'I'm almost never serious, and I'm always too serious. Too deep, too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold-hearted. I'm like a collection of paradoxes.' ferdinand de saussure.

season 2, episode 3
ice pick

Neviah did not want to accept her new reality. She never wanted to accept Scott and his idiots into her circle, yet the three slipped their way in. Things occurred and she did as she always had, what she was taught to do. Adapt and perform.

One of the few things she learned from Calliope.

A good poker player never lets their poker face falter until the reveal. At the time her mother told her this, she didn't understand—she barely understood the concept of chess. But it made sense as she grew up without her, forced to put on a smile as people told her pitiful lies, claiming they felt sorry for her that she experienced an immense amount of loss at such a young age.

It came back to her last night. The mass funeral and announcement that Calliope Degrace up and left in grief. Neviah stood by her father, a blank slate, previously molded to fit the narrative the rest of the world was told. Adults whispered about her, judging her for her lack of emotions. Only for them to come up to her and say, "You are such a strong girl."

"You don't have to be strong," Damian told her as they neared the high school. "You went through a lot, there's no need to rush back."

For a man whose face came from a mask that his skin grew over, he managed to reveal his true self easily. Yet Neviah knew nothing of who he truly was. Her memories showed how quickly she pulled herself from him in a childish act to punish him for her mother's actions. She blamed him because she didn't know the truth. It grew worse as memories were pulled from her for triggering the spell. She always found a way to find the truth.

She was more like him than she ever wanted to be—probably for the best she took after him than the other half of her DNA. She didn't know how to face him after learning the truth. She had pushed him away; she didn't know how to pull him back. Her eyes were glued to the outside world. "I'd rather not be home alone."

"I can call out."

"And we'll inevitably become poor if neither of us get back out to the real world."

The car rolled to a stop, right in front of the school. She spared him a glance to find he was already watching her. He never pushed himself back into her life like before out of fear it would cause a ripple to begin again. He didn't need to explain it for her to understand it—she lacked the ability to tell him she understood now.

How do you communicate to someone with words that could not dare to explain the squall that swelled inside?

Memories of them before infected her mind. They plagued her dreams, taunting her of what was and could never be again. Before the rot. Before the blood. Before the fire.

He managed to look at her the same as if she never changed—was that love?

"Your new phone won't be here until later today—so, if you need anything go to Scott, or Harley, maybe Stiles, but not Malikai."

"I forgave him, dad, he's fine."

"I didn't forgive him." He jutted his head back, almost appearing disrespected.

Neviah rolled her eyes, unable to form the smile that chimed in her chest. "You'll have to or else you might need to admit me to Eichen House. I can't deal with all this without him."

He sighed. He pinched his nose bridge. Age took its toll on him—Neviah never did anything to make it any better. "Fine. Remember to meet Morell for your appointment."

The price of convincing her dad to let her go to school was a weekly visit to the school Counselor. Someone disconnected from the chaos she was brought into would do her good—or at least that was what Damian claimed. Morell couldn't tell anyone what Neviah told her—unless she deemed Neviah to be a danger to herself.

It would be good.

At least that was what she tried to convince herself.

"Be safe and keep your head up."

She refused to let her chin lower as she left her father's truck. He reluctantly let her go to school in fear of how she would handle it. Concealing her emotions from his werewolf senses was harder than she thought, but she had to have done something right—she wondered how much of her words he knew were anything but true.

Did he dance around her, waiting for her to take the lead? She remembered vaguely, standing on top of his best dress shoes, leading him into a dance. In the comfort of their own home, they put on their best clothes and danced. For what? She didn't know.

Everything used to be simple. The worst thing to happen to Neviah was falling asleep before her dad came home. She didn't need to pretend. Not to him.

Now, she had made her own one-man show. Continuously following the script someone else devised for her.

It was all the same act at school. They weren't just teenagers she was surrounded with—they were salivating animals, waiting for the second she failed to pounce. They wanted to relish in her defeat. Death to the king!

Hundreds of eyes would fall on her the moment she stepped onto the school grounds, all with the expectation that she was just another victim, she wouldn't be the same anymore.

They were right, but there was no way in hell Neviah would let them know.

She thought the weight of their eyes would get to her head, perhaps wrapped around her throat until it popped off like a Barbie doll. Yet with each new person that stopped mid-sentence, freezing in their tracks to look in her direction, she was reminded of how powerful she was as a human. Her opinion mattered to insecure teenagers and underpaid teachers. They would do anything to be in her good graces.

