her mother had said. “There’s somebody here I’d like you to meet.”

Isabelle set aside her needlework as her mother pushed open her chamber door. At her side was a woman as strange as she was oddly familiar. She was extraordinarily pale and looked hungry, and her eyes were all red.

“She’s to be your tutor,” Isabelle’s mother had explained, “in the finer points of courtly etiquette. She’s a countess from the east, from over the mountains.”

Even in this most vivid of vivid memories, Isabelle barely registered her words. Her recollection was dominated by a single, overbearing feeling.

Adoration.

A single glance at the countess’s slender, aristocratic countenance was all Isabelle needed to know this was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. That she would ever see. There was an inhuman quality to her that only enhanced her perfection. Isabelle felt like she was looking at a saint, or perhaps a goddess. The blasphemy of that notion was completely unimportant compared to how desperately she wanted to worship and adore this woman.

In memory, her body started to warm to new desires. Shame stained her cheeks. It was wrong. Terribly, biblically wrong. To feel this way about another woman was unspeakable - let alone about a woman who had come all this way to tutor her. But there was no denying it.

In memory, Isabelle tried to remember if she’d ever felt this way about a woman before. She didn’t think so. This lust, this dizzying passion, this yearning for closeness and intimacy was like a spike driven into her skull. Without precedent, it had erupted inside her. If she hadn’t known better, Isabelle might have blamed it on a devil’s touch or a witch’s curse.

And in any case, she was too enamored to care.

“Hello, Bella,” the countess said, in that accented, somehow-familiar voice. “I’m here to help you blossom into a fine young lady.”

Coming from this goddess, the diminutive nickname didn’t anger her. It merely made her blush.

“Hello, countess.” In memory, Isabelle rose to her feet and curtsied as prettily as she could. A breathless eagerness slipped into her voice. “I look forward to your tutelage.”

***

Then, it was over. The memory was finished and receded back into the dark corners of Isabelle’s mind, there to spread its roots just like the first had. More memories started to appear before her mind’s eye. Memories of long years of tutelage and devotion as she cultivated her own regal femininity. But this was no time to dwell on them. She snapped back to the present, and scolded herself for being so absent-minded.

She wasn’t a girl back in Verona. Nor was she some old maid, constantly reminiscing. She was a knight, and she was here to… to…

To what?

“Are you alright, dear little Bella?” Countess Mihaela asked. “You’re looking a little pale.”

Isabelle leaped backward as she noticed how close the vampire was. Terror gripped her. Why was she here? To slay a vampire? That sounded like a bad jest. Where had she found the insane courage that had brought her down into this castle, sword in hand?

She barely even knew how to use the thing.

“Do not worry,” the countess added mockingly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Isabelle risked an incredulous glance at the creature. That proved to be a mistake. Once her eyes found the twinned, red lamps that shone out of the vampire’s face, she was once again frozen to the spot - not that it seemed to matter. Even running away felt like a distant fantasy. How was Isabelle supposed to move when she was weighed down with all this clunky armor? She had no idea how to move in it.

After a few moments, though, she realized there was something else that was giving her pause. Something about the countess. There was an eerie familiarity to her, like she had been conjured forth from Isabelle’s past. Had they met? It seemed impossible. How would she have met a vampire? But the notion continued to gnaw at her. She tried to tell herself that it was a mere trick. That, if anything, Countess Mihaela was something spawned from her nightmares.

But that wasn’t quite true either. Because Countess Mihaela was the most beautiful woman she had ever set eyes on. Even her obvious inhumanity was enchanting. Isabelle couldn’t take her eyes off her, and the sight of the vampire’s face stoked shameful desires she’d kept carefully hidden for so many years. Hers was the face that had haunted both Isabelle’s wet dreams and her most loving fantasies.

That, just as much as anything else, was terrifying.

“K-keep away from me!” Isabelle yelled, her voice wavering.

“Or what?” Countess Mihaela opened her mouth and bared her fangs. “What are you afraid of, little Bella?”

“D-don’t call me that!” Isabelle was teetering on the brink of panic. “I… I… I have a sword!”

She clutched it to her chest with both hands, embarrassingly like a child reaching for a prized toy.

“Oh? Then do your worst!” The countess spread her arms wide. “Here. I won’t even move.”

Hot, bitter tears of humiliation started to well up in the corners of Isabelle’s eyes. With the vampire goading her, she raised the sword as high as she could, and tried to imitate the way she’d seen fighting men move.

She failed miserably.

Isabelle had no idea how to hold the sword, much less swing it. When she struck out towards the countess, she was woefully unprepared for the way its weight and momentum carried her forwards and threatened to throw her completely off balance. Letting out a miserable whimper, she allowed it to slip out of her hands. It clattered to the ground uselessly, off to one side.

True to her word, Countess Mihaela had not moved a muscle.

