It was Wednesday afternoon, the sun shining brightly in a sky covered with white, fluffy clouds, the heat outside hot and the humidity high. Stiles sat at the back of the classroom, his jacket tight around his body, the hood pulled firmly over his head. He was doing everything he could to appear as though he were paying attention, while at the same time trying not to move a single muscle in his body. The wounds and injuries he'd received from the night before were still fresh and painful, and if it wasn't for Givens' – the witch's – spells, he'd be bleeding through his clothes or already passed out by now.
After he'd been taken home on Monday he'd sat in the corner of the attic bedroom for the rest of the day, rarely moving from his spot on the floor. He'd refused to sit on the bed or even go near it, the memories of it coming to life and stabbing him in a thousand different places while holding him down were far too vivid for him to go back to it. He'd tried opening the door again along with the window, but after an hour of futility he'd grown weary, and defeated he'd gone and sat back in the corner.
He'd used the washroom once, knocking on the bedroom door three times, at which point it opened and revealed a modest looking toilet and sink, all which seemed to be in working order – thank God.
He'd spent the rest of the day bored, hurting, and frustrated, for if there was one thing he hated in life, it was not knowing what was going to happen. That was why – among other reasons – he'd always been the one who came up with the plans whenever he and Scott had decided to do something; because if there was one thing Stiles Stilinski liked to have, it was situational control. And when he didn't have that, well – he could sometimes become a bit of a mess. A nervous, angry, off-the-wall mess. So he'd stayed in his corner, waiting for Givens to return, because he knew she eventually would.
And she eventually did.
He'd fallen asleep at some point in the late afternoon and woken up to darkness, night clearly having fallen hours ago. He'd looked up to see Givens standing in the room by the bed, smiling down at him with a slight, crooked turn of her lips, her head tilted back in an off-hand manner, as though she knew something that he didn't. Stiles supposed that, in the end, she did.
The rest of the night had been one long, painful test of endurance that Stiles knew he had failed. She had forcefully dragged him onto the bed and the springs had once more ripped through the mattress; but unlike before, the springs proved only to wrap around his arms, legs, and torso, constricting him like a snake and squeezing until he swore his bones were going to break. They didn't, for as it turned out, Givens wanted to do that herself.
Rather than use a knife, Givens chose instead to use her fists and her nails, punching and slapping Stiles in the face and chest until his ears rang and his head throbbed. He had refused to react at the start, forcefully biting back shouts and groans of pain behind his teeth; but then she'd raised her hand, a yellow light surrounding it, and proceeded to slam it into his side. Stiles had heard something snap and the scream had torn its way out of his mouth; the light had wrapped itself around his chest and began to burn him, stealing the breath from his lungs. He remembered little after that.
He'd woken next to Givens standing over him, daylight shining in the room, snapping her fingers and forcing him to walk. If it hadn't been for her magic, his legs would have collapsed long ago. She explained to him the "rules", that he would not be able to speak a word about her or his situation to anyone, or communicate it to them in any way whatsoever. Scott, for whatever reason, got special attention, and Givens suggested that if Stiles didn't want to feel as though his insides were trying to escape through his mouth and his head was trying to explode, he'd keep a good distance away from the werewolf.
When they'd arrived at school, Stiles had ignored her rules and tried numerous times to tell one of the pack what was going on, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the next person he spoke to would understand what was going on.
But they never did.
The moment Stiles had seen Scott in front of their lockers his breath had caught in his throat and nausea began to stir in his stomach. Scott had looked up and tried to walk over to him, but the closer he got the more sick Stiles began to feel, and soon all he could think about was the headache beating against his skull and the puke trying to upchuck from his body. He'd stayed as long as he could, fighting against the spell, but the witch's magic soon won out and he'd ended up stumbling into the nearest bathroom, where the nausea had promptly died down and disappeared.
He'd avoided everyone for the rest of the day, and Tuesday ultimately passed without further incident. He'd gone back to Givens' house exhausted, in pain, and despondent; he'd curled up in the corner of the room and was asleep minutes later. He'd woken up when supper had appeared on the floor in front of the door, and though he wanted nothing more than to throw the food against the wall and tell Givens to go to hell, his stomach insisted he do otherwise, and so reluctantly he dragged himself over to the plate and cleared it within minutes.
