Summary: Stiles watched listlessly as the bubble of air entered the IV. A translucent partition. A damning sentence. He removed the heart rate monitor from her finger and wiped the sweat from her brow. There was no wailing tone, but the sound of deathly silence.
Chapter 1
I do not own anything.
"...no bird nested in the nemeton, nor did any animal lurk nearby; the leaves constantly shivered though no breeze stirred…. The people feared to approach the grove...lest he should then meet its divine guardian."- Lucan
A#^krs**aa-xi#'s screams could be heard down to the earth's core. Seismic and cataclysmic; its raw energy thrashed and heaved against its forceful uprooting. A being of home, protection and power was rend and warped... pulled and severed...torn and bled. Then as the last leaf fell onto the dried and hollowed ground, so too did A#^krs**aa-xi#.
A#^krs**aa-xi# could never get used to the feeling of human skin. It chafed and scratched and drew her so thin that she could barely remember her true name. A name so powerful that its mere mention in human tongue could shake the trees and conjure fires from below, all of which was now lost into the ether. Oftentimes, the silence was for the better, dulling the indomitable pain that ached in her very core. The ever burning agony that screamed and pulsed endlessly like waves upon a crumbling cliff, could be quietened by the minutiae of humanity. She dare not visit her stump, afraid of what she might see, fearful of those savage enough to take more and more.
A quiet guardian, she watched over her lands as wars scratched its surface. Hate, despair and hope as never ceasing as the surfeited seas. She watched as scavengers and thieves clashed and fought over the remains of her body, leaching the tendrils of her brothers and sisters that sought to call their own back into the earth. Some were more persistent than others, but in the end, they too became resigned, and retreated to mourn for their loss. Self appointed guardians, beasts of the moon, erected boundaries to deter trespassers, but the inevitability of human greed guaranteed destruction, however noble.
Her human form required no nourishment, no care but the cursory thought of physical completion. The remnants of her depleted power smoothed over every blemish and scar, and healed every wound except the ones that mattered.
Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Years….
Slowly, the ache receded into a dull throb, and soon she began to forget. She began to forget for a future she didn't expect. A future with a strange human named John Stilinski.