“You see?” the vampire said, with an air of predatory, sickeningly false kindness. “You’re not meant for this, dear Bella. Why not accept what I offer instead? Be mine. Be my bride.”

The offer was horrifying in its allure. Countess Mihaela felt as much like a succubus as she did a bloodsucking monstrosity. Isabelle shrunk away from her whilst shaking her head and trying to ignore how tempted she felt.

“Don’t… don’t call… d-don’t…” Isabelle couldn’t keep herself from tearing up. She was trying desperately to think of a lifeline, but she was so terribly confused. She couldn’t so much as understand why she’d come here. “I-I’m a knight! I’m a k-knight!”

The claim felt laughably, pathetically false. But still, Isabelle was determined to hold true to that part of herself. It was one of the only things she remained truly sure of. Her deepest conviction.

“Are you?” Countess Mihaela’s amusement was palpable. “What kind of knight doesn’t know how to swing a sword, dear Bella?”

“I…” Isabelle had no answer for that, but she couldn’t let go. Her knighthood was all she had. “I’m… I’m a… a knight?”

“You poor thing,” the vampire simpered. “You seem so terribly confused. Why don’t you just look into my eyes for a moment? I can take all of that away for you. Just look, Bella. Look.”

She wasn’t sure if it was out of compulsion, fear, or simple despair, but whatever the case, Isabelle looked. Countess Mihaela’s huge, red eyes opened up to devour her.

***

Once again, Isabelle was tossed into a helpless reverie of memory. She found herself transported back once more to Verona, but this time she was standing in the chapel attached to her family’s estate. Even tinted in sinister crimson, the day was unmistakable to her.

It was her happiest and proudest moment, and the most important day of her life.

Having come of age, she was waiting there in the chapel for the ceremony to begin. In a few moments, her father would come to join her. She would take her vows, and then kneel before him as he blessed her with his ceremonial sword and awarded her the…

The…

What? What was she here for, exactly?

Isabelle found that she was struggling to remember that.

A knighthood?

That felt right, but she couldn’t see how it could be. After all, by that age, knighthood had been nothing more than a long-forgotten daydream. She’d long since put away her sword and her storybooks. Instead, she’d devoted herself to becoming the elegant, beautiful princess of Verona, under the fond eye of her beloved tutor.

Her…

It was then that it dawned on her. No; rather, it was seared into her mind like a red-hot brand.

This wasn’t a knighthood ceremony. It was her betrothal.

Her father was soon coming, yes, but he was coming to give her away to her betrothed. Her vows weren’t of duty, but rather of love and faithfulness.

Love for-

“You are a vision of beauty, my beloved Bella.”

At the sound of that familiar, accented voice, joy surged within Isabelle’s breast. She turned to face her betrothed as she walked towards her through the crimson-lit chapel.

It was the countess.

Underneath Castle Dragosi, Isabelle’s brow furrowed. There were a dozen and more reasons why that memory was impossible. Why it made no sense. A betrothal between two women? It was impossible. And why would her family ever entrust her to some foreign countess? Or to a woman so much older? Why didn’t they object to the fact that the woman they’d welcomed as a tutor had seduced their only daughter?

Yet all those reasons were swept away in the rush of nostalgic bliss.

In memory, Isabelle could barely contain herself. She was finally to be given to the woman she loved. The way their romance had blossomed was nothing short of a fairytale, and it was a further miracle that her parents had consented so readily to the match. How could she be anything but thankful?

Through her mind’s eye, she could see that the countess had looked as beautiful as ever that day. She was wearing the same dress Isabelle always seemed to picture her in, and her fangs were as white and sharp as ever. And her eyes, of course, held Isabelle’s very soul in their grip.

She was perfect.

The memory was growing clearer and clearer with each passing moment. Now Isabelle felt like she could remember what she had been wearing. Not armor, but a pretty, white dress. She wasn’t a knight. She was a bride.

Abruptly, she found herself picturing her father at her side. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could remember something of his smile as he offered her hand to the countess. Then, it was time for her vows. Isabelle spoke them from the heart, and the words took the place of years of chivalric oaths and honorable pledges.

‘Till death do us part…

***

This time, when Isabelle snapped back the present, it felt as though she had been struck by a thunderbolt. It was like she was remembering her whole life anew, and as her precious memories of the countess took root, they quickly filled the holes and doubts that had assailed her. It wasn’t long before she was set completely at ease.

Only, why were there tears in her eyes?

The only reason Bella could think of was that they were tears of joy - of the joy of, at long last, being reunited with her betrothed.

“You remember now, don’t you?” Countess Mihaela prompted. She was grinning wickedly. “Isn’t that right, my bride?”

My bride. Those words sent a rapturous shiver down Bella’s spine, and made her blush.

“Yes,” she said, in a dainty, adoring voice. “Forgive me, my love. I was confused. How silly of me!”