He'd sat in the corner for the rest of the night, his arm tucked protectively around his broken rib, waiting for the door to open or for Givens to materialise in front of him, ready for another night of – quite literal – torture.
But she never came.
He'd forced himself to stay up through the night for as long as he could, watching and waiting, until his body eventually shut down against his will, and the next thing he knew it was morning and Givens was waiting to take him to another day of school. He didn't know why she had given him a night of reprieve, but for whatever reason it was, he wasn't going to complain.
But he wasn't an idiot. He knew that the reprieve wouldn't last; whatever it was that she was looking for, she hadn't gotten it yet. Considering there wasn't anything for her to get, he was fairly certain that he would be dead or tortured within an inch of his life before she figured it out he was a useless cause. Which meant that, as long as he was alive, he was her prisoner. He was going to die over a crazy, obsessed, psycho-witch who couldn't tell the difference between a magical, supernatural creature and a normal, very-human human.
Because that's what he was. Human. He was human.
He was human.
After she'd forced him to eat breakfast Givens had driven him to school, which brought him to where he was now – sitting at the back of his last class before lunch, trying to act invisible, wishing everyone would stop shooting him weird looks or concerned glances, because even if they did ask what was wrong it wasn't like he could actually tell them, so they might as well just let him suffer in peace, thank-you very much.
The bell finally rang and Stiles began gathering his books – Givens had finally returned his backpack, from who-knew-where she'd been keeping it – and slowly rose from his desk, wincing as the movement jarred his bruised chest and abdomen from the beating two nights before. He made his way out of the classroom and towards the cafeteria; he wished he had money to buy something, but along with the keys to his jeep, Givens had taken his wallet as well; apparently she thought he was a "flight risk" or something. Stiles couldn't begrudge her that fact; if she hadn't spelled him and continued to watch his every move, he'd have been out of here faster than you could say 'go'.
Stiles had just about made it to the cafeteria doors when he heard a voice calling from behind him, their footsteps quickly drawing close towards him. Stiles turned to see Malia walking up to him. "Stiles!" she said, a small smile on her face in greeting. "Hey, how are you? I feel like I haven't seen you in like, a really long time." She stressed the word 'really', and Stiles mustered up a smile in return.
"Uh, yeah, hey – I've been… busy this week, so I haven't had a lot of time to hang out with anyone. Lot's of homework and… stuff…. Dad's been really busy lately and I've been helping him on some cases, too, so… so yeah."
"Well are you busy tonight? We're thinking of going out for pizza; do you want to join?"
"Um, well…."
At that moment Scott and Liam started walking by. When Scott saw Stiles and Malia he slowed, hesitating, his brows knitting together in the kicked-puppy look that he had mastered so well. Liam turned when he noticed Scott had stopped and his eyes fell on Stiles; he looked between the two before quickly hunching in on himself, clearly aware that he'd just inadvertently ended up in the middle of The Epic Fight of the Century that was occurring between the renowned Great Friendship that was Scott and Stiles.
Stiles and Scott stared silently at each other for a long moment, before Malia suddenly huffed and rolled her eyes, taking long, purposeful strides towards Scott and grabbing his arm.
"Okay, I'm done with this bullshit," she said angrily, bringing Scott over to stand in front of Stiles. "You two – I don't know what the hell is going on between you guys, but it's time to bury the hatchet and get over it. I mean, come on! You two have been best friends since you were barely out of diapers. We've all heard the story of how you two met in the sandbox when you were four, you've told us so many times that I swear we could say it with you. Are you seriously going to throw an entire life of friendship in the toilet over an argument?! You guys – you guys are better than that. I mean, the end of the world could come, world war three could begin and you two would still be right at each other's sides, no matter what. You guys are brothers. So I just… I don't understand."
The hallway had now virtually emptied, leaving the four standing huddled by themselves along the wall. After a moment Scott took a deep breath, and began to speak: "Stiles… you're my brother. You've always been my brother. I was an idiot for what I said and I was so, so wrong. The only reason I said it was because I didn't want you to get hurt. I didn't want my actions and my choices to end up hurting you, or – or worse. You've already gotten hurt way too much because of me. But I…. You've always been a part of the Pack, Stiles. You were always a part of the Pack. Ever… ever since we met, you've been my pack; you've been my family. we need you. I need you. So please Stiles… please, forgive me." Scott's face had scrunched together, and Stiles was sure that he was just about ready to cry – manly tears of course, but tears nonetheless. Because this was Scott and between the two of them, Scott had always had the softest heart.
