A dull scraping filled the dark room. The window provided no light, and it was covered in greasy bars, slick from all the hands that had rattled them. The walls were constructed of dull grey cement blocks, matching the rest of the institution, dull and grey. The scraping noise was coming from one of the cell's occupants, who was using a particularly long nail to scratch slowly along one of the cracks in the wall. Every so often, she muttered something to herself. Sitting cross legged on the square framed bed, she was quite absorbed in her own little world. When the door clattered open with a harsh bang, and a struggling girl was thrown inside, the strange individual didn't even look up. She simply stared at the crack in the wall, whispering to herself. Much to the newcomer's distress, the door was locked shut, the jarring sound of the sliding bolts filling the room. Sobbing, the new girl slammed her hands into the wall, screaming and wailing, begging to be released.

This was the second room she had been locked in. Originally, the two guards that had greeted her upon her arrival had dragged her stunned body down a maze of corridors until they reached a suffocating dark and small room. Too out of it to resist, she had been strapped to some sort of chair, wired up to various machines. When she finally recovered her speech, she had groggily questioned the people in the room. "Where- where am I? Stiles? Is Stiles alright?"

No response had been given, so she had repeated herself, adopting a more commanding tone. This had not been met well. A man had emerged from the shadows, grabbing her neck roughly and making it difficult for her to breath. Leaning in far too close, his stale breath flooded across her face, "Watch your tone Banshee. I don't take kindly to bad manners."

Gulping, she had nodded her head, spurring the man to release his firm grip on her neck. Looking around, she made to speak, but quickly reconsidered. Taking time choosing her words, she carefully formed what she hoped was an innocent and respectable sentence. "Might I ask who you are?" She was especially careful to keep an even, polite tone.

Chuckling, the man had replied, "Ahh, the girl learns quickly. Well Lydia, it doesn't really matter who I am, what I'm interested in is how you work. From what I hear, you've tapped into your powers, had a little break down did we? I want to see how you control it, tell me how you do it." It was a command not a request.

Pressing her lips together, Lydia thought for a moment, "Well, what do you mean? Why do you want to know? Is there another banshee, someone who needs help learning?"

"Nothing so boring as that. I want to know so I can control it. So I can control death. Now, tell me how you do it." He positioned himself in front of her, staring at her intently.

Frowning in slight confusion, she tried gently correcting him, "But, I can't control death, I can only predict it."

Eyes darkening, the man lurched forwards, hands gripping her forearms tightly, "Don't lie to me Banshee."

Shaking in fear, she burst out, "I'm not lying! It's true I can't control it!" He grunted at her outburst, pushing himself away from her as she let out a fearful, shaky breath.

Stepping in a slow, deliberate circle around her, the man laughed harshly. "You know, that's funny. Because I distinctly remember being shown an excerpt from some weird mythology about Banshees. Do you want to know what it said?" Lydia shook her head slowly, listening carefully to the man's words. "It said, that the Banshee is the messenger of death, an angel of death. Then when I looked a little deeper, I saw that in some stories, the Banshee is death, singling out who will die and who will live."

"What? That's ridiculous! I have read every piece of information on Banshee's and I never saw anything like that!"

Raising his voice in an attempt to regain his control over Lydia, the man grabbed the back of her chair, jolting it uncomfortably, "Well clearly you didn't read this one! A young man by the name of Theo dropped it off for me. Very interesting. It went on for quite a while about the Banshee's ability to control death."

Connecting the dots, Lydia growled in frustration, "It was fake! Theo's just using you to get me out of the way. I promise you I can't control it."

Leaning down so that his mouth was by her ear, he whispered, "I don't believe you."

"I swear I'm telling the truth." She held his gaze, defiance blended with honesty blazing in her wild eyes.

Studying her expression for a moment, the man huffed a great sigh, "I've got to say Lydia, I'm disappointed, I expected much more from the famous Beacon Hills Banshee. Oh well, let's see if we can do anything to jog that cloudy memory of yours." He disappeared for a moment, rummaging around just out of her sight, humming an out of place, cheery tune to himself as he worked. Shuffling back over to her, he waved a needle around in front of her. "Do you know what this is?" She shook her head, eyeing the syringe fearfully. With a gleeful smirk, he teased her, "You don't want to hazard a guess? No? Alright then I'll tell you. This is a very powerful hallucinogenic. It's going to take whatever's going on in that head of yours and amplify it by ten. These wires you're connected to are going to let me see what's going on in there, on this screen up here. So, let's get started."

