like sunset and blood and fire. like the leading edge of a falling star, burning up when it touches the atmosphere. she is a morgenstern. and she will be so much lovelier when she falls.

blog under construction.
written by larissa.
With such a hell in your heart and your head, how can you live? How can you love?
—  Fyodor Dostoevsky, from The Brothers Karamazov (via violentwavesofemotion)
Title: Weight of Living, Pt. I (Bonus Track)
Artist: Bastille
Album: Bad Blood

well you just can’t shake the heavy weight of living.


          torn from ashen flesh she is  the creation of so
          many that have tried before her king.  torn  from
          angelic beings, torn from the light.   she lives in
          shadow,   built from the  bones  of the lost,   the
          beauty of a morning star beneath her ivory skin.

          then comes  a  day  of  solitude. she’s  thinking, 
          anywhere but here.  the ring is stolen from her 
          brothers drawer,   with no intention  of going far, 
          no further than prague, anywhere they had been 
          before.   feet  merge  from  a stolen  forest   that 
          reminds her so  much of kingdoms past,   burn
          while  she  laughs  in  glee.  there are none  but 
          monsters here  she is told,  lurking  like ghouls. 

                  ◞≪ you never could

                             c o n t r o l
                                               me  ▌≫

wow okay so does anyone want a starter
while i’m on this creative streak or



                            eyes  marvelled  upon each  aspect  of  the  school.
                            the  students  in their  robes,  flecks  from  green in
                            slytherin  to  red in  her  own  house—-  gryffindor.
                            which,  as the  weasley  boys  would say,  the  best
                            out  of  the  four. hermione  couldn’t disagree  with
                            such. still  she had believed the one house  was as
                            IMPORTANT  as  the  next,  proving  all  of  worth.

                            inquisitiveness  etched in  the  arch  of  her  brows
                            when facing  the  girl.  it was  an oddity  to  not  be
                            familiar  with  a  face  at   hogwarts.  especially  for
                            hermione  who  had been known for  remembering
                            as  remembering  was  what  got  herself GRADE A
                            marks.  nonetheless,   she   smiled  softly,  features
                            colouring  a  slight.  oh,  was  this  making friends?

                            ’ you most certainly did. ‘

                            these stone halls full of students  in  blue and  gold
                            and green and red,   clary has come to know as her
                            home.   hogwarts would forever be  home to her,   a
                            better  home  to her than what  was  waiting  for  her
                            when the year was done. the gryffindor tower will be 
                            more  of a  home  to her  than  an  estranged  family. 

                            through   the  coldness  the   blush  on  her  cheeks
                            deepened a shade.  her nose is immediatly buried
                            within the confines of the wollen scarf again,   a left
                            hand  bringing  it up to cover up  a little  of  her  chin.
                            only to  be  lifted and placed back to  its  usual  spot
                            when   a   kind   smile   forms   again   on   her   lips. 

                            ❛ i’m clary, by the way! could’ve sworn i’ve seen you
                            somewhere before.   i’m  terrible at  putting  names
                            to faces,   but i  have seen you  somewhere before.

                                                                   i know that much. ❜



What? I thought
I   looked   NICE.”


       ❛ well,  simon,  i’m  sorry  to  tell
       you,  but you’re lying to yourself. ❜

          & she may or may not be on the verge
             of  a  fit of  laughter  right  this  second. 

+Devilish Conversations


           [ [       there was something about the way she acted, the calmness
                     and serenity of such a darkness that made him feel almost
                     turned in his stomach. sebastian had thought that perhaps
                     the satisfaction of clary’s transformation would be a glow of
                     happiness and relief, yet there was a part of him that missed
                     the innocent girl he had grew to crave. as the book had been
                     pulled from his hands he couldn’t help but flicker his darkened
                     gaze back to his sisters. the emerald greens, he missed those
                     too. the silver brow furrowed as he dismissed the thoughts, the
                     weak human emotions that he had never truly known. it was the
                     corruption he couldn’t allow to take hold, not now when they
                     were so close to victory. sebastian’s eyes flickered away before
                     sighing, his fingers ruffling through his silver hair before allowing
                     them to fall neatly by his side. perhaps he was overreacting, she
                     of course had shown no signs of disloyalty the entire time they
                     had been together. his steps sounded as he grew closer to her,
                     lifting his hand to brush a lock of crimson from her face.    ] ]

  ❝  A lot has changed, my sweet sister, but none more than ourselves.
       I should not doubt you, but you must understand this. I can not
       allow a woman to simply warm my bed without making sure it is
       two that sleeps soundly. When this is all over it shall be easier,
       on you as well as myself.  ❞



                    ❛ i do understand that. 

              she just hates how he has to say it. it’s unexpected,
              though there is nothing she wouldn’t do, her hands
              come up from her sides, crossing themselves over
              her chest.   trust can only go so far,   she supposes.
              and her own brother still will have his doubts.  clary
              knows him too well to think otherwise.   why does it
              bother her so much? it shouldn’t, and she won’t let it. 

