Clary waltzed down the footpaths lining the streets of New York city, wearing a smile of pure and listening to Pitbull and Ne-yo ringing out through her headphones. The petite woman with crimson red hair was ecstatic for multiple reasons. The first was that she'd received an overall grade of A++ on her Real Life assignment in her art class at NYU, and as a result won the immunity Chalice for the next crazy assignment that her professor like to give out in class. The second was that her mother Jocelyn and step-father Luke were coming in to visit her on the weekend, which was rare since she hadn't seen them for a few months now. And finally, Clary had snagged the pretty blue scarf that she'd had her eye on for the last few weeks from the secondhand store Starry-Eyed .

For Clarissa Fray, life couldn't get any better.

The young art student turned around a corner and slung the glass door back, entering the lobby of her apartment building, with its plain black marble floor with scuff marks, and hunter green walls. The overall effect made the place feel claustrophobic, and the light bulbs above cast a yellow glow over the whole place. Clary ignored the elevator and bounded up the stairs two at a time and turned on the third floor. Her apartment was at the end of the hallway, the wooden door locked shut from the inside. The redhead walked up to it and thumped her fist against the wood three times.

"Simon, I know you're in there," she called out, taking off her headphones and placing them around her neck. "Hurry up and open, 'oh great and mighty one'."

The door clicked unlocked and swung open from the inside, revealing a tall, lanky male with his glasses sitting lopsided on his coffee-coloured hair. Caramel eyes were captured behind half-lidded eyelids, and his clothes were wrinkled from sleep. Clary tilted her head on the side to look up at her flat mate and long-life best friend Simon Lewis. "You're home early," he mumbled, shuffling away from the door.

"No, I'm on time," Clary said matter-of-factly. She walked into the room and watched her best friend flop onto the sofa. "Simon, how long have you been playing LoL for? I thought you had a lecture on today."

"Nope, that was yesterday." The brunette shuffled about on the couch until he was in a more comfortable position and placed the laptop from the coffee table onto his knees. He wore a maroon shirt that was baggy on his torso, and cut-off jeans that were frayed around the knees. The student rans his fingers through his hair, miraculously missing his glasses. "And for your information Clary I have not been playing League of legends all day. I've been working on an assignment for computer science, and trying study up on my physics."

Clary shrugged and ditched her bag on the counter. Their apartment was modest; faded gold walls and wooden floors; two sofas, and arm chair and bean bags settled around a coffee table. The t.v was in the corner beside the windows that lead out onto the fire escape. She and Simon had made a compromise on the three bedroom apartment; while Simon had dominion over the living room, Clary had full use of the third bedroom as an art studio for her work.

Clary tied her wild curls into a bun and stuck in a pair of oriental chopsticks to pin it up. She dug about in the fridge and pulled out a can of Sprite. "Anything interesting happen today?"

"Nah, just the usual," Simon said casually, flicking his glasses back over his eyes. Clary had to admit that Simon was kinda cute, fitting nicely in the good boy category. He was the kind to treat you right, always insisting on doing everything for you, but still leaving room for you to do your own thing. "But I went downstairs to pick up the mail. There's an envelope for you sitting on your art desk. It's from your father."

Clary's good mood flew right out the window, her expression turning dark. "'Kay. I'll be in the studio," Clary replied. She rounded the corner and entered her art studio, suddenly overwhelmed by a sense similar to coming home. Her art studio was her entire world, the one place besides her apartment where she could release all the things that rattled about within her head. Shelves lined the walls and were laden with small paint pots, jars of multi-coloured dyes, glass cups filled with loose paintbrushes. On her desks were stacks of sketchbooks and packets of pastels, water-colours, pencils, and various tools of media. A canvas was stacked up on a easel, with a stool in front. The white surface had been sprayed with blue spray paint and had an assortment of purple, pink, and green dye splattered and dripping down the slope, giving it an underwater-like theme. The painting itself was incomplete, awaiting for Clary's fingers to return to the slope and resume her creation. Clary picked up the paint-splattered plaid button-up off the stool and swapped it for the grey crew-cut shirt she wore over a white tank top and skinny jeans. She looked about on the desk for the envelope and found it slipped between a page in one of her many prized sketchbooks.

The envelope was innocuous enough; a simple white envelope that one might find containing a post-card or birthday card. But Clary knew better.

The name of the front had the initials C.F for Clary's initials, but the back of it was sealed with red wax. A seal depicting an M with a cluster of stars about it was embedded in the thick substance. Clary narrowed her eyes and opened it up, already having an idea of the contents before she opened up the note it contained. In perfect calligraphy was a message written for her eyes only.

