[Disclaimer: Contains Adult Language, Drug & Alcohol Abuse, Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, and Sexual Content.] A/N: Hello! Just for clarification, this story starts right at the beginning of Season 1, ep 1. I've always wanted to write a TeenWolf fic, so I figured I'd give it a shot. Also, all of the main cast are 17 for the sake of being underage. Please R&R!

Your humble story-teller,

FLUX

Beacon Hills, California: Sunday. August 14th, 2011. Time: 17:35.

I stood in front of the mirror, feeling different, like something inside had shifted. It wasn't like I was glowing or anything, but things weren't the same as they used to be. Sure, things weren't perfect, but they didn't have to be. Beacon Hills felt like a chance to just... be myself, whoever that was now.

I grabbed some texture powder and worked it into my hair, making sure it had that perfect balance between messy and put-together. I liked how it framed my face now—less like the awkward kid from last year. Seventeen had brought some changes. My shoulders had broadened a bit, my jawline had sharpened. For the first time in a while, I didn't feel like I had to try so hard to fit in. I just... did.

My eyes flicked to the glasses sitting on the vanity. I hadn't needed them since Paris. Mom always said I didn't really need them in the first place—something about a minor astigmatism. She was probably right, but I still felt weird without them sometimes.

I flopped onto my bed with a long breath as my phone buzzed. It was Mom, reminding me about dinner—"Casual but nice," she said. That was her way of keeping things together, making sure this whole "fresh start" thing didn't slip through our fingers. She'd moved us out of Michigan to get away from... well, everything. Taking the sign-on bonus at the hospital here in Beacon Hills was her way of giving us a shot at a new life.

I got it. I really did. Even if the move didn't erase the past, I could appreciate her effort to create something new.

Lying back, I fiddled with the golden amulet around my neck. It wasn't even my birthday yet, but that trip to France had been an early celebration from Mom. We'd gone to Versailles, and Mémé had given me the amulet—a small, simple piece with a sun and moon etched into it. She'd called it her lucky charm, something that had carried her through a lot. Now, it was mine.

That trip had been more than just a vacation. It had been a reset. Two weeks in her world, soaking up her stories, her calm presence. We spent mornings in her garden, afternoons baking pastries in her kitchen. She'd even given me this old book on herbology. She hadn't said much when she handed it to me, just smiled like she was passing on something important. And I guess she was. That book felt like a connection to something bigger. I wasn't sure what yet, but I knew it mattered.

And then there was the night she gave me the amulet. We were sitting on her terrace, watching the sun dip below the rooftops of Versailles. She didn't explain why she was giving it to me—just put it in my hand with a look that said everything. She believed in it, in me, and that was enough.

Now, back here in Beacon Hills, I found myself holding onto that belief more than I expected. The amulet had become this little piece of home, a reminder that even though things were changing, I wasn't alone.

I scrolled through my phone, looking at the pictures from the trip. There was one of me and Mémé in her garden, her hand on my shoulder, guiding me through tying up the plants. Another was of the pastries we'd baked—surprisingly decent considering how much I'd messed up the process. But it was the photo of the Eiffel Tower at sunset that made me pause. Standing there in Paris, surrounded by people who had no idea who I was or what I'd been through... it had felt freeing. No expectations. No judgment. Just me.

Mom had tried to keep things light during the trip, steering clear of any talk about what had happened back in Michigan. But I could feel her guilt. She hadn't said it outright, but it was there. She'd done what she could—gotten me out, left Dad behind, and moved us here. But I still wondered why she hadn't seen it coming sooner.

We talked about it once in Paris, sitting on a bench near the Eiffel Tower while kids played in the fountain nearby. She didn't say much, just offered a quiet apology. It didn't fix everything, but it was enough to help me move forward. And now we were here, in Beacon Hills. A new town, a fresh start. A chance to breathe again.