                                               hail, master.  

                      it feels like weeks,  then it feels like months,  it’s all
                      adding up  and clary  knows that.   the longer she is
                      here with  her brother the  longer  she has to forget
                      her life before. and she is enjoying the fact that she
                      can at all. a small smile is welcomed on the corner
                      of her crimson lips, leaning into his touch. before it’s
                      lowered and she steps back,   moving to where the 
                      book was thrown away. picking it up and tearing out 
                      the  first  few  pages.     distraction.      a distraction. 

                                    that’s what she needs. 

                    ❛ i’ll be in my room. 

ch. seven ; clash by night.



                               FLAMES have scorched his veins, yet again, tinging them with
                               an unearthly colour.  molten gold.  this had to be a result from
                               the emotions that stir, mixed with fury for sebastian’s creations,
                               sadness for their dead, and his heart pumping roughly as clary
                               remains unseen. he hopes it will persist that way, but hope has
                               dwindled for the angel boy, leaving him to pick up the pieces.

                longsword kisses the throat of a dark embodiment. and, one.
                two. three. it slits through and splatters him with a lacquer of
                dreary shadows. he’s stained, but he’s alive. where his speed
                is to thank for that — the more than average angelic blood —
                cascades throughout him. his component has no advantage.

                               they’re hard to kill, like greater demons, yet still worse in several
                               aspects. the prominent one being that they possess the faces of
                               people he once knew. now lost underneath an influence of dark
                               blood, they ravage the shadowhunters and show no remorse in
                               doing so. they’re creatures of hell, the devil’s backbone. nothing
                               can stop sebastian’s army at a large —— but jace will stop him.

                  ( sebastian will suffer. )


                     blood rains over the citadel, a clash of deep crimson and leaden 
                     black. seraph blades clash against the average weapon. they are
                     outnumbered, and even with their angelic blades, they struggle
                     beneath the resilience of the endarkened. they are beyond hope.

                     jace can only save so many. however it does not help when the
                     dreaded draws near, causing him to drop his warrior guard when
                     clary makes an appearance herself. soulless eyes are beneath the
                     dusky moon, a thousand stars are infused with pitch-black ichor.

              he has to look away as s he drives her  weapon into  bodies, soaked  with
              nephilim  blood.  pure nephilim blood.  not  tainted,  just  purely innocent.
              it’s  harsh to  stomach,  where the memory of her is slowly  withering, and
              she is seen  for nothing but  darkness.  she’s fading away  the authenticity
              of clary fray.  he blinks  and  there she is,  covered in blood,  replacing him
              for sebastian. her  BROTHER.  jace covers a heave.  ❝ don’t let them hoax
              you.  who they were,  what they have been,  it’s gone——- 
❞  he shouts at
              his  fellow shadowhunters,  and purposely peers  at a particular  redhead.


                the darkness  suits you well,  my love.   bring me war.  still now
                she shivers as her brothers words ring in her mind. still as she
                cuts through these bodies of pure light, meeting every swing of
                their  swords  with  her  own.   a  morning  star burning  through
                what once  was her  kind.   what  was  once the side she would
                protect. her family from long, long ago.  
the ones she had loved. 

      bones break  under her finger tips,   forcing bent heads back to
      stop  the  worthless  tears  and turn them to choke on their own
      blood. the number are dwindling,   she sees it.   with the chaos
      rising around,   and  the  red  ice beneath  the soles of her feet.

                there’s a noise behind her, of crunching snow, and clary whirls
                just  in  time to feel  the slice of the  tip of a seraph  blade down
                her right cheek.   there is one moment  where she  winces and 
                steps back,   but  her  weapon is raised  to block  another blow,
                sending   the   shadowhunter  back.   and   she’s  sneering   as
                 the blade’s edge  comes back  down,  splitting the  body in two.


                she smiles  wide,   baring  her  teeth.   they’re  winning.   they’re
                winning and jace can’t save them all. they’re winning,  and clary
                will have what she wants. he’s always been a good speaker, she
                thinks. but this won’t get him far.  the grief is too much.  they are
                all asking for the impossible. a life for the dead. all nephilim will
                die  before  that  can  happen.   the inevitable will come for them. 

      amid the ruins of a burning and bloodied citadel, bodies of the
      dead and very much alive are in her hindsight.   all around, and
      yet she still  manages to  force her self through.  the dark heart
      of hers is  rattling  against  her ribcage,   lungs only breathing in
      breaths intoxicated with ash and the smell of blood. steel and rust.

                                   she hears nothing. only cries, shouts and her own heartbeat.
                                   though  there  is  an indelible silence from these endarkened
                                   warriors. no remorse.   clary is an animal among them.    with
                                   soulless eyes she sees gold. lighting only the smallest portion
                                   with its  dim  illumination.   veins of  heavenly fire.  fingers curl
                                   around   heosphoros,  grip on the hilt  whitening her knuckles.
                                   that smile of hers comes  back as she sees jace glance over. 
                                   second time, she’s counted. mustn’t get distracted, lightwood.

Title: Are You Satisfied?
Artist: Reignwolf.


Well, I’ll do everything for you
You didn’t know?