At that moment, she understood her mother. Having power was an exhilarating feeling that coursed through her veins. In an even shorter moment, she knew she was just like her.

Being the darkness that ruined the dance party by simply returning home. Neviah's anger had been passed down to her by her mother—most likely an endless train of being born burdened with the unsatisfactory wrath of the women before her.

Power eased it. Untouchable, unstoppable, never-ending—

Neviah nipped the thoughts in the bud, drowning them as she had.

She didn't want to be like her. Not anymore.

The crowd split as she walked through; her mary janes clicking against the vinyl flooring. She had no time to send looks of gratitude or listen to people attempting to showcase their supposed worry for her. Their words would become arrows aimed at her. Every attempt to get her to break would bring her closer to it. If she was going to pretend everything was going smoothly, she needed to ensure everything would.

Starting with missing homework that she luckily finished prior to her disappearance.

Being abandoned by her friends had its perks. Maybe she did need to speak to a professional. Here she was finding the good in being left behind. She heard somewhere that it was good to find the little joyous things in terrible moments.

She was probably just trying to rationalize her terrible coping methods.

Her locker was covered in photos of her, some with others. Notes plastered wishing her well, they covered the ones telling her to rest in peace. A very large selfie of her and Lydia in Lydia's room during the fall semester was plastered at the top, 'I miss you,' written in a pink pen in the corner.

A smile disintegrated before it could fully take form. Something grew in her throat. A photo she had never seen before was strategically placed in the center. It was taken during a lacrosse game, some distance away from her; she was distracted with Allison in the stands, smiling without a care in the world. She plucked it off the shrine to keep it as a reminder of what was. She turned it over, expecting a note much like the others.

Should have stayed dead.

Two other photos shared similar notes wishing her death, written in the same handwriting.

Wished you burned in hell.

Why'd you come back?

All three were photos with Allison. It seemed too on the nose and too direct for Allison to be the one responsible. Her idea of getting back at Lydia for kissing Scott was pairing her up with Stiles for the formal after all. The last Neviah saw of her, she was content with her. There was no reason for Allison to write death threats to her—

"Apparently, Allison's aunt kidnapped her."

"She must have asked so she could take Neviah's place."

Or maybe that was a reason.

Neviah bit down on the side of her cheek. Not Allison wanting to take Neviah's place; no, that would be absurd and deranged for a teenage girl—even for Neviah. But because Neviah blamed her aunt. The dead relative she buried while Neviah was hiding out in Derek's evil lair. Just as the whispers of Kate committing mass murder began to die down, Neviah added to the fire. Terrible timing.

"Neviah?" Stiles' eyebrows kissed as his forehead wrinkled. His confused demeanor shifted in the blink of an eye. His eyes widened as did his arms. His flannel stretched along his arms and waved as students maneuvered around him. "You-you're back!"

She looked forward and above. Letting out a shaky exhale, the thought of running back into hiding crossed her mind. Her new reality seemed as if it didn't need her to accept it to begin forcing itself upon her. The wheel wasn't hers to control, she was meant to go along with the journey—or whatever Malikai said. Calling her dad to pick her up didn't seem too bad.

"Hello, Mieczysław."

He grew closer, nearly too close for two people who were supposed to be living separate lives, unattached from the other. They were nothing to each other. Not that they ever were anything more than kids who were forced to grow up together from their parents' friendship. Young and naïve as she had always been, she thought differently. It only took Stiles shouting in her face at school for her to realize they weren't friends. They were kids who had to play nice for their parents. He had lost one and therefore lost the reason to play nice with her. She thought that spelling it out in front of him as he did to her would give him the same realization. He thought differently. He always found a way to make his way back into her life. And for some reason, she always let him.

"I thought your dad would have made you stay home longer. You were just found." He glanced around as he finished his sentence. Wondering eyes only occurred more by his weird, yet usual behavior.

"He was but I'm not sitting at home while the world goes on." Short and stiff, as if Friday night never happened. She didn't hold onto him as her world crumbled—no, she would never. And if she had, it didn't matter. He was there and willing, like at Christmas when their deal began. None of it mattered.

"How do you feel?"

Why couldn't he see that none of it mattered? He enjoyed details and being aware of everything, yet he failed to see her.

