Hey everyone! So if you are a current reader of my story what you don't know, Welcome to this new story! I'm so excited! But if you are new to my stories, WELCOME! Just a quick warning I write very dark, angsty, psychological stories, so if you are sensitive to that sort of stuff, then this may not be the story for you.

Before I begin, I would like to send out a huge thanks to all my supporters. Also an equally as large thank you to Supernaturalwitch, who has been helping me figure out some of the details of the story such as Clary's mental illness. Thank you so much for everything!

But other than that I hope you guys really like this story. It may start out kind of slow but it will get better! Also I'm going to try and make the chapters in this story longer, but key word is try!

Anyways I really don't have much to say other than enjoy and review!

Song: to kick us off lets do "Prelude 12/21" by AFI. Its short but great.

So here goes!

Oh ya! DISCLAIMER I don't own Cassie Clare's story TMI.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Life is crap. You grow up with unrealistic expectations given to you by fairytales, but things like that don't happen. I always compared my life to the one of rapunzel. Trapped in a tower with an evil queen, awaiting my prince.

But I wasn't pretty, my hair was curly and red, instead of a queen I had an abusive father, and there were no princes.

I sat on my computer, finishing up typing my research report for one of my classes and turning it in to my online teacher. I sighed, shutting the old hand me down laptop and tossing it gently on to the floor, flopping back on the old, dirty, ripped up green sheets that smelled of alcohol and dirt. Closing my eyes and dreaming of better days.

I let the cold air of the fan on my ceiling hitting my exposed skin in icy blasts, causing me to shudder.

Annoyed by the silence I rolled out of the bed, stretching my wiry limbs out and tip toeing over to the window, not wanting the creaking floor to awake my father who I knew was asleep on the couch beneath me. I leaned on the window sill, looking out at the world in front of me. I sighed. I wanted to be a part of it. It wasn't much, especially this small town, but I yearned to escape this rickety old house. But I was fully aware as long as my father was alive, this house would be my prison.

I looked down to the concrete ground. When I was a little girl, I used to lean my head out a window, hoping a prince would come and climb up my curly hair. But now all I did was observe.

A little boy on a tricycle came in to my sudden vision. A slightly older boy on a scooter was trailing close behind him. His brother, I assumed. I always kind of wanted a sibling, my whole life it had just been me and dad. But if I had a sibling, well, I wouldn't have to be so alone.

Suddenly a loud screech snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked down to see the little boy on the ground, blood gushing out of his knee, his brother assisting him. I was kind of jealous of the child. I mean yeah I felt bad he was injured, but I was jealous of his freedom. When I was a child my life consisted of sitting in my room reading books all day, only watching the children play. I never got to experience any of that.

I remember one time when I was six, my father was asleep on the couch, a half empty beer bottle sitting limply in his hand. I had put on jeans and a t-shirt and my thrift shop purple sketchers. I tiptoed out the door and across the street to a group of kids about my age playing in a sandbox. I had walked up and greeted them. They turned to see who was approaching them, but their eyes widened in shock and they cringed away when they caught sight of me.

It was then that I realized that my skin, which was pale and scattered in cuts and bruises, was not normal. They all had perfect flawless skin and nice clean clothed, as opposed to my rags.

I was about to ask if I could play when a forceful hand was grabbing my arm and pulling me back to the rickety old house, stuffing me in a corner and kicking me.

A week later a social worker came to visit. My father had since then taught me how to put on makeup over my cuts and cleaned the house, obviously expecting her visit. She waved me off as just another clumsy kid and left. We had received multiple visits since, yet no one ever noticed how broken I really was.

I took a deep breath, resting my chin on my palm and watching the siblings outside. They looked up, fixating their eyes on me curiously. I gave them a small wave and the older boy quickly hurried his little brother down the street. I didn't blame him. I would be scared too. All the kids on the block were scared of my house. And honestly, I was too.

The wooden house was severely outdated. The wood creaked as you took a step and the paint outside was chipping. Weed's scattered the yard which was filled with dead plants and the old pickup that barley even ran. The only person that ever left the house was my father, but everyone was aware of the ghost-like girl that watched the world from the upstairs window.