I stood up, feeling a little lighter. I ran my fingers over the amulet one last time before tucking it beneath my black crewneck. Slipping into a pair of dark jeans, I took a quick look in the mirror. I didn't look like someone who was running anymore. I looked like someone ready to face whatever came next.

Grabbing my phone and wallet, I slipped on my black boots and took a deep breath. Mom's voice called from downstairs. "Adrian, you ready?"

"Almost!" I called back. But I stayed where I was for a second, letting her words settle. The amulet rested against my chest, a small comfort that reminded me I wasn't facing all of this alone.

I headed downstairs, and when I saw Mom waiting by the door, her smile was small but real. "You look nice," she said softly.

"Thanks," I replied, my fingers brushing the amulet again. I didn't need to say I was nervous. She already knew.

She studied me for a moment longer, then nodded. "I'm proud of you, you know," she said quietly.

Her words hung in the air between us, heavier than I expected. I nodded, my throat tight. "I know. I'm proud of you too."

She blinked back whatever emotion was creeping in, then cleared her throat and grabbed her purse. "Alright, let's get going before we're late."

As we stepped out into the cool evening air, I let her words settle next to the amulet against my chest. Maybe this move would work out after all. Maybe things would finally be okay.

With each step I took, I felt a quiet hope starting to bloom. Beacon Hills just might be the fresh start we both needed.

I adjusted my black crewneck as I walked beside Mom toward Melissa McCall's house. I'd only met her a couple of times during the move, and she seemed nice enough—warm, welcoming, and genuine. I figured she and Mom had bonded over the whole divorce thing. Shared trauma, I guess.

As we got to the door, Mom raised her hand to knock, but before she could, it swung open. Melissa stood there with a big smile on her face, her dark, wavy hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She had that look of someone who was always juggling a million things but still managed to keep it together. She was in a casual blouse and jeans—no stress, no rush.

"Eden! Adrian! So glad you could make it," she said, stepping forward to give Mom a tight hug before turning to me. She blinked, clearly surprised as she looked me over.

"My goodness, Adrian, you've grown up!" she said, her eyes sweeping over me like she was trying to remember the last time she saw me. "You were still figuring things out the last time I saw you, and now look at you!"

Mom nudged me with her elbow, grinning. "See? Told you it would happen."

I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway. "Blame France," I joked. "Turns out croissants build muscle."

Melissa laughed and stepped aside to let us in. "Well, I wasn't expecting such a glow-up," she teased. "Puberty really worked in your favor."

"Yeah, just trying to keep up," I chuckled as I walked inside, brushing off the compliment.

The house was warm and cozy, filled with that "lived-in" vibe that made you want to kick off your shoes and relax. The smell of something grilling filled the air—rich and savory, with a hint of something sweet that made my stomach growl.

"Scott! Stiles! Dinner's ready!" Melissa called out, turning back to us with a smile. "Hope you don't mind, but Scott's friend is joining us. His dad is the Sheriff, and he works long hours. So, Stiles is basically part of the furniture around here."

"The more, the merrier," Mom said, her voice warm as she and Melissa made their way to the kitchen, margaritas already in hand. I could hear them catching up, their conversation shifting between laughter and softer murmurs as they set the table together.

As she and Mom made their way to the kitchen—margaritas already in hand—I kicked off my boots and took a deep breath. The house smelled like comfort, like a place you could actually settle into.

I heard footsteps thudding down the stairs and turned to see two guys heading my way. The first one was tall and lanky, dressed in a flannel over a graphic tee and jeans that were a little too long. He had this wild energy about him, like he noticed everything at once and was trying to keep up with it all.

Behind him was another guy, a bit more solid in build, with dark, tousled hair and a simple black hoodie. There was something calm and confident about him. As he got closer, I caught a whiff of cinnamon and pine—a subtle but strong scent that made me pause for a second.

The flannel guy reached the bottom of the stairs first, grinning as he held out his hand. "You must be Adrian. Melissa's been talking about you," he said, his energy practically vibrating. "I'm Stiles."