Stiles felt the familiar stir of nausea begin to stir in his chest, but he ignored it. He stared at Scott for a long moment. He wished desperately that he could tell him everything that as going on, that he could explain why he was being such an asshole to him and everyone else, that he needed Scott, too – in more ways than even Scott himself knew. But his need for Scott wouldn't matter for much longer; not if Givens got her way.
His eyes began to grow hot and Stiles swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat, his fingers clenched in tight fists. His tongue wanted to speak, but the spell kept his jaw firmly shut. Scott had never looked more sad and guilty than he did now, and it broke Stiles' heart not to be able to give him a hug and tell him that everything was alright, that they'd always be brothers for as long as they lived.
Well, he could offer his forgiveness, at the very least.
"Hey man, don't worry about it," Stiles said, his voice threatening to break. "Everything's good, okay?"
A tentative smile broke across Scott's lips and his eyes looked at Stiles hopefully. "Yeah?"
Stiles nodded, unable to stop his own small smile from forming across his lips. "Yeah."
"You forgive me?"
"Yeah dude, I forgive you."
Scott's smile spread into a grin and he started forward, arms opening with the intent to hug, but Stiles abruptly took a step back, his hands raising to push Scott back. The nausea and headache were almost unbearable by now; he knew what happened when Scott touched him, and he didn't think he could handle any more pain.
Scott's smile faded and he blinked, staring at Stiles in confusion. "Stiles, what's – ."
"Scott!"
The group looked up to see Lydia running towards them, her shoes clacking furiously against the floor as she all but sprinted down the hallway. Fear marked her face, and everyone immediately turned their attention towards her.
"Lydia," Scott said quickly as she came up to them. "What's wrong?"
"A – a werewolf – there's a werewolf that just attacked a kid out on the track field."
"Do you know who it is?" Scott asked.
"No, I didn't recognise him, he took off into the trees. But Scott, he still has the kid with him!"
Scott's eyes widened in alarm and Malia and Liam immediately started running down the hallway, Lydia hot on their heels. Scott had started running with them but halted when he realised that Stiles hadn't moved. "Stiles!" he urged, "Come on, we gotta go!" Stiles stayed where he was and Scott's frown deepened. "Stiles!"
Stiles shook his head. "No," he said quietly.
Now Scott looked slightly pissed. "Stiles we've just been through this! You're a part of the Pack, now come on! The guy's getting away!"
"No, Scott," Stiles repeated, his voice harsher than before.
"Why not?!"
"I – I can't," Stiles replied, his voice breaking.
"SCOTT!" Lydia yelled, her voice echoing in the hall.
Scott gave him one last look of incredulity before growling in frustration and taking off down the hallway, disappearing around the corner.
The hallway fell quiet for a few moments, the only sounds coming from the shuffling of feet and murmurings between students as they walked down the hall. Stiles' eyes turned to the woman standing just outside a nearby classroom door; Givens watched him and the two stared at each other for a long, unbroken moment, before her lips turned up in a small smirk and she walked back inside the room.
Stiles didn't see Scott or the others for the rest of the day; he hoped they'd managed to catch whoever it was that had attacked the students, but clearly it was serious enough to warrant disappearing for the rest of school.
The home-bell eventually rang and Stiles made his way to his locker, where he gathered his things before shutting the door with a bang. Givens was waiting by the doors and Stiles hesitated for a moment, but then the familiar tug of magic pushed against his legs and he reluctantly followed her out the door and towards her car.
He stared absently out the window as the car drove through the town and eventually onto a dirt road, where it disappeared through the trees and onto the now very-familiar acreage. Givens walked him to the attic and locked the door behind her when she left.
Stiles walked over to the window, watching the trees as their leaves shimmered in the wind. A shot of anger coursed through Stiles' veins as his eyes fell on his jeep, which sat dejectedly on the grass near the trees, pinecones and needles strewn overtop of it from disuse.
He was waiting to die – that's what he was doing. Givens wouldn't let him speak, so no one knew of what was happening. Givens wouldn't let him near Scott – why him in particular Stiles didn't know – so Stiles stayed away from Scott. Or felt as though he were going to upchuck his entire guts and beat his brain from his skull if he didn't.