Unable to resist, she tensed up as he pressed the needle into her arm. After the plunger had been pressed, there were a few moments of nothing. However, soon the visions had started. With a jolt, she had been tossed into a new environment, watching scenes unfold as though she were sitting in the cinema. The inner workings of her mind were being broadcast all around her, playing out like a movie. Looking around, she realised she was sitting on a rock inside a musty cave. On closer inspection, she recognised it as Malia's old coyote den. Strange when she thought the words, they echoed around the room in a weird, distorted form of her voice, I haven't been thinking of Malia.

"No, but I have." A light, bell-like voice appeared right beside her, causing Lydia to yelp in fear and twist her head to try and find the source. What she found only served to confuse her further. A creature, perhaps a woman, stood beside her watching the scene play out. She seemed fragmented, covered from head to foot in a dark, cold fog which worked to conceal her features. Lydia could see dark tatters of fabric hanging off of the skeletal body, and dark straggly strands of hair hung down across the face. Most noticeable was the dampness of the woman, water running down her clothing and dripping onto the floor, only to disappear moments later. Her eyes were also startling, not at all human, rather two bright white orbs where regular eyes should have been. Desperate to put some distance between her and the woman, Lydia tried to move, only to discover that she was still strapped to the chair from Eichenhouse. "You can't get away from me Lydia." The woman spoke again in the same totally out of place, fairy-like voice.

Gulping, the red head stared at her, "Who are you?"

The creature turned it's dripping head to look at her, bright eyes shocking her to the core. "I'm you, Lydia. A part of you at least. I'm the Banshee part of your soul. And what we're about to see, is what I've been thinking about recently, my predictions that I haven't shared with you yet."

Completely dumbstruck, Lydia shook her head, "No, no that's not possible. You can't be a part of me, can't live inside of me, that doesn't make any sense."

Shrugging it's shoulders, the creature turned away from her, focusing on the scene once more. "Oh, this one's sad, I do like this one."

Following the woman's gaze, Lydia looked upon the coyote den once more. Nothing seemed to be happening until Malia stumbled into the den, closely followed by Isaac and then Theo. Malia and Isaac seemed to be in distress, the coyote's blue eyes flashing as she growled aggressively. Theo was shouting about how he didn't need Isaac in his pack, calling him weak and useless. Malia launched herself at him, claws itching to rake down his neck. However he outmatched her, throwing her off to the side before attacking Isaac. Malia landed with a sickening crunch against one of the rocks, neck bent at an impossible angle. Soon Isaac fell next to her, blood flowing from the deep claw marks across his neck. Gasping they stared at each other, Isaac grabbing Malia's limp hand as Theo approached them. Rolling his eyes he turned and left, leaving them to die. Isaac expired first, succumbing to his wounds, but Malia suffered for much longer. Paralysed by her injury, she was unable to call for help or even let go of Isaac's hand. Then when the cold night set in, she felt herself falling further and further into the icy grip of hypothermia, until eventually she too gave up, one final pearly puff of air escaping her blue lips.

Lydia sobbed, "That was horrible, please tell me that isn't going to happen. Tell me there's still time to change it!" She yelled at her Banshee, willing her words to be the truth. The creature simply stared at her, silence speaking for her. Wailing, Lydia bowed her head, "No, no that can't be true. Nothing is set in stone, we can still change it, we just need to warn them. Warn them... I need to get out of here! I have to warn them!"

Shaking it's head, the banshee pointed towards the scene which was dissolving, changing into something new, "We aren't finished yet."

Dragging her gaze back to the events unfolding in front of them, Lydia forced out a whisper, "How many?"

The Banshee's previously sweet voice suddenly gained a devious, hateful lilt, "All of them."

"NO!" Lydia wailed, trying desperately to look away, but something was forcing her to stare into the scene before her. Liam appeared out in the woods, ensnared in some werewolf hunter's trap. They circled him, prolonging his suffering cruelly. The apparent leader was explaining how Scott had been stupid to turn Liam, that his IED made him too much of a risk. They don't usually kill children, but with Liam's unusually high count of incidents, it was the only remaining option. Fear spread across the boy's face as he begged for his life, promising to be better, more careful, but the hunters wouldn't listen. They killed him quickly, at least having the decency to make it short.