I shook his hand, a little caught off guard by how intense he was. "Nice to meet you," I replied, trying to keep up.

"And this," Stiles said, nodding toward the other guy, "is Scott."

Scott stepped forward with a warm smile, his dark eyes kind but sharp, like he was always taking in more than he let on. "Hey," he said, his voice calm. "Good to finally meet you."

"Yeah, you too," I said, doing my best to stay casual, though that cinnamon-and-pine scent still clung to the air around him, making me feel slightly off balance.

There was a brief pause as we all just kind of stood there, sizing each other up. Stiles glanced between me and Scott, grinning like he knew something we didn't.

"So," Stiles finally said, clapping his hands together, "you're officially in Beacon Hills now. It's not Paris, but we've got... trees. Lots of them."

Scott chuckled, nudging Stiles with his elbow. "Ignore him. He talks a lot, but he's harmless."

I laughed, feeling some of the tension ease. "Hey, trees sound good to me. I've had enough of city crowds for a while."

Stiles grinned at Scott. "See? He gets it."

As we headed toward the kitchen, that scent of cinnamon and pine still lingered around Scott, tugging at the edges of my thoughts. It was weirdly comforting but also... distracting.

Dinner was amazing. Melissa had made beef carnitas with fresh tortillas, and the table was filled with bowls of toppings—fresh cilantro, lime wedges, salsa, everything. It was the kind of meal that made you want to keep eating long after you were full.

Mom and Melissa were already deep into their second margaritas, swapping stories from the old days, laughing louder with each drink. Every now and then, Mom's voice would catch my attention—her hands waving animatedly as she retold some ridiculous memory.

"So," Mom started, giggling between sips, "when we were in Paris, I met up with some girlfriends, and we ended up front row at a cabaret show at the Moulin Rouge. Feather boas, sequins, and legs for days!"

I cringed, trying to ignore the embarrassment creeping up my neck. I focused on my food, determined not to let Stiles run with that story.

But of course, he wasn't going to let it slide. "Wait, wait. Moulin Rouge? Was that like a strip club with class?" He wiggled his eyebrows, trying to get a rise out of me.

Mom just laughed, waving him off. "Oh, honey, it's way more artistic than that! It's all about the glamour."

Stiles' eyes widened, and Scott nearly choked on his drink, trying not to laugh. "Classy stripping?" Stiles muttered.

I groaned, hiding my face in my hands. "Mom, please."

She grinned at me, completely unfazed. "You'd have loved it, Adrian."

Melissa turned to me with a playful smile. "Alright, Adrian. What was your favorite part of the trip?"

Grateful for the subject change, I leaned back and thought about it. "The Midsommer festival," I said quietly. "My friend Rose took me. It was incredible—bonfires, flower crowns, music. It felt like being part of something bigger."

Mom smirked. "Rose, huh? The girl from the café?"

I nodded. "Yeah, that's her."

Mom winked. "Sounds like a special time."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. The festival had been one of those perfect moments where everything else faded away.

Melissa leaned in with a teasing grin. "Sounds like you had a little romance in Paris."

"Not really," I said quickly. "She's just a friend. But that night was... special."

Stiles jumped in again. "So, did she give you a flower crown?"

I laughed. "Yeah, she did. Made it herself."

Stiles grinned. "Solid move. I'm taking notes."

The conversation kept flowing, and by the end of dinner, I felt more at ease than I had in a while. It was nice to laugh, to feel like I could actually fit in here. For the first time, I felt like Beacon Hills might actually be a place where I could belong.

Melissa leaned in with a teasing smile. "Sounds like you had yourself a little romance in Paris."

I could feel my face heating up. "Not really," I said quickly, trying to downplay it. "She's just a friend. But the festival... it was special. It felt like we were part of something bigger."

Scott nodded like he totally understood, but Stiles wasn't about to let it slide that easily. "So, did this Rose give you the flower crown or what?" he asked, grinning.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, she did. Made it herself."