Stiles ran his hands through his hair, just about ready to scream in pent up anger and frustration, when suddenly he heard the front door of the house open, closing a second later with a bang. He quickly walked back to the window, where he saw Givens hastily walking to her car and getting inside. She turned it around and drove straight towards the trees; Stiles frowned, wondering what she was thinking, but rather than crashing into the trees like he expected, the car instead simply passed through them and disappeared into the forest.
Ah, so that's how she did it.
Which didn't really explain much at all.
Stiles let out a heavy sigh and began walking back to the corner of the room that had become his impromptu sleeping space.
And that was when he heard it.
A quiet creak came from somewhere to his right and Stiles turned, looking for the source of the noise. His eyes landed on a closet door that was open just a few inches, giving the smallest glimpse into the softly-lit room that lay behind it. Stiles stared at it in bewilderment, wondering where on earth the door had appeared from. A small tingling in the back of his mind whispered words of familiarity, that he had seen this before. He walked towards the door and reached for the handle, taking hold and pulling it slowly open.
He took a tentative step into the room, and then another. Dusty light shone through a small window that lay at the top of the wall beneath the ceiling, giving just enough light to see the myriad of chests and dressers that sat in dust-covered and cobweb-strewn silence. The sight was uncannily familiar and Stiles felt his heart begin to beat faster. Something suddenly slammed behind him and Stiles jumped, spinning around, expecting to see Givens and –
Givens.
Stiles blinked.
That's right – Givens. She'd been standing in the doorway when Stiles had last been in here. The closet had appeared out of nowhere and curious, Stiles had entered the room to check it out.
Memories began flooding Stiles' mind of what had happened here and he stood in shock, unable to believe that he had actually been in here before. He vaguely wondered how many other memories there were that he had forgotten.
The bang that had sounded moments before had come from the closet door, which he had left open but was now completely shut. Stiles swallowed and turned back around, eyes drifting across the room, falling over shelves and chests, books and figurines. His eyes came to a stop on a tall, full-length mirror that sat at the end of the room with an intricately designed metal-frame surrounding it, covered in cobwebs and dust. He frowned for a moment, confused, but then his eyes widened slightly in recognition as the memory of the mirror played behind his eyes. He slowly crept towards it, each step carefully taken as he drew closer and closer; he raised his arm, reaching out towards the aged mirror, until, after a moment's breath, his fingers brushed against the dusted glass.
The air in the room suddenly grew thin and Stiles' breath caught in his throat, as though someone were trying to steal the air from his lungs. The mirror shimmered once, then twice, and began to grow brighter and brighter until Stiles was forced to shut his eyes. When he opened them, the image in the mirror no longer reflected himself, but showed a house nestled tightly amongst surrounding trees, creeping vines blanketing its roof and sides.
Without warning Stiles' fingers began falling into the mirror, until he could no longer see his hand or his wrist. He instinctively started pulling back, panicking as he struggled to free his arm, which was being pulled further and further in with each passing second. The mirror grew blindingly bright and his ears began to roar, as what felt like a gale-force wind pushed and pulled him into the mirror. He managed to cry out for only a moment, before he lost his footing and disappeared into the looking glass.
He stumbled forward in a whirl of wind, trying to keep his footing, but failing and falling to the ground in a heap. He quickly pushed himself against the grass and got back to his feet, where –
Wait – grass? Stiles blinked, spinning around and quickly taking in his surroundings.
He was standing outside in front of the same house that he had seen in the mirror, its moss and vine-covered walls only a few feet in front of his face. The place was surrounded with trees, much like Givens' house was, but these trees were different. Where the trees that grew around Givens' were thin and dense, these trees were large and spacious, their canopies filtering in a soft, warm light onto the forest floor beneath them. Stiles frowned in bemusement; he didn't recall ever seeing those kind of trees around Beacon Hills before.
Movement caught the corner of his eye, and Stiles stared as a young woman appeared from behind the trees, making her way slowly towards him. This time when the familiar feeling of recognition washed over him, the memories followed swiftly on its heels.
This was the woman from the forest; the one he had seen but then forgotten, who had screamed through wind and rain for him to not drink the water, don't drink the water. She was also the one he had seen in the mirror, who had peered back at him for the briefest moment before Givens had appeared and taken him away.
"We don't have long," the woman said, drawing closer towards him. Her long, chestnut hair flowed in the breeze behind her; her hands were lifting her long, green skirt until it rose just above the bramble-covered forest floor. Stiles was mesmerised for a moment, but the moment quickly passed as the woman drew nearer.
