[A/N: This is a fanfiction based off of the series "Teen Wolf". I'll be honest, this isn't going to be a polis on ships, but, if I had to, I'd say this would be an eventual Stydia, a bromance Scciles, maybe with some Sterek banter here and there, as well as a couple of other possible ships, such as Allissac or Scottison or even some Melissa/Sheriff in some ways, too. This will pick up after the midseason finale of S3, and will involve the kitsunes—a few OC's, but mainly centering on the villainess so far—with a couple of personal twists here and there. There will be a huge shocker I'm planning, but I'm trying my hardest for there to be a buildup, which, I'm hoping, will turn the tables altogether. I am only requesting that you, fellow reader, be patient with me as you will not be sorry. Expect this to have angst, drama—fine, maybe a LITTLE romance—and action. Critiques/Criticism welcome—this is my first fic, so I would more than appreciate any pointers to help my writing. I apologize for any short chapters in the beginning, but they'll get longer and more detailed later on. All rights to MTV. Hope you enjoy!]

She was getting her shoes wet.

As she ran, her heels were being kicked about, sloshing in the river of red at her feet.

But she didn't care; all she could focus on was the chill in the air, the enormous force of wind that was chasing her down this dark, empty hall.

She couldn't see a thing, but this power, this strange power was pushing her—edging her on, actually—to something.

Something horrible. Something that would leave a stench any wolf or person could recognize, but one she didn't want to. But she had to; the force wanted her to. And, whatever it was, the more it led her involuntarily on, the more her stomach churned.

She didn't want to see what she was running to; she wanted for her heels to stop getting wet, for the chill to go away. She just wanted to be home.

Lydia Martin's eyes snapped open, her head risen along with them from her pink embroidered pillow. It was like her wish had come true. She was home, in her bed and under her heavily layered comforters, with the half-moon out of her window and crickets chirping their ritual calls in what was the middle of their night.

But that wasn't the end.

Turning slowly, Lydia found her eyes fixated on her alarm clock, which read to be at "12:00". It wasn't just the middle of the night; it was exactly midnight.

Turning back, Lydia was now looking straight ahead. And, with a breath taken in, the teenage banshee began to wail.