Dealing with the Seelie Queen's Champion at 8. pm sharp. Meeting to take place at Mount Olympus, reservation for four. J will be picking you at 7.30 pm sharp. No one leaves until the deal is done.

V

- P.S: J will bring you some accesories. Need to look classy.

Clary rolled her eyes, staring hard at the initial scratched into the paper. V for her father Valentine.

Valentine Morgenstern.

Valentine Morgenstern was the underworld business mogul, and purveyor of rare and precious artefacts. He made private business deals with the rich and wealthy, stacking up assets upon assets until he had a good quarter of the New York politicians under his thumb. On top of that, he held dominion over the gambling underworld in all of New York, maintaining order amongst the chaos that ensued in the hours of darkness.

Her and Jonathan's childhood had been rocky since the split between their parents. After their divorce, Clary had spent all her time with her mother, while Jonathan left with Valentine, swapping over households like rolling dice between school breaks. The two had never really been close, but after this incident, they were nothing more that estranged siblings. That is until after her father intervened to pay for her high school education, even sending her off to a fancy institution to further her art skills. In exchange he'd taught all the trade secrets of his business, teaching her and her brother the skills for dealing, as well as how to look after one's self if things ever went south of civilised. Even though Clary didn't necessarily like playing messenger on behalf of her father, Valentine had promised to pay for university, and if she did well with business, even leave her out of the black market dealings for all her life. Art was Clary's life, and when Valentine dangled the bait in front of her in such a tantalizing manner, she was ready to do anything for such a prize.

Clary huffed. She'd always questioned her mother's reasons behind marrying such a man as Valentine. Her father was charming, to be fair, with looks that could make women of all ages swoon, but his manners always seemed to be on the edge of arrogance, his compliments laced with subtle mockery. And he was cruel. As a father he'd force them to endure harsh training regimes in their childhood, enrolling them in martial arts classes and treating them as soldiers. Whenever Jocelyn was around, things were a bit easier and Valentine was more loving, but he still found ways to use anything as a lesson.

Simon shuffled into her studio with a bag of prawn crackers, finding the young artist sketching away with a thick pencil. He pulled out the other stool that she had behind the door and sat down on it. "Another summoning from your dad?" he asked cautiously.

"My brother."

Simon crunched away on another prawn chip. "Do you guys have this deal to see each other once a month or something? 'Cos you always go whenever you get a letter from him or your dad."

"It's compulsory for us," Clary replied heatedly. "I just wish that it didn't have to happen so often. Its horrible enough as it is."

"Sounds like a crap relationship between you guys." Clary spun on her stool and face Simon, twirling the pencil between her fingers. "You know if I was you Clary, I'd just tell them to shove that letter where the sun should never, ever shine."

Clary giggled. "Tried that already - didn't work."

He tossed the bag of chips over to Clary, who caught expertly in one hand. "What do you guys even do? Go to fancy dinners and just sit and talk about the weather? Because I'm sure New York doesn't have much change in its patterns."

"Even better, we discuss car models and new upcoming fashion lines, and holdings from fancy condo's."

The duo laughed, passing the banter about Clary's family back and forth. Simon looked at Clary's smiling face, and adjusted his glasses on his face, his brown eyes softening. "There's the Clary I know and hate."

Clary straightened up and pointed a brush at his face. "Watch it," she threatened impishly. "I'll stab you with a brush when you're asleep."

Simon brushed her off. "As it you could. What time are you going out?"

"I'm out at seven-thirty. Jonathan's picking me up. I'll be in late."

Her room-mate shrugged and waltzed over to flick her in the shoulder. "Now remember kiddo, your bedtime is at ten. and i don't want you home any later-"

"Oh shove off Simon!" Clary laughed, pushing him away as he made smothering noises whilst walking out of the room.

As darkness fell over the city of New York, a sleek black Porsche 918 Spyder rolled up in front of the mundane building, looking out of place in the suburb like a diamond amongst dirt. Clary left the lobby of her building and slid into the elegant machine, barely glancing at the man in the driver seat. She fastened her seatbelt before meeting the dark obsidian black eyes of her brother Jonathan Morgenstern.

"Hello Clarissa," he rasped, facing the petite figure. "Missed me?"

"Jonathan, I'm not in the mood for your crap," Clary said.

"Now now Clarissa, is that anyway to talk to your elder? You should be rejoiced to see me again." The pale blonde figure shifted the gear stick and cast a glum look at the building, spotting her flatmate standing by his window. "Especially since you live with such dull company. I don't know how you put up with that boring friend of yours."

