Not until I turned sixteen. My mother spent my entire life running from the world she was born into, and hiding it from me. But destiny's hard to run from. ( Clary rolls up her sleeve and shows him her arm. Where the marks were once a deep black, as he saw when she first drew them, most have faded to a light gray. Some are white. But all are there; all are permanent scars. ) And now not only do I see glimpses of the world I'm from, but I'm part of it.