"What is this place?" Stiles asked, finally finding his voice, feeling more clear-headed and unconstrained than he had in what felt like an age.
"A sanctuary," the woman replied. She came to a stop a few feet in front of Stiles, her eyes and mouth set in a quiet determination as she peered up at him. "I've drawn the Witch away from her house for now, but she will soon return. We must work as quickly as we can."
Stiles stared at her. "You live in a mirror?" he asked. He knew it was a glib question, but no one seemed to tell him anything anymore and he was more than finished with veiled answers and hidden threats.
"This is a place surrounded by deep magic; it can only be accessed by those who wish it to be discovered. The mirror was merely an old doorway that I chose to open in order for you to enter." Stiles stared silently at her for a long moment, until she began speaking again. "I know you have many questions; I promise to answer as many of them as well as I can. But not here; follow me." She walked past Stiles and headed towards the house. Stiles watched her for a few moments, before turning and following after her.
The inside of the house was warmer and cleaner than the outside would have led one to believe; a table and chairs sat by the wall near a fireplace, which was currently in disuse, while a strew of items lay across a long counter that ran along the wall. The woman motioned for Stiles to sit as she sat down in her own chair across from him. Stiles obstinately remained where he was.
The woman sighed. "I can understand your distrust," she said. "But I assure you that you are far safer here than back in Beacon Hills."
Stiles frowned warily. "You know where I live?"
"I know many things about you."
"So what – you're a stalker? A creepy, voyeuristic nut-job who knows my favourite foods and drinks and the TV shows I like to binge-watch at two-am?" The words came out in a rush, as though the dam that had held back his voice for so long had finally broke.
The woman smiled. "Not so great as that, I'm afraid."
"You haven't even told me your name. For all I know, you could be another psycho who's decided to kidnap and torture me for fun. I mean, mirror as a portal? That's only something you read in fairy-tales – you really need to be more original."
"It's Alayna," the woman replied, ignoring the last part of Stiles' sentence. "Now sit. As I said before, I have much to tell you and little time with which to say it."
Stiles thought about refusing her just for the sake of being difficult, but after a moment he finally acquiesced and sat down.
Alayna was quiet for a minute, appearing to gather her thoughts, before she finally spoke. "The woman holding you captive – Alicia Givens – she is a witch."
Stiles raised his eyebrows in incredulity, unable to stop the reply from spewing out of his mouth. "Yeah, no shit. I think I figured that one out a while ago. Any more great insights to give me? Are you going to tell me that my best-friend is a werewolf? 'Cause I don't think I've quite figured that out yet, I mean – he disappears a lot and comes back bruised and bloody and complaining about all these crazy supernatural creatures, but hey, you know me – it could easily just be that he likes to go out with friends and beat each other up for fun. And the fact that whenever Lydia screams, we end up finding a dead body right after? Yeah, no correlation there whatsoever. And Kira! I mean, I saw her grab that live electrical-wire and not get blown to smithereens, but I –."
"Has she told you what she's after?" Alayna asked, interrupting him. Stiles fell silent. "Do you know what it is that she wants from you?" Stiles' frown deepened. He looked away, trying to focus on anything other than the question that was being put in front of him. "While the Witch has lied about many things, she speaks the truth when she says that there is something within you that she wants for herself. And all of her spells and magic that she has used in the past week have been working towards removing that power from you."
At this, Stiles turned back to face her. "I don't have any power," he said firmly. "Whatever it is she's looking for, it's not there. I don't –." He broke off, took a breath, then started again. "Scott is the one who's the werewolf; Malia's the werecoyote, Lydia's a freakin' banshee and Kira is a kitsune. And do you know what they all have in common? They didn't ask for it! They never wanted to be anything other than human, and neither do I! When Scott bit Liam, he didn't do it because Liam wanted to have fun running around the woods, killing off bad guys with everyone else. When Peter offered me the bite, do you know what I said? I said no! I said no, because –."
"Because you were afraid. And you still are." Stiles' mouth snapped shut and his body tensed. Alayna didn't wait for him to speak and carried on, "You're afraid of the responsibility that power can carry. You've seen what happens to good people when they have too much power; you've seen what happens to bad people when they have too much power. You've seen what happens when power is left uncontrolled, left unchecked. You've seen what happens when good people with good intentions make bad decisions, and all because of their power."