In truth, there were still a few things that confused her. They simply didn’t matter, now that she was in the arms of her great love. Why was she standing beneath some dank, ruined castle? Why was she wearing armor? Why did her body feel so firm, so muscular? And why was there a sword lying on the ground, so close at hand?

For a moment, she caught her own reflection in its steel. Her eyes seemed to have turned a dull, deep, listless red.

It didn’t trouble her. Not now that she knew who she was. She was Princess Bella of Verona, and she had come to take her place as Countess Mihaela Dragosi’s bride.

“Good, good,” the countess said. “You must come upstairs with me. I have clothes for you to change into. We can easily find you something more befitting a princess.”

Bella nodded gratefully. A dress would be much more comfortable and familiar than this heavy garb.

“But first,” Countess Mihaela added, “I am thirsty, my bride.”

Bella’s loving smile only widened. She knew exactly what the countess was asking of her. It was a bride’s duty, and one she was unbelievably happy to fulfill.

She reached up to unfasten the high-collared breastplate that kept her neck protected. Her fingers seemed to know how to handle the straps, even if her mind didn’t. After a few seconds, it fell to the ground next to the sword, and Countess Mihaela rushed forwards to sweep Bella into her embrace.

Bella, her knighthood lost, did nothing more than bare her neck in submission, and let out a blissful moan as the vampire’s fangs pierced her neck.

She had been wrong before. This, in fact, was her happiest and proudest moment.

—

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[archduchessofnowhere]

Update on this topic! Today I found what it is so far the oldest written mention of Mathilde's alleged affair with Bermúdez de Castro I've come across. It's in the second volume of Rome et le Palais Farnèse pendant les trois derniers siècles, by Ferdinand de Navenne, published in 1923. You can read the whole segment here, but I'll share only the paragraphs referent to the affair:

The queen enjoyed the Spaniard's lively, original conversation; she received him with pleasure and took him for walks. The Countess of Trani was taken by his fine manners and flattering words. Ripalda, who was not held back by chivalrous scruples, used a calculated reserve, so as to spread the word of his affair without causing a scandal. Marie-Sophie did not feel in the mood to share the Count of Trani's distress, if he had by chance experienced any. But if Trani cared little for comments, the king was moved by them; he confided to the pope the subject of his concerns and the pope advised the Bavarian court.

(...) Having come with the intention of resolving a delicate situation, the King [Maximilian II] of Bavaria made an urgent approach to the Countess of Trani. It seemed that the intervention of the head of the House of Wittelsbach would mark the epilogue of a romance that had lasted far too long. To his great disappointment, Maximilian met with stubborn resistance which provoked a violent scene from which the walls of the Farnese Palace could not keep the secret. Having failed on this front. Pius IX turned to Queen Isabel [II of Spain]. Ripalda suddenly ceased to represent the Court of Madrid to Francesco II. He was succeeded by the Marquis of Arcicollar. A little later, a female child was born in the village of Albano, whom the Duke of Ripalda recognised in his will as both his daughter and that of an "illustrious lady". It's hard to imagine a more conquistador [conqueror] and less knight.

So this rumor dates to at least the 1920s, probably even earlier. The mention of Bermúdez de Castro's daughter at the end is interesting, but honestly I can't tell if Navenne was trying to imply the girl was also Mathilde's or if he just wanted to point out that the diplomatic was a womanizer carrying more than one affair at the same time.

I'll keep you updated if I come across something else!

Hi! could you pls tell me more about Mathilde in Bavaria Countess of Trani? I feel like from all of Elisabeth's sisters, she's the one I know the least about and I'm not sure where to find detailed information. I'd love to know about her life, what her marriage was like and her relationship with her birth family and daughter (or daughters, if the claim of her alleged illegitimate child is true?) Also did she play any role/have any allegiance during ww1?

Hello! She is indeed the least known of the sisters, perhaps because she had an overall uneventful life. I've talked about her on this ask, and sadly I don't really have anything more substantial to add. What I didn't mention in it, however, was the alleged illegitimate daughter, since I wanted to elaborate it properly. So let's do that!

Allegedly, during her first years of marriage Mathilde had an affair with Spanish diplomatic Salvador Bermúdez de Castro, Duke of Ripalda, which resulted in the birth of a daughter, María Salvadora Bermúdez de Castro, born in 1864 in Villa Farnesina, in Rome. The girl was almost immediately sent to England, were she was raised by her paternal family, and later on adopted by her father. She never had any contact with her mother again.

