I kept telling myself I wasn't getting involved. That keeping a healthy distance from Stiles was important. That's why, when I heard, he was going to another high school's party with Scott, I stayed home to continue my research. Even when Allison said she was going to find them to discuss the bruise she and Lydia had received from the strange girl.
The ancient French texts weren't just a pastime; they were a lifeline, a map to understanding the supernatural lineage I was part of. Yet, for all their promise, they remained a puzzle I couldn't solve. The shadow council, mentioned in whispers and half-tales, seemed like a key piece of this puzzle, a connection to a past that held answers to my present. Diving into these texts each night, I sought not just knowledge but a sense of belonging, a link to a world that, while dangerous, felt increasingly like home. These were not just stories; they were a bridge to understanding my place in this ancient lineage and the responsibilities that came with it.
Staring at the ancient texts I'd read a thousand times, with no results, I gave up and called it a night.
I dreamt that night, like I always did these days, expecting the French forest in my search for the shadow council. Instead, I found myself in a wine cellar, it smelt of dried corks and dust. My vision was clouded, chanting in a language I didn't recognise filled my ears. I could make out two figures, the larger of the two rushed passed me and out sight. My vision still blurred, I could only make out its silhouette, but its aura felt…familiar.
Alone now with the smaller silhouette, I closed in on them, trying to get a sense of who it might be, not recognising anything from the limited feelings I could make out from their aura, other than their purity. The chanting intensified the closer I got, blurring my vision further. What language were they chanting, all I could tell was that it was old tongue, a dialect long since forgotten. It beckoned me, beckoned me to reveal the silhouette before me, to command the shadows around it to withdraw. I instinctively pointed towards the figure, as if the decision wasn't mine to make, and uttered a single command: "dévoiler."
The shadows obeyed; the chanting ceased immediately, and a beautiful warming light of my creation only visible to me surrounded the figure, but only momentarily as an entirely different, all-encompassing darkness erupted from the walls, the hungry darkness colliding with the silhouette. The impact caused a shockwave that felt like it hit me from all angles, fear crippling me.
I shot up right in my bed, out of breath and my heart rate racing, sweat stuck to my back.
"What the hell was that?" The dream had felt so real, the cold dampness of the wine cellar seeping into my bones, the haunting chants echoing around me. Awakening from it, I was disoriented, my heart pounding as if I had been running, my sheets tangled around me like vines in that forest. The boundary between dream and reality blurred, leaving me to question if it had been merely a dream at all. This seamless transition from the ethereal to the tangible underscored the ever-thinning veil between my two worlds, a reminder of the powers I was only beginning to understand and the ancient forces at play, hidden just beneath the surface of my consciousness.
The tense meeting at School that Lydia and Allison beckoned me to come to was just that, very tense. The tension in the air during the meeting was palpable, an undercurrent of unsaid words and unresolved conflicts. For the first time since we left, Alison had come face-to-face with Derek, who appeared to feel the same way for her as she did for him. It yielded no results, but I did pick up Derek's throw away comment to Scott. What had my mother really been up to that night?
Stiles caught me as we left the room for class. "Dude, I text you like, a million times, what gives?"
"Sorry, busy summer" I weakly apologised, knowing full well the excuse carried no weight, "I needed to clear my head."
"Well, you're back now, we've a lot to catch up…" he started.
"I'm going to be late for class" I cut him off before his well intended comments threatened to undo my summer of resilience building.
A momentary look of hurt flashed across his eyes as he took in what I said, I didn't wait around to let that sink in. Sometimes I you must be nasty, to be nice. And I deserved to be nice to myself.
Our conversation, brief as it was, felt like a dance around the truth, a truth neither of us seemed ready to confront. Our interactions, laden with the weight of unspoken feelings and the complexities of our shared experiences, were a delicate balance of saying enough to stay connected while holding back the depths of our fears and desires. In these moments, every glance, every hesitated word, carried layers of meaning, hinting at the depth of our bond and the barriers we erected to protect it.
The condom falling out of his pocket during class didn't help to matters. He was obviously having sex, but not with me so it didn't bear thinking about. Sherrif Stilinski appeared, pulling Stiles out of class, I used my sensitive hearing to listen in, a girl had gone missing, a friend of his, typical Beacon Hills activity. I could tell Scott was listening in, too but luckily Stiles was still the only one who knew about my abilities, and so far, he'd appeared to have kept my secret.
Later, in the library with Lydia and Allison, Alison was still obsessing over this strange mark, when the twins walked in. Lydia commenting "I want one." "I know which one" I said, as the other was clearly looking at me, the attention not at all unwelcome. The pair of us leaving Allison to her investigation to peruse our conquests. Ethan's entrance into my life, marked by immediate recognition of his werewolf aura, hinted at the evolving dynamics of my supernatural journey. This new connection, while promising an exploration of unknown territories, also posed questions about trust, alliances, and the shadows that followed us both. Something within me had shifted in the few days we'd been back. I sensed the danger, the darkness within him, yet something internal drew me towards it. Balancing this new element with the ongoing mysteries and personal growth was crucial, ensuring that Ethan's role would not only serve to deepen my supernatural lore but also to challenge and grow my own understanding of what it meant to live in a world where such secrets were the norm.
Lying in the dark that night, my mind raced, replaying the moment I had cut Stiles off. It wasn't just about keeping secrets or the supernatural chaos that had become my life; it was the fear of what acknowledging my feelings could unravel. Every time I saw him, my heart waged a war against my mind, urging me to say something, to reach out. But the words never found their way out. Instead, they swirled inside me, a tempest of 'what ifs' and 'if onlys.' This internal battle wasn't just about the supernatural; it was about confronting the very real possibility of rejection, of altering the one constant I had come to rely on in this unpredictable world.
The moment I dismissed Stiles, claiming the urgency of class over his attempts to reconnect, a pang of guilt twisted inside me. I saw the hurt flash in his eyes, a mirror to the conflict raging within me. It wasn't that I didn't care or that his friendship meant any less. If anything, it was the opposite. Keeping him at arm's length felt like the only way to protect him from the chaos that seemed to follow me, a barrier against dragging him deeper into my mess. Yet, as I walked away, I couldn't help but wonder if I was also trying to protect myself from the vulnerability that came with letting someone in too close.
The missing girl and the cryptic symbol Allison pursued were not just plot points; they were breadcrumbs leading us deeper into the forest of mysteries that was Beacon Hills. She'd discovered the symbol she was looking for was from an old bank and took it upon herself to investigate, unbeknown to me at the time.
I was at home when I sensed her panic, but in stead of reacting I instinctively found myself going into a deep meditation of sorts, the shadows in my room, rushed to me, and instead of finding myself in darkness, I could see Allison, in the abandoned bank, with the guidance councillor? I hadn't expected that. It was the strangest sensation, I knew I was still in my room, but I could use the shadows in the bank to follow Alison. Where she went, I went, and I would protect her.