Bitterness coated her tongue. It kept her lips together and eyes unable to look at him. She handed him the photos before beginning to remove the fake sympathy decorations.

Each one torn off; she grew heavier. She needed nothing to matter. Eyes dancing upon her became noticeable. Whispers of her name, Allison's and Kate's, interweaving to form fiction. Bodies began to cluster within the halls. Air became limited. She should have stayed in the train station and waited—suffered in silence as the hours grew longer.

She accidentally crumbled the photo of her and Lydia in her fading state.

She was pulled from her mind at the sound of paper ripping. Stiles tore the pictures, letting them fall to the ground. Allison and Neviah split apart. "Fuck 'em. It's just someone trying to mess with you."

With reason.

Neviah knew the things she had done to a majority of the students at Beacon Hills. Used them, tormented them, laughed at them, and left them in the dark. There wasn't a good bone in her body—she grew out of them. Her actions were done for selfish reasons. The bad taste returned to her palate. Not just from guilt or regret, but the knowing it would all bite her in the ass soon enough. Maybe that's what she deserved. She nodded, staring at him blankly.

Somehow, he managed to close the gap between them. Leaning against her neighboring locker, he gazed directly into her eyes. "Are you sure you're okay, though? The interrogation felt real."

Her hands maneuvered to her lock, shifting her body away from Stiles. His eyes dragged across her body and face as they had when they were alone and bare. He looked at her as if he could see through her skin and spotted her structure, everything that made her. He acted as if he understood the DNA code she was written in. Disgust never once crossed his features when he looked at her like that. Only the curiosity of an infant—willing to do anything to figure out the abnormality that was Neviah Degrace. "'Cause it was. She's the reason they're all dead."

"Do-do you really need to go into your locker?"

Pausing between the third number set, she raised her eyebrow at him. His heart quickened. Blood rushed to his cheeks. "Yes, Mieczysław. Why else would I be opening it?"

His mouth widened to speak but stopped as two letters slipped out of Neviah's locker after she opened it. Harley's voice played in her head, "When was the last time you opened your locker? You should."

Neviah didn't have time to connect dots before Stiles snatched the sealed letters from the ground. "They're probably just like the others; I should throw it away."

"They were in my locker before the shrine—let me see."

"No! You shouldn't read it if its more threats."

"If."

"I'll open it."

"Let me see it, Stiles."

"I don—"

"Holy fuck! Give it."

His hazel eyes were washed away with sea foam. An arm extended towards her with the letters in a loose hold. Helpless to her voice, she made him a servant. She controlled him against his will. Guilt bubbled in her veins, striking within her heart to cause it to ache.

The moment she took them, his soft hazel eyes returned. He blinked in confusion, staring at the letters like he wanted to burn them.

Neviah placed them back into her locker to rot. She ruined everything she touched. Lilith's voice echoed in her head reminding her of that. "I didn't mean to." Returning to not looking at him, she grabbed her folder of completed work.

"What?" His nose bridge crinkled, freckles kissing freckles. He knew to some extent she had done something to him but didn't understand it.

His face contorted the way it had at Lydia's house. The corners of his lips sank, crumbling because of her. "I didn't mea—"

"Neviah Degrace to the Principal's office."

She swallowed her words and shut her locker. His eyes remained on her as she faded into the horde of students. The words clogged her throat. Sharp edges pressed against her tissue. Guilt etching into her. She didn't carry this feeling with Derek—then again, Derek most likely didn't carry any guilt for what he did to her. He understood, in some messed up way, he understood her.

A lack of control didn't excuse her behavior. But Derek understood what it felt to be a foreigner in one's own body.

Was this how Scott felt after...?

Entering the Principal's office, an old man sat in Principal Thomas' chair. He wasn't a sweet, grandfather-type of old man, but one that probably had a horrific history. Probably some war veteran who killed a bunch of people. He had the smile of someone who could hide a body and sleep peacefully that very night. It eerily reminded Neviah of Kate.

"Neviah. I was grateful to hear you were found. Though, I wasn't expecting to see you this soon?"

Her eyes narrowed, inching forward just enough for the door to close behind her. "Who are you? I was only...gone two weeks."

He smiled once more. It rubbed against her senses in the wrong way. He stood up, adjusting his cardigan sweater. "I'm sorry, I only just started but I feel at home. I'm Principal Gerard Argent." His hand held out in front of her.