Mathilde isn't the only one with an alleged out of wedlock child: her elder sister Marie also was rumored to have become pregnant by a lover and give birth to a girl in 1862. But here's the thing: in Marie's case, these rumors were contemporary. She suddenly left Rome for Bavaria in June of 1862, officially because she was ill, and in October she entered the convent of St. Ursula in Augsburg, which she only left in January (!) of the next year. And while I still haven't found convincing evidence of Marie actually having a child during her stay at the convent, is completely understandable that the rumor spread like wildfire: newspapers reported that she was having some sort of marital crisis at the beginning of 1862, then she suddenly left her husband because of an unclear illness, and then nobody physically saw her for MONTHS. She finally returned Rome in April 1863, ten months after she left. And if you fall from the face of Earth for ten months OF COURSE people is going to think you were pregnant (specially if these people want to ruin your reputation after you became the symbol of the Bourbon cause).

But as far as I'm aware there is nothing even remotely similar in Mathilde's case. So far I haven't been able to find a "window" in which you can fit a pregnancy, nor any rumors about her around 1864. In fact, how could she possibly hide a pregnancy and have a secret child in ROME, right under the noses of her husband and in-laws and even the Pope? It just doesn't make sense. I still don't know where the story of her having a daughter in Villa Farnesina originated, but I do know that it wasn't in the 19th century.

That being said, María Salvadora did exist and was Bermúdez de Castro's illegitimate daughter, that much is true. Upon his death in 1883 she was the sole heiress of his money and titles. His will was actually reported in newspapers, since he owned a fortune. Here is an article from the Italian newspaper Fanfulla, from June 16 of 1883 (machine translation):

THE RIPALDA WILL Yesterday, the will of the Duke of Ripalda was found in the Farnesina Palace. It was opened by the Spanish consul in Rome, Juan Rodriguez Rubi, in the presence of the Italian judicial authority, a nephew of the deceased duke, who came three days ago from Barcelona, and other witnesses. The will is made by public deed in Madrid, now four years old; a codicil made in Rome last year is added. The fortune left by the Duke of Ripalda is calculated at 5 million Italian lire, valuing the Farnesina at two million, and counting the 750,000 lire that the deceased still owed the Italian government for the expropriation of part of the garden of the Farnesina, due to the work on the Tiber. This sum may even increase, as a dispute before the Italian courts has begun. The late duke has appointed as his universal heir one of his natural daughters recognised and legitimised by will, according to Spanish law, Dona Maria Salvadora Bermúdez de Castro, a nineteen-year-old girl, who is currently being educated in an institution in Cologne. Some portraits of the young heiress found among the duke's papers depict her with an uncommon aloofness. The duke, in his will, conceals, as is natural, the mother's name, but says that his heiress is hija de ilustre y hermosa señora [daughter of an illustrated and beautiful lady]. The executors of the will are the Duke of Vista Hermosa senator and Grandee of Spain, Don Francisco Cardenas ex-ambassador to the Holy See, Augusto Conta minister in Vienna, and the ambassador of Spain to the Holy See, who would have been in caries at the time of the testator's death. As guardian of the universal heir, the duke appointed Dona Incarnacion O'Lavolor de Bermudez de Castro, wife of his elder brother, living in Madrid. The will also mentions many legacies, gifts and pensions to relatives, old servants and the poor in Rome and Madrid. He also leaves to the ex-king of Naples a large painting by Raphael, currently in the National Gallery in London, valued at one million, and another painting by Titian, placed in the great hall of the Farnesina, plus a legacy of 50,000 lire for the ex-king and another of the same amount for the ex-queen Maria Sofia! The deceased had the name Salvador Bermúdez de Castro, marchase of Lema, Duke of Ripalda, prince of Santa Lucia. The latter title was not recognised in Spain, since the title of prince can only be borne by persons belonging to the royal family. The title of Marquis of Lema will go to the nephew, the son of Dona Incarnacion; the other two to the universal heir, who will thus add the princely and ducal crowns to a fortune of 5 million. If, however, this is not possible, the two titles will be carried by the guardian. The will closes with a sentence that shows the deceased's foresight and finesse. In it, it is said that if, as a result of trials, his daughter were to lose everything he had left her in his will, his fortune, instead of coming by right into the hands of his relatives, should all be distributed to the poor. The Duke of Ripalda shall have his grave at Campo Verano, which he prescribes modest, and on which shall be written only his name.

So in 1883 the only piece of information you could find about Maria Salvadora's mother was "illustrated and beautiful lady". I'm not aware if this kind of phrasing shows a particular attachment towards the girl's mother or if it was convencional, but in any case nothing really points at Mathilde.

María Salvadora moved to Spain some time later and in 1890 married Álvaro Pérez de Barradas Fernández de Córdova, Marquis Peñaflor. The marriage remained childless. I couldn't find much information about her, only that she wrote a book about the life of Sancha Alfonsa de León. She died in 1944 in Madrid, at the age of 80.

Do I believe that Mathilde was her mother? So far I'm not convinced. I need something that tangibly connects Mathilde with Bermúdez de Castro + a window for a possible pregnancy. Otherwise, you literally only have a story that did not even exist until some years ago. In fact, in the 1860s Marie was the one rumored to have been too close to the Spanish diplomatic, not her younger sister. Do with that what you will.