My thoughts were disturbed by the creaking of the stairs as someone stomped up them. I snapped around just in time to see my drunken father slam my door open, knocking it off the hinges as it usually did when he burst in.

I stood there calmly, this was an every day thing so I was completely used t it by now. He glanced down to my computer sitting on the floor beside my bed.

"Well?" he demanded, booming voice. "Are you finished."

I nodded and he took a few strides towards me, pushing me back.

"Answer me!" he shouted.

"Yes!" I choked out.

The corners of his mouth rose into a despicable smile, pure evil shone in his eyes. "Good."

He grabbed my by my hair and forcefully threw me on my bed, tearing my raggedy clothed into pieces. I didn't fight back. It was useless. I just simply laid there, waiting for it to be over. I wish I could say it was all a blur, but everything was always crystal clear.

This stuff had been going on for as long as I could remember. It was all I've ever really known. I've been living solely with my dad since I was three, when my mom died. She was hit by a car on her nightly jog. I never even got to say goodbye to her. I could have sworn I had a brother too, but I had a feeling it was all just a part of my imagination. He never allowed me to attend school, I grew up home and online schooled. Whenever I asked why, he responded it was due to the fact that I was different than all the other kids.

He pulled himself off of me, punching me a few times before leaving my room. I laid there, tangled in the gross blood-stained sheets. My clothes were in ragged piles on the floor, and the only thing protecting me from the harsh chill of the dark room was the bits of grimy cloth draping over bits of my skin.

I did all I could to keep the tears from spilling out my eyes and down my cheeks, but my attempts failed as usual. I silently sobbed, rivers of salty liquid streaming down my scarred skin. I hated this. I hated the fact that I was punished with this life, that I was chosen to endure this torture.

I don't know how long I was curled up on the mattress crying before the darkness overtook me and I was transferred into the world of dreams. Or in my case nightmares.

I was sadly used to nightmares. I didn't get much sleep, but when I did, it all began with dark, crimson, blood. Tonight I was floating in the middle of the blood, my porcelain skin standing out in the river of red. Everything was dark, and soon I was being pulled under. Claws thrashing at my skin and tearing the fragile tissue apart with sharp talons. I looked down, watching the blank canvas turn into a masterpiece of red slashes, the demon looking me in the eyes, it's ruby red ones sparkled, filled with pure evil. And then a talon grew, rapidly getting longer and sharper before plunging straight into my chest. Unable to scream, red began to creep into vision, and the black demon transformed into the blurry but familiar figure of Valentine Morgenstern, my father. A wicked smile playing on his face.

Then everything was white and I jolted upwards in a panic, sweat dripping down my forehead and the dry blood crumbling as I suddenly moved. I looked around to study my surroundings.

I was laying in the familiar white room. The walls covered in dirt, various posters and photos that stood no meaning to me were scattered on the wall to cover holes created by my fathers abuse. The black velvet curtains were closed shut, leaving the room pitch black with the exception of the light shining through the small crack in the curtain and my open door.

I pushed myself off the bed, untangling myself from the flurry of ripped cotton, my feet softly landing on the wobbly wooden floor. I tiptoed over to my dresser, pulling out clean underwear, jeans, and a black t-shirt, clutching the items to my chest as I ran across the hallway straight into the blindingly white bathroom. I slammed the door shut, locking it and throwing the pile of clean clothing onto the floor. I turned the knob in the tub on and pulled the plug on the spout, allowing water to come pouring out of the showerhead above me.

I studied myself in the mirror as I waited for the water to heat up. I had translucent white speckled skin. My hair fell in curly red knots down my back, falling past my shoulders and just past my basically non-existent chest. My green eyes were blank. They showed no emotion and were dull. No vibrancy in them whatsoever. My skin was speckled with cuts and bruises. Dry blood painted the surface from the night before. I was short and skinny, too skinny. Though I never truly felt it at all. For some reason I always felt like a whale, despite my only weighing 92 lbs and the fact that my bones jutted out in every which way.