Stiles was silent for a long moment, clenching his teeth until it was almost painful. "I don't want any power of my own," he said at last. "I don't want to be any different than who I am now – I'm happy just being me."
Alayna's eyes softened and she let out a quiet sigh. "I know," she said gently. "I too, wish that there are many things that could have stayed the same in my own life. But that is not the way of the world. Whether you want it to happen or not, change will occur. Whether it's finishing high-school or going off to university, whether it's getting married or having children, whether it's losing a loved one – change will come. And you will change with it. And that is good thing, for we as humans are far from perfect; and as our knowledge of the world changes and grows – our actions, our decisions, and our characters must grow and change alongside it. Otherwise no one would every go anywhere; everyone would always stay the same. What a world it would be, if no one ever changed."
Stiles raised an eyebrow when she finished speaking. "I thought you said I wasn't human?"
"Oh, you're human," she affirmed. Stiles felt an odd weight both lift and settle on his shoulders at the same time. "But you're also very much not."
Stiles' mouth fell open. "What – that doesn't make any sense! How the heck can I be both human and not human at the same time?!"
"It depends on how you define human, I suppose."
Stiles rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Great. I feel like I'm in a philosophy class. If I'm not human, then what am I?"
"You are one of the Blessed." She spoke the word blessed with two syllables, the last syllable falling off her tongue with a snap.
Stiles stared at her, his eyebrows knitted together and eyes wide in incredulity. "I'm what?"
"One of the Blessed. A person with great gifts and even greater potential. Prophecies have been foretold of the Blessed for centuries, of the power they possess and the things they would do with it. That is why the Witch came after you – she heard of what you would do and she sought to stop it. But she became greedy, as many do, and is now trying to take your power for herself. I've brought you here so that I might help you learn to both access and control your powers and get rid of the Witch for good. She has been a thorn in the side of many for far too long."
The room was so silent afterwards that you could hear a pin drop.
Stiles stared at the young woman in utter disbelief. Alayna said nothing more, waiting patiently for the news to soak in. Suddenly the legs of Stiles' chair squeaked against the floor as he shoved it back, abruptly rising to his feet.
"Okay," he said, backing away towards the open door. "You've had your fun. Now tell me who you actually are. Are you another witch? Some new, supernatural creature we haven't heard about yet? I assume you're going to kill me and you just like to play with your food before you eat it. But please, tell me – would you like to eat me face down, or face up? Maybe roasted on a spit? I'm pretty cool with whichever way." He turned around and stormed out of the house, heading towards the woods. Alayna rose to her feet with a sigh and followed him out the door.
"Stiles," she said loudly.
"No really!" Stiles called out, nearing the trees. "You can kill me! I won't mind! But I seem to have already lost my mind, so I'm afraid if you were planning on having my brains for dessert, you're outta' luck."
Alayna let out a growl of frustration. "Stiles!"
"'You're a wizard, Harry'?!" Stiles shouted, suddenly spinning around and walking back towards Alayna, his arms waving high in the air. "That's what you decide to tell me? That I'm some 'great, blessed being' that's going to save the world? Well I got news for you lady – that… that's not gonna happen." He turned around and stomped back into the woods.
"I never said anything about saving the world," Alayna called back, traipsing after Stiles through the trees. "And I definitely didn't say you were great." Stiles didn't reply and simply continued on through the trees. Alayna came to a halt with a huff. "Where are you going?!" she shouted.
"To find a cliff," Stiles replied, never turning round, "so I can jump off it."
Alayna watched after him with a frown of annoyance, before she turned around and started heading back towards the house. She passed the lone structure and made her way to the edge of the wood behind it where she stopped just in front the trees, folded her hands, and patiently waited.
A few minutes later Stiles appeared, walking towards her with angry steps and a deep-set frown. When he saw her he stopped, his eyes widening in surprise. "What the hell?" he said. "How – how did you –."
"This place is surrounded by magic," Alayna replied. "You can't go far; if you try you will only end up back where you started. And I assure you, there are no cliffs anywhere nearby – if there were, I'd have thrown myself off them long ago. Now come; aren't you the least bit curious to find out what these 'powers' are that you actually possess?"
Stiles stared at her for a long moment, before walking towards her once more, his face poorly masking anger and petulance. Alayna nodded and lifted her skirts and the two made their way back toward the house.