As for the last part of your question: I don't know if she did something during WWI, but honestly I haven't looked into it either. If I found something about it I'll share it!

Thank you for your question and sorry that I couldn't tell you more!

[tsc-clave]

TSC characters as some of my favorite songs from my favorite artists, a self indulgent post to re-emerge from the shadows

Nola 1, PVRIS • Simon

"don't know where I went wrong, don't know where I went, no, but I keep singing"

it reminds me of how resilient Simon is, especially after CoHF and his memory loss, he knows how life can change fast and tries to make the best out of it.

Delilah, Florence + The Machine • Cordelia

"and my feet are spinning around, never knew I was a dancer 'till Delilah showed me how"

"drifting through the halls with the sunrise (holding on for your call)"

the first lyric reminds me of the scene in which Cordelia dances and acts, shocking herself after her performance.

the second one represents the longing she feels for James, she's usually quiet about it but her feelings are strong through it all.

I'm not a woman I'm a god, Halsey • Charlotte

"I'm not a woman I'm a god, I'm not a martyr I'm a problem"

Charlotte is a very powerful woman, she's the first female Consul and she commands respect from her male peers. her strength and boldness are what enabled her to pave the way for more inclusiveness in the Clave.

Glory and Gore, Lorde • Isabelle

"no one 'round here's good at keepin' their eyes closed, the sun's startin' to light up when we're walking home, tired little laughs, gold-lie promises, we'll always win at this, I don't ever think about death"

these lyrics make me think about Isabelle, Alec and Jace going demon hunting, pre CoB. she's so fast forward, full of audacity, but soon things will start to change. if you re-read these lyrics thinking about a more grown up Isabelle, you'll find her caustic side, how she tends to downplay what worries her; the dangers of being a Shadowhunter and her loved ones.

Queen of Peace, Florence and The Machine • Emma

"like the stars chase the sun, over the glowing hill I will conquer, blood is running deep, some things never sleep"

this song always makes me think about chivalry, I don't know why, but Emma is as stubborn as these lyrics. some things never sleep indeed, like her passion and the need to find answers about her parents. plus, she wields a mythical sword, like a knight; now the chivalry thing makes more sense.

Dead Weight, PVRIS • Julian

"I can't take it over and over, dead weight hanging off of my shoulder, nothing changes I'm getting colder"

Jules always had a big weight weighing down on him, from an early age, that progressively became bigger. he got through it all, but sometimes he can get as cold as ice and he needs some cuddles.

Hold Me Down, Halsey • Matthew

"saying that I want more, this is what I live for"

Matthew has this way of seeking solace in autodestructive habits, like drinking and enjoying the finest mundane things, so he just continues searching for more while struggling to cope with his problems.

Only If For A Night, Florence and The Machine • Clary

"and the only solution was to stand and fight, and my body was bruised and I was set alight"

Clary never thought of backing off a fight, never. she understood what needed to be done, she understood her pain and just did what was best. I always admired her for having both heart and guts.

Devil In Me, Halsey • Will

"I won't let anyone down if I crawl tonight"

Will struggled a lot with his supposed curse, when he was young, he would never let that be the cause for someone's pain, so whenever he felt down he just picked the pieces up on his own.

Snakes, PVRIS • Jace

"you're a snake, you're a snake, just like the spitting image, fate how's it taste it's your own medicine, make no mistake got 20/20 vision, if I see your face don't think I'm forgiving"

Jace is the best Shadowhunter of his generation, come on, he beat every bad guy and made no mistake. these lyrics just give me his vibes.

Ribs, Lorde • Cristina

"and I never felt more alone, it feels so scary getting old"

"laugh until our ribs get tough, but that will never be enough"

the first lyric makes me think about the last moments in Mexico after her fight with the Rosales brothers, how she feels things changing and the effect time has on people.

the second one is about how she misses being close to Diego, but now she has the clarity to understand that they both grew up and chose different paths.

Is There Somewhere, Halsey • Tessa

"is there somewhere you can meet me? cause I clutched your arms like stairway railings, and you clutched my brain and eased my ailing"

this reminds me of Tessa feeling alone after Will's death and her subsequent distance she took from her family, the only person she has is Brother Zachariah and how he, even though they see each other once a year, helps her cope through the decades.

Homemade Dynamite, Lorde • Christopher

"blowing shit up with homemade dynamite"

need I say more?

[candyflossclouds]

Cradlesona !

Yayy im gonna do one too hahah :D Inspired by @lovingsiriusoswald and @theundyingskeleton ‘s posts so i was like why not?