That was why he reminded her of Kate. Her dad. They shared the same nose and predatory eyes.

Neviah concealed her fears in a polite smile, pulling her hands in a clasp against her abdomen. She had told the police his daughter kidnapped her after they had told the town she committed the Hale fire. A hunter, just like his children, just like Allison. It ran in their blood to demolish monsters, just as it ran in her blood to be the monster.

She wasn't safe.

His hand fell to his side.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"You don't have to lie, Neviah." His eyes trained on her as he sat back down—his prey.

She stood still, fingers curling over her hands, squeezing the life out of the digits. She refused to sit and be lower than him. Still, she was weak even above him. Nothing but a child playing a man's game.

"What my daughter did to you was traumatic, and there are no words that can express my sympathies. You've been through a lot in the past few weeks; your teachers already know to be patient with you as you try to catch up. If there is anything else, I can do for you—"

"I'll be fine."

"I had a feeling you would say that."

She needed to escape before he strung her up as a prize, or worse, kept her where she stood with his weapon pressed against her back. He could kill her in an instant. He didn't appear like the type to have mercy. Not for her. Not for monsters.

On second thought, Neviah needed to get her paranoia in check. She was a student at under his—supposed—protection.

"Excellent grades, co-captain of the swim team, well-liked by your peers." His eyebrows raised. "You must know my granddaughter, Allison."

"She's a friend." She looks at the time.

Regardless of if she was overanalyzing him or not, it didn't change who he was and what she was. One way or another, her what-ifs would become true. Damian and Derek embedded it into her brain—hunters couldn't be trusted. She would one day find herself on the other side of an Argent's weapon. "I should go to class early to see what I need to make-up."

"I hope the rest of the semester continues in your favor, Ms. Degrace."

The ability to breathe properly never came back to her as she stepped out of the room. The hallway was less congested but still suffocating. She was being dragged deeper and deeper into the water. She needed to escape for a moment. To have no eyes on her, expecting the worst out of her. No matter where she went, someone was always watching her.

Stiles believed she wasn't ready. Her father, too. Malikai would think the same. Harley would step carefully around her. Scott would be a reminder that even the good could be corrupted. And Allison...Neviah couldn't see her. Not now, preferably not any time soon.

Could she really live like this? Pretending as if she wasn't afraid of everyone that she came across in fear they were going to hunt her? Could she act as if she didn't need her friends to keep herself from the supernatural world?

She was born into it after all. It was in her blood. Every fiber of her crafted to be a monster.

"It's like you're immune."

Her eyes snapped down the hall to Jackson. His frame towered over something—someone. Neviah went closer, stepping slowly. Strawberry blonde hair peaked out. The feeling of fear nearly toppled Neviah over. It distracted her from hearing what Lydia said.

"Whatever soul-killing substance is running through your veins—you did this to me. You ruined it. You ruin everything!"

Jackson turned; anger written all over his face. His feature contorted under his own turpitude—filled with false godhood. He faltered at the sight of Neviah. A second of eye contact before he continued forward like she didn't exist.

It didn't upset her; it was Jackson after all. She could live without him caring about her. She made him who he was now. The only reason Lydia decided to date him was because Neviah set him in place to mend her broken heart from her previous relationship. He wanted power and would do anything for it—it was entertaining to watch him strive for it as if it wasn't handed directly to him.

He thought too highly of himself, and Neviah's disappearance allowed him to think even higher.

She could have easily acted to remind him of his place. Instead, her body and emotions worked before her logic and desire could.

Her arm linked with Lydia, whose teary eyes could not tear from Neviah.

"Walk and hold it in." She swayed her curls, tilting her head high as they walked to the bathroom.

Lydia entered first, a wave of emotions hitting her in the gut. Her face crumbled. A gasped for air tore through her lungs. Tears stung her eyes until it nearly matched her hair.

Neviah locked the door. She turned and Lydia latched onto her. Her arms wrapped around Neviah's waist as tears flowed down her face.

Neviah's hand hovered over Lydia's back. She let it drop, finding herself hugging Lydia back. It felt...right. At least this time they were both sober and could remember it. But this wasn't like the last time. It wasn't a monster that attacked her—it was Jackson yelling at her. Just a boy. Nothing important. Nothing Neviah couldn't handle. Nothing that would destroy Lydia Martin. Even if she, for some reason, viewed Jackson as if he brought air to her lungs, the air would still exist without him.