"Nice," Stiles said, nodding like I'd just shared the best strategy ever. "Flower crowns. Solid move. I'll remember that for the next girl I try to impress."

I shifted in my seat, feeling everyone's eyes on me, the weight of their attention making me a little self-conscious. I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "We spent the night by these huge bonfires. Everyone was dancing, wearing flower crowns, music was everywhere."

Mom jumped in, her smile turning even more mischievous. "Oh, and don't forget how Rose had to drag him home that night. Poor thing couldn't handle his wine."

I shot her a look, my face now probably a shade of red. "Mom…"

Stiles' eyes lit up, practically bouncing in his seat with excitement. "Wait—wine? You were drinking wine?

Mom waved her hand, laughing. "Well, in France, the drinking age is technically 18, but at festivals like that, no one cares if you're 17. It's part of the culture."

She laughed harder as she continued. "What was really funny was watching them trying to sneak in at sunrise, crawling through the gate like lost sheep. My poor mother nearly had a heart attack."

I groaned, burying my face in my hands as everyone around the table burst out laughing. "It wasn't that bad," I mumbled, though a small smile tugged at my lips.

The truth was, I could barely remember the night. It was a blur of bonfires, music, Rose laughing beside me, and then... nothing. Crawling through a gate? No clue. But I wasn't about to admit that.

I chuckled, trying to play it off. "Yeah, well, let's just say I'm not used to wine. Not my best moment."

Stiles practically jumped out of his chair, eyes wide with exaggerated shock. "Crawling through a gate? Dude, that's legendary! Was it like, 'I'll never let go, Rose!' but instead of cold water, you're just... laying in the dirt?" He dramatically flung his arms out, pretending to grab at an invisible gate. "'Promise me you'll live a long life! And, uh, help me through this shrubbery!'"

Everyone lost it. Even Scott, who was trying and failing to hold back his laughter.

I couldn't help but laugh too, shaking my head at how ridiculous it all was. "Yeah, something like that," I said, going along with the joke. "Although, honestly, it was probably more like, 'Rose, please don't let me pass out in the dirt.'"

Melissa grinned, leaning in with that same curious look. "Sounds like you had quite the adventure. Wine, flower crowns, festivals... makes Beacon Hills sound a little tame, huh?"

I shook my head, still smiling. "It was a good night, but I think I've had enough of wild festivals for a while. I'll stick to quieter things."

Mom, clearly enjoying this way too much, shot me a playful look. "Just as long as you don't end up crawling through any gates around here."

Stiles nudged Scott, his eyes practically glowing with excitement. "Dude, if that happens, you better tell us. I'm getting the camera ready."

Scott rolled his eyes but couldn't help grinning too. He glanced over at me, his expression warm and reassuring. "Don't worry," he said, his voice steady, "we've got your back. No gate-crawling necessary."

A warmth spread through my chest, and I found myself relaxing. Even though I was the new guy, the teasing made me feel like I wasn't just some stranger at the table. The laughter, the banter—it was comfortable, like I'd been a part of this all along.

As dinner wrapped up, Mom and Melissa stayed behind to clean up the kitchen, their laughter drifting through the house, along with the sound of margaritas being refilled. Meanwhile, Scott, Stiles, and I took care of the table, gathering up plates and glasses.

Of course, Stiles couldn't keep his mouth shut, turning every simple movement into a punchline. "So, Adrian," he began, grabbing a stack of plates with an exaggerated flourish, "how'd you manage to escape France without adopting a full-on beret and baguette addiction?"

I snorted, shaking my head. "The croissants were pretty addictive, though."

"Croissants?" Stiles scoffed, dropping the plates on the counter with a loud clatter. "Please. If I spent more than five minutes in France, I'd come back speaking in a terrible accent and demanding everyone call me 'Stiles le magnifique.'"

Scott rolled his eyes but couldn't hide a grin. "God, no. We already deal with your regular weirdness."