Information

Name: Isabelle Forsyth

Nickname: Izzy

Birthday: 8th January

Age: 23

Height: 158cm

Blood type: O

Physical

Eyes: Blue with a tinge of purple

Hair: Rose coloured (dyed) Brown coloured (original)

Social

Affiliation : Black Army

Occupation: Black Army officer, 8 of Spades

Relationships: 

Sirius Oswald- Treats her like a daughter, but still gets heart attacks when she’s being mischievous. She helps out with meals, though she’s better at baking than cooking.

Luka Clemence- Good friends, she enjoys baking and cooking with Luka.

Seth Hyde- Sisters! She’s learnt how to do her hairstyles from the best. They go shopping together, and Seth likes to try his newest hairstyles on her.

Fenrir Godspeed- Will stir up bad ideas together sometimes, especially when it comes to pranking Ray.

Lancelot Kingsley- Doesn’t particularly like him, thinks he’s arrogant.

Jonah Clemence- Had no opinion on him, but verging on a little bit of dislike from hearing Luka’s rants.

Edgar Bright- Met him through Zero, acquaintances. 

Zero: Pretty good friends, they met in school. Zero was the one who taught her how to wield blades. 

Kyle Ash, Blanc Lapin, Oliver Knight- Friends, first met when she was drinking to drown her sorrows when her ex broke up with her. Occasionally drinks together.

Harr Silver- Met him once or twice, thinks he seems okay. 

Loki Genetta- Doesn’t really like him. Thinks he’s creepy.

Personality

-A little shy and awkward at first. Tends to avoid eye contact.

-Once you get to know her, she’s a little shit. A great way to give Sirius more heart attacks, right?

-Tends to bottle up emotions, since this is what she was always used to when she was living at home. Will only open up if you are close.

-Stubborn, can and will hold a grudge.

-Fiercely loyal, will kick your ass if you even talk bad about any of her loved ones.

Family and History

-Born as a Black Territory noble. Both parents are citizens, has 2 siblings. 2 younger brothers.

-Parents fully intended her to be a musician after she grows up, but she rebelled and joined the Black Army instead. Had no contact with her family for about 5 years.

-Was never really on good terms with her family, she hated feeling restricted around her family. What was important to her family was always their reputation and image to outsiders, therefore the way she acts and what she did, her parents always watched carefully. The Black Army appeals to her because of their beliefs in freedom.

-Still not on good terms, preferring to stay away from them, but occasionally visits home.

-Dyed her hair so that people would not associate her to her family, and so that she would not be easily recognised by her family. 

Skills and Special Abilities

-Wields blades. 

-Musically talented.

Paired with: Ray Blackwell

Life in Cradle: 

-She learned how to wield the blades from Zero back in school. She saw him practicing one day, and asked him if he was willing to teach her. She helped him in studies in exchange. They became friends after that, she met Edgar through Zero, though they aren’t particularly close, she admires his wit and little shit attitude. 

-Ray and Fenrir were popular in school back then, no she did not have a crush on either of them. 😂 Has seen them around in school, but they have never talked to each other. They only became friends when they joined the Black Army, Fenrir and Ray spotting her plotting a prank on her friend.  They helped her execute it, because, it’s Fenrir and Ray, did you expect anything less than that? Since then, they’ve become friends because they’re all naughty little shits.

-She was actually closer to Fenrir than Ray at first. Fenrir asked her for a favour one day, to go with Ray to the cemetery. Since then, she found out he was actually juggling more burdens than she ever thought. Determined to be a good friend, she tried to get closer to him, and saw all the kindness he had, how he tries to protect everyone. 

-She got her position before Ray became King.

-Initially dyed her hair so that she would not be easily recognised by her family, though later on dyed it back to her original colour because she decided that she would not live under the influence of her family.

Dyed hair with casual clothes.

Casual clothes and formal wear.

[dnteverdoubtme]

A Trial of Faith

                           ❝ Sorry, was that a bit honest? Terribly sorry. ❞

@herosphoros

ENTREAT ME NOT TO LEAVE THEE, OR RETURN FROM FOLLOWING AFTER THEE  –

They had grown up together: the Lightwoods and the Morgensterns. best of friends, Clary and Isabelle had been, but Alec and her had always had a special bond. It was as if their souls were bound from day one – an inseparable pair in all things as children. ( Alec – the king of all games, and Clary – his loyal knight! ) but they had only been childhood friends. nothing more until the death of her father. when Valentine died, she had needed someone older and wiser to call upon for council. ( & Alec’s arms had been as open as they were strong. ) In this period of grief, a true kinship was born. And out of mourning came the proposition to be parabatai. It seemed like such a natural move, that Alec had barely asked the question before Clary was hugging him and exclaiming her acceptance.

Of course, it had taken time to get to that point. Intense training and even more intense testing by those above them at the academy. were they a good match? Did they work well as a team? How did Clary handle Alec’s bluntness? How did Alec handle clary at her most stubborn? Every flaw was exposed, every wall broken down – and when the day finally came to swear to the Angel and to one another, Clary was certain that she knew Alec Lightwood better than she knew herself. But she had guessed wrong. he was not the man of valor she had thought him to be. He held no place for her in his heart ( his words an indicator that he was not just unsure of this decision, but certain it was the wrong one for him ) & as she stood in drawing room of the Lightwood manor, her mouth open from shock, she couldn’t help the tears that fell.