"What he'd do to you?" Neviah asked, pulling away to get a good look at Lydia. Flushed red in her skin and eyes. She didn't appear to be harmed in any way physically.

Lydia shook her head, sniffling. "It's not—Jackson didn't do anything besides be Jackson." She flailed her arms in her green dress. It constrained her, she struggled to find her breathe. "Life has been hell. I get hospitalized with a bite, I go missing, you...you went missing." She said it as if she was grieving. Neviah bit her lip. She wasn't told any of this. "They called it a fugue state. What'd they say happen to you?"

Neviah pursed her lips, crossing her arms. Her eyes wandered the room. Three weeks prior, she stood similarly to Lydia, in a daze and corrupted by emotions dealt by a boy who thought he could have it all. "Kidnapped, actually."

She stared at Neviah as if the world stopped. And Neviah hated it. The pity, sympathy, all of it. But she allowed it for Lydia at least. She was bitten, maybe she could understand Neviah then. A sudden change in life. Everything flipped on its head.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." She wanted to ask Lydia more but knew it wasn't the time. "It happened, it's over. I'm still alive."

Lydia's face scrunched up. Words sunk on the tongue. Its weight contorted her face—conflicted, disturbed.

It was easy to ignore problems. It allowed for the inner turmoil that had a tendency to rot to be eradicated. Distracts were accessible everywhere you went. No problem could be inescapable.

Except this one it seemed.

Neviah knew that look on Lydia's face. It was sadness for Neviah. A worse cousin to pity. You pity someone when they cannot escape their suffering.

You feel sad for someone when you know they chose to rest with their pain.

"Can I just be alone...?"

Neviah nodded, slipping out the door. She leaned against it and heard Lydia break down. She didn't know how to help, not in the way that counted. She could distract and make her forget it for a brief moment in time, but Neviah had lost the ability to be a shoulder to cry into. The words to comfort were eradicated from her vocabulary. She was meant to fix things by hand, and this wasn't something she could mend.

She could break Jackson if Lydia wished. There was this gnawing desire to want Lydia to ask for help. To plead to the sky above for a savior—a cataclysmic being to ruin Jackson as he ruined her.

Bitterness coated her tongue.

༻❁༺

TW//Self-Harm

Neviah kept to herself in her classes. Dealing with teachers' sympathies—not Mr. Harris—and surprised reactions when she pulled out finished textbook work. Mr. Harris was the only teacher who didn't accept the work. Typical of him. There weren't any assignments in her folder he had assigned yet. He apparently delved outside of the textbook—the very textbook he spent ten minutes declaring would be the only place their homework would be. Neviah reluctantly let it go—he couldn't let her missing work impact her grade because of Gerard.

She knew the contents they went over in his absence. She would still manage to excel in the one thing that she could control.

The bell rang, signaling for the first lunch group to go. Neviah left her class to search for Malikai. Harris' eyes also kept her from speaking to him in second period. Third period was no better. She had no one. No one to free her from the burning eyes on the back of her head. The whispers grew louder. She felt each syllable be produced in the larynx.

None of it ceased.

She could hear the rumors swirling in each classroom on the History hallway. Her name thrown around, becoming a common sound. They dissected her name—one of the few things that was hers—and built a fantasy to belittle her.

Pathetic. That is what they called her. The King had become a pathetic kidnapped victim.

She wished the story was true. It was better than diverging from humanity to become a creature of blood.

"I hate gossip. Especially when it's false, like you think about me that much you have to make something up?"

Neviah did a 180 to find the source. A blonde girl, sporting a leather jacket over a white shirt and a very short skirt. A bright red lip that illuminated her white smile. If Neviah wasn't herself, she would think it was an entirely new person who thought they could speak to anyone.

But Neviah wasn't stupid.

"Erica. You look good. Finally learned how to use make-up?"

Erica Reyes shrugged with a smirk. Her life relit and drenched with purpose. "I took your tips and your friend Derek's offer. Life changing."

There were very few people Neviah pitied. Many people could fix their situation if they truly wanted to—most chose to mope and whine instead of taking action. However, there were always people who simply couldn't for reasons Neviah was grateful she never had to deal with. When Neviah relearned about the supernatural world, she saw how it could be a blessing instead of the curse she was given. Perhaps she did have a nice bone somewhere out of 206. Most likely small, but still there.