Undeterred, Stiles picked up a handful of cutlery, brandishing them like a sword. "And did you meet the love of your life while whispering sweet nothings under the Eiffel Tower? Or were you too busy drowning in fine wine?"

I handed him another plate, laughing. "More like drowning in my own bad decisions."

"Très bien!" Stiles continued, swaying like a drunken Parisian. "Next time, I'll bring you one of those tiny wine glasses, or maybe a helmet to help with the whole gate-crawling situation."

Scott elbowed him, laughing. "You're really going for it tonight, huh?"

"Gotta get all my jokes in before school starts," Stiles said with a shrug. "Besides, Adrian's new. He hasn't learned to tune me out yet."

I grinned, appreciating Stiles' relentless energy. "Don't worry, I'm a fast learner."

Stiles shot me a dramatic look. "Oh no, you're stuck with me now, mon ami." He threw a napkin over his shoulder like a scarf. "Vive la Stiles!"

I couldn't stop laughing, and even Scott was struggling to keep a straight face. "See you tomorrow, dude," Stiles said as he waved goodbye, heading out the door.

Mom glanced over from the kitchen and waved me off. "Go hang out with Scott for a bit, Adrian. Melissa and I have got this."

I followed Scott upstairs to his room on the second floor. It was pretty much what I expected for a teenage guy—messy, but not in a gross way. Clothes draped over a chair, a few sneakers kicked near the door, and some textbooks scattered across his desk. It wasn't chaotic, just lived in.

"Sorry about the mess," Scott said, scratching the back of his neck. "It's organized chaos. I mostly know where everything is."

"No worries," I said, glancing around. There were a few personal touches that caught my eye—dumbbells tucked under the bed, a basketball in the corner, and a skateboard leaning against the wall. What really got my attention, though, was the bookshelf by the window. It wasn't overflowing, but there was a solid mix of stuff—sports biographies, a book on mindfulness, and an album collection that ranged from classic rock to some alternative stuff.

Scott noticed me checking out his shelf. "I'm into music and sports," he said, a little sheepish. "Keeps me grounded. Most of the albums are from my dad's collection. He left them behind when he... you know."

I nodded. "I get it. I've got some things from my grandma that I hold onto for the same reason."

Scott smiled a little, his shoulders relaxing. "Yeah, it's weird how that stuff sticks with you, huh?"

I moved closer to the shelf, eyeing the records. "So, you're into classic rock?"

He grinned. "Yeah, my dad loved it. I guess it rubbed off on me. I like a mix of stuff, though. Depends on the mood."

I nodded, then glanced at the sports gear scattered around. "You play basketball?"

"Yeah," Scott said, his smile widening. "And lacrosse. I love it—it's fast, gets the adrenaline going."

"That's cool," I said, feeling the room settle into a comfortable vibe. "I played soccer for a while, but I wasn't great at it. These days, I'm more into hiking and reading. Helps clear my head."

Scott leaned back on his hands, nodding. "That's awesome. There are some great hiking spots around here. I go when I need to clear my head, too."

The conversation lulled for a second, but it didn't feel awkward, just natural, like we were both feeling each other out. There was this subtle tension in the air—not bad, just... there.

"So," Scott said after a beat, "besides hiking, you into anything else?"

"Not really," I admitted. "I stay active, but I'm not a big team sports guy. I've tried swimming. I guess I'm more of an outdoorsy type."

Scott nodded, like he was filing that away. "That's cool. I'll take you hiking sometime. There's a trail up in the preserve that's pretty quiet—good place to think."

"I'd like that," I said, feeling more at ease.

We sat there for a minute, the silence between us surprisingly comfortable. But there was still this... something. A tension that made the room feel smaller, more charged. I caught Scott's gaze, and for a second, it felt like he was trying to figure me out—like he was waiting for me to say or do something. My heart sped up, and I couldn't look away, even though I knew I should.

Then, Mom's voice called up from downstairs, snapping the moment in half. "Adrian! Time to go!"

The air shifted back to normal as Scott straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Looks like that's your cue."

