There were butterflies in her stomach.
She had always found that expression to be odd. How does anyone know how butterflies feel inside your stomach?
It felt like this. It felt like if she opened her mouth, they would just fly out.
So, she kept her mouth shut and nodded as the meeting proceeded. Luckily no one asked for her opinion. She was just there to observe after all.
She promised herself that she would go up there after the meeting ended.
But now that it was over, her legs felt like bread pudding.
She was good with swords – not metaphors.
Now or never, she muttered to herself and put one foot in front of the other.
She walked up to the front of the briefing room and cleared her throat.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “Consul Lightwood-Bane?”
The man turned around. The grin he gave her was almost blinding. He was smiling – a little too hard. As if he someone had told him that he had won the lottery.
Her eyes moved to the man next to the Consul – six feet of magic and perfection.
Maybe the Consul had won the lottery.
“Do stop grinning,” the warlock swatted his husband on the arm. “You’re scaring the poor girl.”
The Consul stopped grinning then, suddenly aware of her presence.
“Excuse my husband,” the warlock smiled kindly. “He gets like that whenever someone calls him Consul Lightwood-Bane.”
“Am I not allowed to enjoy my own name?” the Consul demanded; his tone playful.
“You are,” the warlock grinned and kissed his husband on the cheek. “You earned it.”
“I’m Ella,” the girl introduced herself awkwardly. “I’m here for my travel year.”
“Nice to meet you, Ella,” the Consul said. “How are you liking the New York institute?”
“It’s really cool,” she replied.
She wanted to smack herself on the head.
She could write a five page essay on how amazing the New York institute was but alas, her nerves could only come up with “really cool”.
“How did you manage to secure a spot?” the warlock asked. “Clary told me the competition was really tough.”
It was an understatement.
The New York institute was the most popular institute in the world. It was run by Jace Herondale and Clary Fairchild – heroes of the mortal war. It was the home of the Alliance.
They also had really good pizza. It wasn’t much healthy. But it was really good.
“I was just honest in my application,” Ella answered. “I told them my vision as a shadowhunter and how I can contribute to the operations here.”
The warlock, who looked he was used to hearing a lot of bullshit, raised an eyebrow.
“I may have shared some of my anti-cucumber sentiments,” she added lamely.
The Consul laughed. A hearty, loud laugh that made the warlock’s face warm with love.
“Well played,” the Consul patted her on the shoulder.
Consul Lightwood-Bane just patted her on the shoulder and said ‘well played’. This was all the validation she needed. Jace Herondale who? For all she cared, she was the best shadowhunter in the world.
Get yourself together, she chided herself. Get on with it.
“I,” she started then hesitated.
Her hand moved to her sword. She often held them for comfort.
Shadowhunters were weird like that.
“What is it?” the warlock asked, his eyes concerned.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” the words fly out of her mouth. Like the butterflies.
How would she even begin to answer that question?
Thank you for being there for me when I wasn’t there for myself.
Thank you for teaching me that I deserve love no matter what.
Thank you for helping me be who I am – unabashedly and unrestrictedly.
Thank you for showing me that fighting for love is more important than fighting any demon.
Thank you for making me believe in a better world.
“Thank you for everything,” she said simply.
Their eyes softened in understanding – and she realized she wasn’t the first person to do this.
It should have made her angry. It should have made her feel less special.
And only it made her happier.
It made her inexplicably happy to know these two souls had saved so many like her all over the world.
She didn’t feel special. But she felt blessed.
“In times of war and hatred,” the Consul said. “All we can do is give each other hope.”
Ella had never had to hide. She didn’t have to be afraid.
Because she knew who she was and she knew that was okay.
She had told her parents and they hadn't protested against her or dismissed her feelings like she had expected.
Because it was okay now. It was all okay.
Ella had never had to fight - because they had fought for her.
They had fought for themselves and everyone like her.
They had not only given her hope. They given her a future.
“Thank you, Ella,” the high warlock of brooklyn said. “We are glad to meet you.”
“You are so shiny and pretty,” the words slipped out.
The Consul laughed again.
“You’re prettier,” the warlock replied.
He said so smoothly and genuinely - she had no choice but to believe it.
“I’m not exactly shiny,” she pointed out with a nervous laugh.
His fingers moved in an elegant pattern in front of her face. Ella pulled out her sword and checked the reflection – another odd shadowhunter habit.
There was a tiny glittery rainbow on her cheek.
“There you go,” the warlock winked. “Keep shining.”
“I will see you around,” she nodded to both of them and dismissed herself.
She would probably never see them again. They were the high warlock of Brooklyn and the Consul after all.
She had told them. She had thanked them. Her heart felt somehow felt full and free at the same time.
She ran towards the institute door, knowing what was waiting for her on the other side.
“You shadowhunters are so tardy,” the girl grumbled.
“And badass,” Ella added.
“And arrogant,” the girl pointed out.
“And cool,” Ella countered.
“And pretty,” the girl said in a soft whisper, her fingers caressing the rainbow on Ella’s cheek.
She might not be as smooth as Magnus Bane. But she could always try.
The girl rolled her eyes. Ella reached out and pushed a strand of hair behind the girl’s pointed ear.
“You’re prettier,” she whispered again.
“I guess you people are okay,” the girl conceded.
“Liar,” Ella chuckled as she moved closer and kissed the girl behind her ear. “You are probably in love with me.”
“Probably?” the girl looked offended.
“Wait,” Ella said, grinning exactly the way the Consul had moments ago. “You actually love me?”
“You stupid Nephilim,” the girl muttered and crashed their lips together.
