I've been gone for literally years now and no number of apologies will make that ok. But I am working hard now to re-read and re-write my terrible awkward work into something that you guys like hopefully. I will say that since my mother's death I had lost that spark and want to write, but now after remembering that people actually like to read what I put out, I've been inspired. This is a re-write of the first chapter of my latest story.

Clary POV

When I was born on a stormy night in a dingy run-down Hospital in New York, my brother had instantly taken a liking to me.

There was no '"oh now they like you more than me", or "I'm putting peanut butter in your toothpaste, and bleach in your shampoo". He loved me like a brother should his sister.

The thought of no longer being alone comforted him, and I loved him too.

We were toddlers, him 5 and I 4. I had tripped over a tree root in the park and scraped my knee. Then, when my skin was porcelain and my heart cotton the pain was unbearable.

Instantly he was by my side and when his hand touched mine, the pain faded away.

Our eyes met and our hands locked. At the age of four and five we both knew how strongly connected we were.

But we also knew that there would be a time to let go and it would hurt so much more than a scrape on the knee.

He hauled me up, and I dusted away the dirt that had settled on my skirt. Together we walked out of the park towards our small apartment.

The same apartment I sit in now. We were both dreading the day to come, we could sense it.

But we hadn't seen one crucial detail. And the pain was one thousand times worse after we let go.

He left me whole but broken.

So today with my skin old and wrinkled, I take you back in time, to share my story.