"Yeah," I replied, my voice sounding rougher than I expected. I cleared my throat, trying to play it cool. "I'll see you at school tomorrow?"

Scott smiled, that easy warmth coming back to his eyes. "Definitely. It's nice having another guy around. Beacon Hills isn't bad once you get used to it."

I nodded, feeling a mix of reluctance and relief as I stood up. "Looking forward to it."

We exchanged an awkward half-wave before I turned to leave. The tension still buzzed in my chest as I headed downstairs. Mom and Melissa were laughing in the kitchen, their voices drifting through the house. I said my goodbyes quickly and followed Mom back home.

As soon as I got inside, I kicked off my boots and headed straight upstairs to my room. I pulled off my crewneck and threw it on a chair, swapping it for a pair of sweats. When I glanced out my window, I saw Scott's house directly across from mine. His room was lit up, and for a moment, I could see him too—standing by his bed, peeling off his hoodie.

I felt a strange pang of guilt, lingering a second too long before I snapped my blinds closed. My thoughts were all over the place. Scott was just a guy—my neighbor—but something about him tugged at me in a way I couldn't ignore.

I sighed and crawled into bed, grabbing my phone and putting on some music to drown out my racing thoughts. As AlunaGeorge played softly in the background, I tried to focus on the melody, letting it pull me away from the mess in my head.

The dream played out like a warm summer haze, pulling me back to the Midsommer festival. The sun was filtering through the trees, casting everything in this golden light. Rose and I were on the train, excitement buzzing between us as the French countryside blurred by in greens and golds. She was laughing, her cheeks flushed from the wine we'd been passing back and forth. She wore this white dress with little embroidered flowers at the hem, and she was painting sunflowers on my cheeks with a tiny brush she'd pulled from her bag.

"Hold still," she teased, her voice warm as she finished the last stroke. I tried not to laugh, the wine making me feel loose and light.

I was dressed simple—white tunic, black pants, scuffed boots—comfortable, like I'd been wearing this kind of thing forever. The sunflowers on my cheeks felt more than just festive; they tied me to the whole vibe of the festival, like I was a part of it. I took another swig from the flask we shared, the wine warming me from the inside out, making everything seem more alive, more real.

The train slowed as we reached this small station. Violins and flutes greeted us as we stepped off, the music wrapping around us like a hug. Up ahead, the chateau came into view—a grand old thing with golden trim that caught the last bit of sunlight. It was worn but still had that timeless beauty, like it'd seen more than we could ever imagine. The gate was inscribed with "Memento Mori," dark letters that stood out against the colorful flower garlands draped around it. There was even a skull carved beneath it—kind of morbid, but somehow it fit. The mood inside wasn't somber though. People were laughing, music was everywhere, and the smell of burning wood filled the air. It was impossible not to get caught up in the energy.

Rose led me deeper into the festival, her hand warm in mine as she pulled me toward a table covered in wildflowers. She started weaving them into a crown, her fingers moving quickly, humming to herself. I wandered over to a table where they were pouring wine and grabbed a cup, breathing in the earthy smell before taking a sip. The wine tasted rich, the kind that stays with you. Between that and the glow of the setting sun, everything around me felt almost surreal.

"Perfect," Rose said, placing the flower crown on my head. The petals were soft against my skin, their scent mixing with the smoke and herbs hanging in the air. I smiled at her, feeling like I belonged there as we made our way further into the festival. Bonfires crackled in the distance, the flames throwing shadows that danced across the faces of the people celebrating around us. The music from the violins and flutes flowed through the night, wrapping around everything like a living thing.

The chateau loomed ahead, and as we stepped inside, it was like walking into a dream. Mirrors lined the walls, stretching from floor to ceiling, reflecting the firelight until the whole room seemed to pulse with life. The golden trim on the mirrors gleamed, catching the light in a way that made everything feel infinite, like we were walking through a painting. The wooden floors beneath our feet were smooth and polished, each step echoing softly as we moved deeper into the hall.