HONESTY / WAS THAT WHAT HE CALLED HIS SUDDEN BREAKING OFF OF THEIR CEREMONY? ( was that what he called the onslaught of callous remarks about her ability to handle such a bond? ) She let out an angry cry, stamping her foot like a child. “ You lied to me! you coward! “ ( name calling had never been her strong suit ) “ How dare —- how dare you make me go through all of this to back out at the last minute! I swear on the Angel, Alec Lightwood, I will drag you to the hall if I have too. ”

         The manor was quiet, or at least it had been so before Clary had stormed inside with all the flare of a hurricane. It was the day of their parabatai ceremony and Alec had been late. Isabelle assured Clary that he would show up, his whole family had been there after all, but he didn’t, and as time trickled by and anxiety festered into confusion the lead in the pit of her stomach had led her to the Lightwood household, never one to leave a matter well enough alone. “This is the problem with you,” Alec pointed out rather viciously, “You just don’t get it, do you, Clary? You’re so used to getting your way that you can’t even believe it when someone tells you no.”

“You can’t make me become your parabatai,” he told her, “You can’t drag me anywhere and bind me to you just because you’re a little girl too scared of being on her own.” Her father had died, after all, Jonathan was training in London, Jocelyn had Luke now; and Clary? Clary had Alec Lightwood and nothing else, or so it might seem. Still, the way he said his words was nothing short of cruel, a dark gleam inside hazel eyes that appeared almost black in his restless approach, towering over the redheaded girl, looking down at her with an ugly sneer on his lips that turned into a mockery of pity with a tilt of his head. “You can’t have my family just because yours is slipping through your fingers.” 

          By the end of it, he was just condescending, standing so close his frame cast a massive shadow over Clary’s hurt-struck gaze while his own eyes held no compassion for her. The Morgenstern girl was weak, too clingy, too dependent, regardless of the brave face she put forward. “It’s a good thing I backed out when I did,” he concluded humorlessly, “It would have been a waste.” One would think Alec would have backed off after that, that he had said his peace, but it didn’t feel like he was done quite yet, not while Clary Morgenstern defiantly stood there despite the tears gleaming in her eyes. It was pathetic really. “You should leave now.” 

[angelavengedinspo-blog]

Isabelle had been trained to wake early every morning, rain or shine, and a slight hangover did nothing to prevent it from happening again. She sat up slowly and blinked down at Simon.