Heart ripping itself to pieces, Lydia felt the almost motherly protectiveness she had for Liam writhing inside of her. Shaking her head she begged no one in particular, "Please stop this, make it stop!" Turning to the banshee, she pleaded desperately, "Please!"

Tilting it's head thoughtfully, the creature responded, "I can't, I'm a part of you. We're in your mind, so it's up to you to end it."

Lydia's gaze was pulled back to the scene, which had now changed to involve Mason. She couldn't bare it, couldn't stand the thought of watching how all of her friends would die. A sudden realisation hit her. The creature standing next to her was the one who had been plaguing her with these terrible visions, was the very reason she was now trapped in Eichenhouse. Stuck there while Theo might be hurting Stiles. Thinking of Stiles caused all of her anger from before to dissipate, leaving only the warm feeling thinking of him gave her. Turning her thoughts back to how he had taught her control in the first place, she started to formulate a plan to end the horrific movie playing out in front of her. Taking a slow breath, she focussed all of her thoughts on Stiles. Slowly, the scene before her started to deteriorate, a new one taking its place.

Disgruntled, the banshee whipped around to face her, "What are you doing? Stop it!" The creature began to fill her head with thoughts of death, battling her for control over the visions. Remaining steadfast, Lydia pushed away the macabre visions, focussing instead on the thought of adorable, funny Stiles. She seemed to be overpowering the banshee, as the scene before her quickly began to change to a memory. Watching, she smiled as she saw herself arguing with Stiles at the Sophomore prom. There she was, sitting stoically at the table, refusing to give him the time of day. Stiles being brave and outgoing, called her out on her act, seeing right through her armour and staring at who she really was. She laughed as past Lydia corrected him on what sort of Mathematical prize she would be winning, before leading him onto the dance floor. When she saw the little victory dance he did, she giggled profusely, unaware that such an event had even occurred. The memory served its purpose, banishing the Banshee that had been plaguing her thoughts.

As though someone had pulled the plug on a TV, everything around her switched off, the dark room from before materialising around her. The man was sitting behind a computer screen, staring angrily at her, "Well that was sickeningly cute." Although she tried, she couldn't keep the grin off of her face. Rolling his eyes, the man stood, walking to the door and calling two guards in. "Perhaps you'll be more willing to share after a night in the psycho ward, where we keep the real weirdo's. Have a good night." He waved her off as she was dragged from the room, kicking and screaming.

And that was how she had ended up kneeling in front of the door of her new cell, head and hands resting on the cool metal. Hearing the constant murmuring coming from her cellmate, Lydia looked around. The girl had a wiry, twitchy structure to her, looking as though with one quick movement she might break and fall to pieces. Sniffing and standing up, the redhead approached her cautiously. "Are you okay?" Reaching out she rested her hand on the girl's shoulder. Silence fell upon the cell. Eerily slowly, the girl twisted her head to stare at Lydia, who quickly removed her hand. "Sorry, I just- thought that maybe you needed- um- help." Realising where they were, she groaned at how stupid her statement had been. Help was probably the last thing they would receive in Eichenhouse given its track record for abusive orderlies, dodgy medical practices and cruel mental experiments. How the place was allowed to remain in operation, she had no idea.

The girl stared at her for a moment before twitching her nose and speaking in a hoarse whisper, "Lydia Martin thinks we need help. Lydia Martin needs more help than we do. The banshee doesn't know. The banshee doesn't know." The girl was talking quickly, almost chanting, and Lydia was having a hard time keeping up.

"How do you know my name? What don't I know? Who- what are you?"

Muttering ever faster, the girl carried on, "Isla Maverick is a sightseer, Isla Maverick is a sightseer. Isla knows. The banshee doesn't know. The banshee doesn't know."

Frustrated, Lydia took a step forwards, raising her voice, "What don't I know?!"

Eyeing her with interest, Isla stood, holding Lydia's face in her hands. When she spoke, her voice sounded strangely normal, perhaps her regular speaking voice. The message she bore was short but had great effect on Lydia, causing her stomach to flip with an odd mixture of dread and hope:

"How to save her friends."