Isaac was an easy first choice. She knew of his abuse. He begged her not to tell anyone after their third tutoring session was turned into an interrogation over his bruises. She knew better than to pry but once she began to observe, the dots drew themselves together. She knew he had no one left, that was the only reason she listened to him. Dead mother, dead brother. No distant relatives. If his dad was arrested, he would be placed in the foster system and would never be seen again. And Neviah quite liked his face and humor.

Her second choice wasn't difficult either.

Neviah wasn't the best person in the world, but she didn't see herself as the worst. Someone like Blake Neuman, who recorded a poor girl during her epileptic seizure, laughing at her and putting something in her mouth, was nearly number one for worst person ever. He thought it was incredibly funny to spread the video online. And Neviah thought it was even more hilarious when he was nearly sued for gross negligence. If only Erica had gone through with it, then Blake would have had to face more trouble than moving states.

She couldn't fix Erica nor aid her in a way that would save her from life's unfair hand. Nearly fifteen at the time, all Neviah could offer were make-up tips and the possibility of finding someone to fight her battles.

"Isn't the gossip annoying, though?"

"Incredibly." Neviah crossed her arms. "Is there something you need?"

Erica smirked, leaning against the lockers. Her eyes steady on Neviah—a complete metamorphosis from months prior; she could barely maintain eye contact with the Degrace. "Derek's willing to let you come back. He's growing a pack, and he needs people he can trust." Erica moved closer. Her new ego matched Jackson's. "And I think you'd have a better chance with us than that little hunter girl."

"You've been a werewolf a day and think you know it all?"

A smile blossomed from her smirk. Genuine. Somehow, more frightening. "No, but I know Neviah Degrace. She hates to be seen as weak."

"Very cute. Now, I have to go to lunch." She spun on her heels, letting her arms fall to her sides.

At fourteen, Neviah's kind bone hadn't been shaved down to the size it was now. She hadn't learned to fill in the cracks in her masks yet, only learned to distract herself with long make-out sessions, never anything more. Letting Erica see her cracks was an act of kindness she shouldn't have spared her.

"The offer still stands! You shouldn't hide from what we are."

She kept her head forward, resisting the urge to look back at Erica and give her satisfaction. People were easy to read once you found their cracks. Patching them with gold made them visible but nearly impenetrable. Nearly.

Nothing could stay strong forever. Something would find a way in. Foundations begin to rot. Mold will grow where life ceases. It will consume until there is nothing left. Neviah was beginning to believe there was very little left of her—the girl before the fire.

The girl who had the kindness to share.

Neviah wondered if she could find her again. Was it worth it? Would anyone let her be that girl again?

She wasn't worth anything besides a pretty smile and naivety. Derek didn't want her back for those qualities. He wanted her power.

That was all she was good for, right?

The qualities she had forced upon herself in loneliness. Knowledge had always consumed her. The need to continuously be aware was a requirement of her life—like being able to breath. She let it lead her to her death.

She let herself be used to feel seen.

Entering the lunchroom, she spotted Malikai immediately. Not in their typical spot. No—he sat at Scott's table. Neviah shoved down her judgmental thoughts. "Can we talk?"

His idea of talk didn't match hers. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you—is that not obvious enough?"

"I meant at school, Nav, what are you doing here?"

She reluctantly sat down in front of him, signing her life away to be officially associated with Scott and his friends forever. Squeezing her eyes shut, she had to remind herself that there were bigger things than that now. "My dad took the burner phone Derek got me, I'm in oblivion while you guys live your lives."

"I'd rather be doing whatever you were doing than dealing with school."

"Well, I'd rather be here than learn that if I don't learn how to regulate my anger, I'll turn into my murderous mother."

"Oh," Harley dragged out, holding her tray. Scott stood next to her, unsure what to do or say. He clutched his lunch tray with wide eyes.

Neviah huffed, straightening her posture. "Stop staring like that. Sit down."

They listen. Scott sat next to Malikai, while Harley sat next to Neviah. Scott's puppy dog eyes were deep with pity. Harley on the other hand had some idea of what Neviah preferred. She plucked a fry and plopped it into her mouth, masking the emotions. It didn't stop Neviah from being overwhelmed by the sensations of Harley's feelings.