She’d never spent an entire night in a bed with anyone else, unless you counted crawling into her parents’ bed when she was four and afraid of thunderstorms. She couldn’t help staring at Simon as if he were some exotic species of animal. He lay on his back, his mouth slightly open, his hair in his eyes. Ordinary brown hair, ordinary brown eyes. His T-shirt was pulled up slightly. He wasn’t muscular like a Shadowhunter. He had a smooth flat stomach but no six-pack, and there was still a hint of softness to his face. What was it about him that fascinated her? He was plenty cute, but she had dated gorgeous faerie knights, sexy Shadowhunters. . . . “Isabelle,” Simon said without opening his eyes. “Quit staring at me.” Isabelle sighed irritably and swung herself out of bed. She rummaged in her bag for her gear, retrieved it, and headed out to find the bathroom. It was halfway down the hall, and the door was just opening, Alec emerging in a cloud of steam. He had a towel around his waist and another around his shoulders and was rubbing energetically at his wet black hair. Isabelle supposed she shouldn’t be surprised to see him; he’d been trained to wake up early in the morning just like she had. “You smell like sandalwood,” she said by way of greeting. She hated the smell of sandalwood. She liked sweet scents—vanilla, cinnamon, gardenia. Alec looked at her. “We like sandalwood.” Isabelle made a face. “Either that’s the royal ‘we’ or you and Magnus are turning into one of those couples that think they’re one person. ‘We like sandalwood.’ ‘We adore the symphony.’ ‘We hope you enjoy our Christmas present’—which, if you ask me, is just a cheap way of avoiding having to buy two gifts.” Alec blinked wet lashes at her. “You’ll understand—” “If you tell me I’ll understand when I’m in love, I’ll smother you with that towel.” “And if you keep preventing me from going back to my room and getting dressed, I’ll get Magnus to summon up pixies to tie your hair in knots.” “Oh, get out of my way.” Isabelle kicked at Alec’s ankle until he moved, unhurriedly, down the hall. She had the feeling if she turned around and looked at him he’d be sticking his tongue out at her, so she didn’t look. Instead she locked herself in the bathroom and turned on the shower, full steam. Then she looked at the rack of shower products and said an unladylike word. Sandalwood shampoo, conditioner, and soap. Ugh. When she finally emerged, dressed in her gear and with her hair up, she found Alec, Magnus, and Jocelyn waiting for her in the living room. There were doughnuts, which she didn’t want, and coffee, which she did. She poured a liberal amount of milk into it and sat back, looking at Jocelyn, who was also dressed—to Isabelle’s surprise—in Shadowhunter gear. It was odd, she mused. People often told her she looked like her mother, though she didn’t see it herself, and she wondered now if it was in the same way that Clary looked like Jocelyn. The same color hair, yes, but also the same cast of features, the same tilt of the head, the same stubborn set to the jaw. The same sense that this person might look like a porcelain doll but was steel underneath. Although, Isabelle wished that, in the same way that Clary had gotten her mother’s green eyes, she’d gotten Maryse and Robert’s blue ones. Blue was so much more interesting than black. “As with the Silent City, there is only one Adamant Citadel, but there are many doors through which one may find it,” said Magnus. “The closest to us is the old Augustinian Monastery on Grymes Hill, in Staten Island. Alec and I will Portal with you there and wait for you to return, but we can’t go with you all the way.” “I know,” said Isabelle. “Because you’re boys. Cooties.” Alec pointed a finger at her. “Take this seriously, Isabelle. The Iron Sisters aren’t like the Silent Brothers. They’re way less friendly and they don’t like being bothered.” “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior,” Isabelle said, and set her empty coffee mug down on the table. “Let’s go.” Magnus looked at her suspiciously for a moment, then shrugged. His hair was gelled up today into a million sharp points, and his eyes were smudged with black, making them look more catlike than ever. He moved past her to the wall, already murmuring in Latin; the familiar outline of a Portal, its arcane door shape outlined with glittering symbols, began to take form. Wind rose, cool and sharp, blowing back the tendrils of Isabelle’s hair. Jocelyn stepped forward first, and walked through the Portal. It was a little like watching someone disappear into the side of a wave of water: A silvery haze seemed to swallow her in, dulling the color of her red hair as she vanished into it with a faint shimmer. Isabelle went next. She was used to the stomach-dropping feeling of transportation by Portal. There was a soundless roar in her ears and no air in her lungs. She closed her eyes, then opened them again as the whirlwind released her and she fell into dry brush. She rose to her feet, brushing dead grass from her knees, and saw Jocelyn looking at her. Clary’s mother opened her mouth—and closed it again as Alec appeared, dropping into the vegetation beside Isabelle, and then Magnus, the shimmering half-seen Portal closing behind him. Even the trip through the Portal had not disarranged Magnus’s hair spikes. He tugged on one proudly. “Check it out,” he said to Isabelle. “Magic?”“Hair gel. $3.99 at Ricky’s.”Isabelle rolled her eyes at him and turned to take in her new surroundings. They stood atop a hill, its peak covered in dry brush and withered grass. Lower down were autumn-blackened trees, and in the far distance Isabelle saw cloudless sky and the top of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge connecting Staten Island to Brooklyn. As she turned, Isabelle saw the monastery behind her, rising out of the dull foliage. It was a large building of red brick, most of its windows smashed out or boarded over. It was tagged here and there with graffiti. Turkey vultures, disturbed by the travelers’ arrival, circled the dilapidated bell tower.Isabelle squinted at it, wondering if there was a glamour to be peeled off. If so, it was a strong one. Try as she might, she couldn’t see anything but the ruinous building before her.“There’s no glamour,” said Jocelyn, startling Isabelle. “What you see is what you get.”Jocelyn trudged toward it, her boots crushing down the dry vegetation in front of her. After a moment Magnus shrugged and followed her, and Isabelle and Alec came after. There was no path; branches grew in tangles, dark against the clear air, and the foliage underfoot crackled with dryness. As they neared the building, Isabelle saw that patches of the dry grass were burned away where pentagrams and runic circles had been spray-painted into the grass.“Mundanes,” said Magnus, lifting a branch out of Isabelle’s way. “Playing their little games with magic, not really understanding it. They’re often drawn to places like this—centers of power—without really knowing why. They drink and hang out and spray-paint the walls, like you could leave a human mark on magic. You can’t.” They had reached a boarded-up door in the brick wall. “We’re here.”Isabelle looked hard at the door. Again there was no sense that a glamour covered it, although if she concentrated hard, a faint shimmer grew visible, like sunshine glancing off water. A look passed between Jocelyn and Magnus. Jocelyn turned to Isabelle. “You’re ready?”Isabelle nodded, and without further ado Jocelyn stepped forward and vanished through the boards of the door. Magnus looked expectantly at Isabelle.Alec leaned closer to her, and she felt the brush of his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll be fine, Iz.”She raised her chin. “I know,” she said, and followed Jocelyn through the door.