She somehow managed to peel her gaze away from the cars, though they kept flicking back in that direction for as long as Jacen had them floating there. Cathy had another camera for her, and she found herself reaching out to take it, even if her rational mind told her this made no sense. Clary hit the button as per instructed and held the camera up infront of her.
That was her. There seemed to be a lot of background noise, like there were a lot of people there. The little blonde girl from the photo, quite a few kids, at one point she thought she saw Jacen in there as well. That was her. She had no memory of that occurring, but it was her.
And she was wearing a tank top, the thin scars on her arm showing, and didn't seem to care. When Cathy said she had watched her draw something, Clary gave the camera back. If there was anything she knew, it was her own work. Putting the painting at her feet, she reached for the drawing and held it infront of her. It was her work. Her style, even her signature. But it was the drawing itself that got her. She drew this picture dozens of times, and she had every single copy she'd ever drew. And this wasn't a copy of any of them. Picking up the painting at her feet, tore off the garbage bag and held the large canvas up beside the piece of paper. They weren't the exact same person, the one in the painting was more...unnatural, almost too perfect, but they both had the dark black scars, the wing span. For a moment, she was unmoving as she compared to the two pieces of art, before she looked up at Cathy. "Who the hell am I?"