I sighed as I took note of the steam quickly filling up the room, fogging the mirror and distorting my vision. I climbed into the shower and allowed the burning shards of water to drench my skin. Droplets of water burned trails down my skin. I didn't care that the water was probably leaving red burn marks on my already ugly patchwork skin. But that was the thing. It was already ugly so there was no sense in attempting to repair it. And what couldn't be fixed, well, why not just break it even more.

I stood up on my tip toes, reaching for the green plastic container sitting on the windowsill above my shower. I stared at it, gently cradling it in my hands before popping it open with a shaky hand. The silver objects in the container glittered in the small amounts of light that reached them, droplets of water scattering their glimmering surface. I steadily reached in, choosing one of the objects and pulling it out of the box, shutting the container and setting it on the side of the tub.

I shrunk down to the bottom of the porcelain tub, gently holding the object in my palm, tears dripping down my cheek. And mixing with the warm shower water, I glanced down at my arms. Thin lines scattered up and down them. Some were still new and red, others white and fading.

I stretched my arm out, taking the object, a sharp razor blade, and dragging it against my skin. A gasp escape my lips as the blade opened a wound, causing blood to drip out , down my arm, and onto the white tub to be washed away by the oncoming flow of water. I did this again and again, adding to the already crowded gallery of cuts until I began to feel light headed.

I cleaned the blood off the razor and set it on the edge of the tub. Remaining on the floor, I pulled my knees into my chest, curling up in a ball on the floor of the dirty white tub, resting my chin atop my knees. Staring blankly ahead of me.

I let time escape me. Clearing my mind of all thought the best I could. Tears occasionally dripping down my cheek. I ignored the stinging of my arm as I sat there. I wished I could die. I was too scared to do such an action. I've tried but all my attempts have failed. It's like the universe wants me to live in never ending suffer.

The water soon turned icy cold and I snapped up to my feet. I returned the blade to it's box and put it back up on the window ledge. I fiercely scrubbed at the dry blood until my skin was free of the crimson red stains. I washed my hair and used the bar of dove soap to wash up. Once I was satisfied I shut off the water and got out of the bath, reaching for a towel that had long lost all it's softness and had cigarette holes burned into It.

I dried off quickly and threw the clothes I had grabbed on before combing the tangles out of my hair and smoothing the now semi-smooth red curls back into a pony tail. I wiped the fog off the mirror. I wasn't pretty. I knew that. My dad was constantly telling me so. But it wasn't a lie. It was the truth.

I sighed and shuffled out of the bathroom and padded gently down the stairs. My body aching with each step.

I stopped when I reached the ground floor, studying the small living room in front of me. Beer bottles were scattered around the room. Boxes of half eaten pizza stacked and a naked man, my dad, laying on the couch. The tv playing the morning news.

I grabbed a trash bag from the kitchen and began throwing away the garbage. I put the leftover pizza in a plastic container and set it in the black fridge. I threw a blanket over my dad and shut the television off.

I grabbed an apple, taking a few nibbles out of it before disposing of it and running up the stairs to get a start on my schoolwork before my dad woke up demanding help with the chores. Meaning I did everything as he watched re runs on TV. It was the same every single day. Wake up. Shower. Clean up after my dad. Start school. Do chores, get him off to his landscaping business. Work on school. Hear him come home and start drinking. Wait. Abuse. And repeat. Repeat. Repeat. For the rest of my life. Until I finally gathered the courage to put it to an end.

I wanted things to change. I really did. But I knew they wouldn't. there was no sense in dreaming because dreams. They don't come true. No matter how crappy our lives were. So no matter how much I wanted things to change. They wouldn't. and it was all just a matter of accepting that.

But boy was I wrong. Because little did I know….

Everything was about to change.

Voila! I really hope you guys like this! If you have any disagreements let me know, I want your opinion on weather or not this story catches your eye! I hope it does! it may not be my BEST work, but i hope it's satisfactory for a first chapter.

I will update this in the next few days (If anyone likes it of course), but What you don't know will probably be updated first, either tomorrow or Wednesday, so look out for that too! (if you read it)

Omg guys as im writing this im watching COB and its at the garden scene and idk why but I started crying and ya idk why but I wanted to share that. Hahaha. Ya.

Please review your opinion, it makes me smile!

Sooo MAKE ME SMILE AND REVIEWWW!

~Karissa