"He's far more tolerable than the scum that you and Valentine hang out with."

Jonathan's chest rumbled, a deep husky laugh escaping from his lips. "Company's not so bad once you get pass the smell." The car snarled and lurched forward into the traffic, pushing its way into the throng of the other vehicles. The older of the Morgenstern siblings was almost an exact replica of their father in his younger days, bearing almost no resemblance to their mother in terms of obvious characteristics; pale silver-blonde hair that shone in the night and styled in a slightly tousled manner, fair skin unmarred by any freckles, a tall stately figure that caused women to swoon at the sight of his build, rendered almost speechless by his eyes were dark as obsidian glass, slanting up in the corner and framed by thick pale blonde lashes. His beauty was such that Michaelangelo's David would pale in comparison, looking nothing more than some cheap garden ornament next to him. As an artist, Clary could see the definite allure in his appearance; there was something about him that tempted good girls to stray from their paths, falling under a spell from which no legendary kiss could ever free them from.

As Jonathan rounded the corner he reached down in the back and pulled out a black shoebox. "These should fit your dainty feet. Size seven, I believe?"

Clary pulled the box onto her lap, and lifted the lid off. Nestling in burgundy crepe paper were a pair of louboutin heels, the signature red soles shades light than Clary's own locks. Beside them was a steel bracelet embedded with etches of stars and daggers.

"I friggin hate wearing heels," Clary mumbled, struggling to put them on in the small confines of the vehicle.

"Well father wants you to look like a professional, not some virgin bimbo strolling up to her first alcoholic party."

The redhead glared at her brother beneath the light of the billboards in Times Square. Jonathan had eagerly followed their father after the split, siding with his sadistic parental skills than Jocelyn's own. The few times that he ever came back home for break, he was always polite in a cold way, never really opening himself up again. As the years went by, he adopted Valentine's cold and mercurial attitudes, his manipulative mind and wounding humour. He even bested their father at being the king of charades, wearing a facade and parading his lies like truths, and using the truth to cripple and wound in the most drastic ways. He'd become more eloquent in his speech, using a foray of words to cut people at the knees and ruin them in so many ways.

"Was that one of Valentine's metaphors?" Clary huffed as she pulled the leather around her heel. "Or is that his general impression of his one and only daughter.?"

Jonathan's eyes furrowed and he lost his harsh humour. "Despite the delightful images you have of us with horns and pitchforks, Dad doesn't think of you in that manner, okay? He cares for you Clary, just as much as I care for you."

Clary cringed on the side. It was moments like these, when Jonathan lost the conceited, arrogant manner and became a vulnerable individual, that made her feel the most helpless. Because deep down, no matter how much she tried to tell herself that she hated him with a passion, she would always run back to them no matter what.

Jonathan pulled into the driveway outside of Mount Olympus, with all its marble grandeur, the statues of greek goddesses arranged outside the doors with vines curling about them. A valet dressed in red opened Clary's passenger door, and helped her outside, his eyes gazing up and down her figure. For tonight's occasion, she'd donned a simple modest storm blue shift dress, the hem grazing the tops of her knees. A belt cinched in the waistline, giving the illusion of curves where there were none. Her hair had been tamed and straightened to make her more sophisticated, falling across her chest and against her back, while the heels boosted up her height by another four inches. Her make-up was simple; black eye-liner that quirked up in a cat's eye and mascara to add volume to her lashes, making her emerald green eyes pop out like precious gems. She wore dark red lipstick that shimmered in the light.

Jonathan came up on her side and handed the keys to the valet for parking. "Keep her safe, 'kay buddy?' He joked. The valet nodded and ran over to the driver's side, leaving the pair alone. Jonathan was handsome in his tailored suit of navy blue, with the black silk shirt and silver tie to contrast. Her brother offered her his arm, the corner of his lips quirking up into a smile. "Shall we, sweet sister of mine?"

Clary pursed her lips before putting a bright fake smile to match Jonathan's merciless smirk and linked her arms in with his. "By all means, big brother," she said in a bland tone. "Let's go make our beloved father proud."

What'd you guys think so far? Any pearls of wisdom that the audience would like to share with this humble writer. I promise to bring in dear old angel boy Jace in soon. I had the storyline pop into my head the other night and its been stuck since.

Update: I have discontinued Save the Realm for now, but will resume sometime next month. I'll be working up on I'm Not Your Pet and ask you to be patient dear readers, while I get my writer magic flowing.