Rose tugged on my sleeve, pulling me toward a room at the end of the hall. Inside was a wooden desk, and behind it sat an older woman who seemed both regal and inviting. Her silver hair was pulled back into an elegant updo, and she wore a deep burgundy gown that shimmered in the candlelight. Her eyes were sharp, but there was kindness in them.

"Ah, Adrian," she said, her voice rich and welcoming. "Welcome to our celebration of life. I'm Aurora."

Her words sent a shiver down my spine. Her gaze shifted to the amulet hanging around my neck—the one my grandma gave me in Versailles. The golden sun and moon etched into it seemed to glow in the candlelight.

"I see you carry the mark of protection," Aurora said softly. "A gift from one who understands the old ways."

I glanced down at the amulet, feeling warmth spread through me, like it was alive.

Aurora smiled, her gaze returning to mine. "You wear it well. Here, we honor those who walk beneath the gaze of the triple goddess, the horned king, and the winged angel. All are welcome, and all may prosper."

Her words felt heavy, like they carried more meaning than I could grasp, but I could feel them settling inside me. "Tell me, Adrian," she asked, her eyes glinting with curiosity, "what is your star sign?"

"Libra," I said automatically, the word slipping out like it had been waiting to be said.

Aurora's smile widened, like she understood something I didn't. "Balance and harmony. But you carry more than balance—you carry the weight of choice. It's a gift, but also a burden."

There's a pause as she takes a sip from her chalice, looking at my with a calculating eye. "Hope you enjoy the festival,"

Her words hung in the air as Rose gently led me away, back out into the festival. The fires were burning brighter now, their flames flickering against the darkening sky. Music and laughter filled every inch of the chateau grounds, and for a moment, everything felt perfect, like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

As the sun disappeared, the vibe of the festival shifted. The violins and flutes were replaced with something more modern—EDM pulsed through the air, blending with the laughter and chatter. The ground almost vibrated beneath us.

Rose grinned at me, pulling a small vial from her bag. She dipped her fingers inside and smeared ultraviolet paint across my skin, the glow catching the light from the fires and the thumping music. Gabriel was there too, watching with an amused smile as Rose did the same to him, painting symbols on his arms and neck.

The air felt thick, electric, as the scent of sweat, smoke, and wildflowers mixed together. People started shedding their clothes, dancing with abandon, their bodies glowing under the ultraviolet paint. The whole chateau had transformed into this living, breathing thing—a place where the outside world didn't matter, where you could lose yourself completely.

Rose pressed a small pill into my hand. "It'll make you feel everything," she whispered with a wink.

I hesitated only for a second before swallowing it with a sip of wine. Instantly, everything heightened—the music pulsed through my body, the warmth of the fire felt more intense, every touch more vivid. Gabriel moved closer, his fingers brushing against mine as we swayed to the music. There was something magnetic about him, something that made me want to be closer. His hand found my back, pulling me in as we danced together.

The energy between us was electric, a thread that pulled tighter with each beat of the music. Rose twirled around us, her laughter ringing out as she danced in the glow of the fires. The night spun on, the festival around us blurring into a swirl of lights and colors, bodies moving together in a rhythm that felt timeless.

Time seemed to stretch and bend as we danced, everything else fading into the background. And then, before I knew it, Gabriel's lips were on mine. The world slowed down, the music fading to a distant hum as I melted into the intensity of his kiss. It was soft at first, but quickly deepened, pulling me under like a wave.

The fire between us burned brighter, his touch igniting something inside me I hadn't known was there. I felt like I was on fire, every nerve in my body alive with sensation. The world tilted, spinning faster as everything—his touch, the music, the fire, the wine—became too much. I could feel myself slipping, the edges of my vision going dark as Gabriel's voice called my name, his hand gripping mine as I fell into the void.

Then, everything went quiet. The chaos of the night faded away, leaving only darkness and the sound of my own heartbeat, echoing in the silence.