"Ho-are you doing okay?" Scott asked. A second later, he yelped as Harley's boot dug into his shin. "I'm sorry about that day by the way. I shouldn't have—"

"Whatever," she swallowed down, popping her knucles.

None of it mattered. Hunters littered their town. Their lives were in constant danger. Neviah murdered two people. Jackson Whitmore believed he was God. There were more important things Neviah needed to focus on than Scott's moon‐influenced behavior.

What exactly? She didn't know.

Preferably anything that would make the incessant chatter stop.

"I forgive you."

"Are you okay, though?"

"Define okay."

"Well suited to be back in school where you're being gawked at like a zoo animal?" Stiles asked, taking a seat on the other side of Neviah.

Not an ounce of anger, sadness, or blame reverberated off his body. He looked at her without a second thought of their interaction prior. He looked at her as he always had—something that she didn't understand.

Her body stiffened. "No, but I don't think anyone is ever okay enough to do that."

Malikai leaned forward, focusing on Neviah. "What'd you wanna talk about?"

She glanced at the three idiots. This wasn't her accepting the new changes. This was her adapting in order to learn to better ignore it. If she could understand everything that occurred beneath her nose, she could learn how to adapt. She could become her again.

Whatever that meant.

"Everything. How you got bit," she pointed to Scott, "how you're involved in Derek's shit," she pointed to Mal, "how you all able to act like everything normal?"

"Answers to questions one and two, Peter Hale." Unlike the weeks prior when Mal had to withhold information from her, he spoke with ease. A weight lifted from his shoulders—he could finally talk to her like normal. His normal. This was anything but her normal. "The answer to question three is because Peter Hale is dead.

"It's hard at first, Neviah," Scott added, giving her a smile. "Trust me, I get it. We can help you get used to it."

"Yeah, like how Stiles and I pelted Scott with lacrosse balls to help him control his anger."

Scott gave Harley a look. "Not what I was going for."

"It's easier to adjust to it when you still do things you used to do," Stiles brought up, ignoring Harley. He smiled at Neviah—how could he smile at her? "Like coming with us to the ice rink tonight. You used to skate."

Neviah grimaced. Her skin no longer felt her own. It never truly had. She cracked her knuckles. "When I was eight."

"I'm sure they have the baby rails to help." He beamed at her, forgetting all the bad she had done to him.

It was all she could think about.

Why couldn't he just hate her like everyone else on the rotten planet? He did it once, why not let it return? There were reasons upon reasons to hate her. She gave them out like an exhale. Only overbearing sympathy washed out the hate—Scott and Harley were perfect examples. Only ignorance blinded the hate—

Why did she care so much that he couldn't hate her?

"You got the keys?" Mal asked, pulling the attention from Neviah.

He gave her a sparing glance toward her hands. Her knuckles popped under the pressure of her thumbs—a continuous loop. The sound never ceased. Her knuckles continued to pop every time. She pressed once more, watching the involuntary movement.

Her bones snapped above the knuckles. It shifted beneath her muscles and skin then migrated back into place. Every cell regenerated to mend the broken bone. She felt tendrils binding as once, reuniting what she broke.

"Yes, I'll pick you up after work," Stiles told Scott. He shifted his eyes to Neviah. "You meet us at the rink, cool?"

Say no. Say no. Say no.

Nothing came out of her mouth. Nothing could.

Not as the lunchroom grew silent and eyes were drawn to a figure strutting through.

Erica. She smirked at Neviah, waving at her. Deliberately making a move for Derek. She wanted to force Neviah's hand to resign.

The lunchroom split their gaze between the two. Stiles burned holes into the side of Neviah's head. His tongue infested with questions. Not a single one was released.

Power rose to Erica's head—she wanted to see how far she could push it. She wanted to see how far she could push Neviah. She bent down, taking a boy's apple before departing, ensuring to give Neviah one last look to lure her to follow.

Neviah snapped her pointer finger.

"What the holy hell is that?" Lydia asked, planting her palms on the table to stabilize her and her mind from a shift in the school.

None of the teenagers answered. Instead, the boys simultaneously rose and went after Erica. Neviah and Harley stayed for a moment for different reasons.

Neviah couldn't find it in her to stand up. Her legs were inoperable. An incessant noise urged her to break every bone in her body. Fingers to her arms to her ribcage to every vertebra that ran down her spine. She deserved it, did she not?

