-unedited-
Lydia Martin was scared. She closed her eyes tightly, shutting out the dim rays of the rising sun. Words of prayer, indistinct and hurried, fell from her chapped lips as she peeled open her eyelids. Only for a strangled sob to break free when she saw that the woman, the one that had haunted her dreams, was still there- standing in her front yard with her electric hair tangled around her frowning face.
The first dream happened the night after Peter Hale was declared dead.
She had been standing in the middle of a battlefield, screams of pain and terror ringing in her ears. All around her, people fought, and in the center of it all was a woman with eyes like a night sky. She cut through the bodies with a grace that was both awe inspiring and terrifying, he face caked with blood and gore. The dream shifted to the same woman, except this time she held her blood soaked hands together in a prayer, tears racing down her face as she kept her head bowed.
"Please, if you're listening, help me. I don't know what to do." Her sobs were cut off by a cloaked man. He stood over her, darkness leaking from his robes.
"All help comes with a price." The image had begun to fade a the edges and the last thing she had saw was the tear streaked face of the female warrior and her pained screams as the whole scene bled away like a watercolor painting, leaving Lydia awake and panting with image of the woman's pained eyes filling her head.
She had first noticed her in school, the brightness of her hair standing out in the crowd. Lydia didn't give it much thought, after all, she had bigger problems than a mysterious woman, like her rapidly declining mental health. Then she noticed that the woman was everywhere, and only she could see her. That was when she caught sight of her eyes- a dark navy that looked like the sea during a storm- just like the warrior in her dreams.
The woman couldn't be real, she reasoned with herself, just a figment of her imagination. With each passing day, Lydia felt her sanity slip away, piece by piece. She had suffered enough, hadn't she? So why must an invisible woman be added to the list of things that made her life hell?
She shook her head, as if she could physically remove the morbid thoughts from her head. Squaring her shoulders, she pulled the curtains closed, blocking out the sight of the woman. Put on your mask. Don't let them see your weakness. She repeated the mantra to herself, steeling her resolve and smearing the concealer underneath her eyes, hiding herself beneath the facade of someone who was full of confidence. Except the real her, the terrified one that was holding on by a thread, couldn't remember the last time she felt normal.
Stiles was confused. Though it was an emotion he had become familiar with since his best friend had started randomly growing hair and fangs, he was more confused than usual. At first, he assumed they were just hallucinations, a result of his lack of sleep and caffeine addiction. That was until he came home to a trashed room with one of them standing in the middle of it all.
They looked like everyone else in most aspects, varying in height and coloring. It was what they were missing, what really set them apart, that really disturbed Stiles. The people, if they could be called that, were faceless. Instead of a nose and eyes and cheekbones, there was a blank canvas. Just smooth skin and a small, lipless slit for a mouth- one full of sharp ebony teeth, which he had the unfortunate experience of becoming up close and personal with.
It wasn't just the faceless that confused him, though they mostly scared him shitless, it was that other than trashing his room, they didn't do anything but stare (can they stare without eyes?) from afar. When he had walked in on the tall tanned one that destroyed his room, it had simply hissed at him, displaying those needle-like teeth in all their glory, before flickering out of existence.
What made it worse, the metaphorical icing on top of the metaphorical cake, was that he seemed to be the only one that could see them. No one else seemed alarmed by the faceless figures, but it also appeared that the monsters weren't very interested in the general population- they only watched him and his pack. He wasn't exactly sure what they wanted, why they came to Beacon Hills, or if they had already been here, but he was determined to figure it out. After all, nothing excited him more than a mystery.
Death. That was all that Scott McCall could smell. It seemed to follow him, filling his nose and coating his tongue with the thick acidic scent. It reminded him of a mix between rotten eggs, old meat, and a sharp scent that made his chest ache and his eyes water. The smell of it overpowered everything, and mixed with the gritty, metallic smell of blood, he thought about cutting his nose off just to be rid of the stench.
He wasn't sure why it was all he could smell, or why it was stronger around his friends, but he feared that the blood and death was a sign- a warning of what was to come- and he was anything but prepared to handle whatever it was that he felt brewing.
Pain and darkness were all that Anne knew. Once, she had been surrounded by love and warmth, but now she belonged to a world where death was as commonplace as the very air that filtered through her lungs. It was kill or be killed in this world, she often found herself saying, but that did nothing to ease her guilt at the rapidly increasing body count. She called herself a survivor- one of the few that beat back the evil that had invaded and came out whole in the end. But, she wasn't whole, not anymore at least. Eventually, she couldn't tell if she killed for survival or fun.
Survival. That was what she repeated to herself as she stared at the distorted image of a blonde boy- one that had often haunted her dreams. Survival. She gripped the thick maroon strap between her scarred fingers.
"I don't want to survive anymore." Her words received no reply, because Anne, like always, was alone. " I want to live." She touched the mirror, though it didn't reflect her image back at her, but of him. " I want to go home."
She stepped through the mirror, her limbs passing through the glass like it was water. As she passed through, a crack appeared along the dirty glass. Then another and another until the mirror shattered completely, raining glass down on the blood soaked ground, peppering the mangled body of a shaggy haired teen.
Anne breathed deeply as she stepped out on the other side, her lungs filling with non polluted air for the first time in ten years. Her dirt caked feet dug into the plush carpet, leaving dark streaks in the pale cream color. Her eyes, a hauntingly pale blue, flickered through the room, taking in the large bed and expensive decor.
"Who the fuck are you?' A male voice growled and Anne smiled slowly, her dirty ebony locks swirling around her as she turned to face the familiar face. He frowned deeply, covered by nothing but a white towel as her held a cast iron poker in trembling hands. Anne only smiled wider at the sight of him, He was older now, but she'd recognize her brother no matter how old he was.
"I'm home. I'll be damned, it actually worked." The blonde boy frowned slightly before recognition took ahold of his features. Green eyes wide in shock, he dropped the poker. The usually glaring irises clouded over with tears as he took in the bloodstained and dirt caked clothes covering her body. Her face, once healthy and unblemished was now pale and littered with scars.
He held out a shaking hand, touching her cheek as if to make sure she wasn't a figment of his imagination. Her own tears spilled over, washing away the grime that covered her face and leaving streaks in their wake.
"Anne?" He whispered, and for the first time since he found out he was adopted, he felt his lips stretching into a genuine smile.
"Hey little brother." She chuckled, letting her bag drop to the ground. "I'm finally home."
Remington felt the change in the air. She glanced over to the teens, watching as they laughed and smiled, and felt her stomach twist. There was a war on the horizon, she could smell the promise of blood in the air and knew that the smiles wouldn't last long. Whatever was going on in Beacon Hills was part of something bigger and she shivered at the thought of what was to come, of what the inhabitants of the small town would face. But, for now, she left them be, left them to their child-like ignorance and unrestrained happiness, because it would be these moments that they clung to as their lives became overrun with the death and destruction she had long ago become accustomed to.