Not even then would it absolve her.

"What's going on?"

Oblivious to it all, whatever happened to Lydia, it did not bring her into the know.

Harley shook her head at Neviah to confirm it. They wanted her to isolate Lydia as they did her. What good would that bring? They didn't see the way Lydia broke down over the supernatural that overstepped the line to torment her. They didn't believe Lydia could be ruined by it.

Harley nearly snapped her neck at the swift, single shake she gave Neviah as the girl opened her mouth.

Lydia caught it. She narrowed her eyes, beginning to part her lips—

"We're going ice skating tonight and you're coming, Lydia," Neviah stated, tilting her head with a weak smile.

Something dissolved in Lydia. The barriers she built perfectly to guard herself from her pawns. She allowed it to fall. Her eyes drifted to Harley. "Fine."

Without another word, Harley grabbed Neviah by the elbow. She glossed over Neviah's dramatic complaints about it hurting. She hissed quietly as they exited the cafeteria, "Why did she wave at you?"

"Because I'm me—I don't know."

"You suck at lying under pressure."

"You suck in general." Neviah yanked her limb from Harley, scowling at the shorter girl.

They exited the school to find the trio gawking at Erica as she entered Derek's car. She winked at them, crouching to enter the car. Neviah didn't give Erica the attention she craved—her eyes glued onto Derek.

Derek's eyes were already on Neviah. Calling for her without words. He knew she would be desperate for the first rescue sign to get her out of the hellscape that was high school. She would crumble at the first person who actually noticed the internal catastrophe that squirmed and squeaked to wreak havoc.

Everyone saw it. Not her, no—they saw the silent conversation between Derek and Neviah. They all watched her to see what move she would dare to make. A King had the final say in war—

No. Neviah was no King in this game. This was a game she lacked understanding of. A King knew the ins and out of their domain. She was just cannon fodder. What was the purpose? Why were there sides? What was the end goal? Could there ever be a winner?

None of them seemed to know.

They were all players, forced into it by the laws of nature. Each capable of doing things that Neviah thought were fiction just weeks ago. Human expectations and rules were crossed long ago. A game based on the rules of nature. Some gripped at their strands of humanity while others accepted the otherworldly order.

They watched her as if she was one of them—a werewolf or human. The choice lay there. The decision to accept the new reality or drown in the pretenses of their human history.

But she wasn't like them.

She was a murderous player with abilities beyond their capabilities. Her ignorance be damned—Peter forced her transition for the power she contained.

Of fucking course, they all waited for her.

She turned on her heels and returned to the school.

Power surged through her blood, a blessing and a curse from both parental genes. The daughter of a siren and a Banks Alpha. Her family held the upper hand across the West Coast for decades. Her mother...Everything that made Neviah—all the horrid and disorder—made her into a weapon.

Blood soaked her teeth, staining her skin, and piled beneath her fingernails. She would create nothing less than calamity. And everyone expected her to.

With every step she took, the four radiated an anxious cloud of poison. They followed behind her. All talking at once to form some idea of what just occurred. They bound together based on the thin line they fell over, entering the supernatural world. Their lives were not their own.

Neviah knew she was just a naïve, lost girl with disastrous powers. That was how Peter saw her. That was how Derek saw her. They were right. She was not like them; this was not the world she was used to—but it was hers now.

They saw her for the ticking time bomb she tried meticulously to conceal. Everyone saw her for the broken mess she was.

"You can't help him," Scott instructed, forcing the group to stop in the middle of the hall. Neviah paused in her treks. Her eyes remained on the empty hallway ahead. "Either of you."

"I'm not helping him," Malikai countered, rolling his eyes at Scott's attempt to grab the reins.

Malikai concealed his lack of information with arrogance. It was all he knew how to do. Neviah could sense every sinew that trembled beneath his anxiety. The hairs on his skin rose—she felt the chill race down his spine.

Just a player.

Backing up his best friend, Stiles narrowed his eyes and put his hands on his hips. "Helping Isaac is helping him."

Neviah's heart seized. Isaac, the one stuck in the dark, desolate train station. He was a wanted fugitive. His life was stripped from him because they had to help him escape jail on the full moon or else he would have been charged with actual murder. No wonder Derek sought Erica out so soon. He needed eyes on Scott and his friends. He needed someone to get Neviah.

He needed her.

Her destruction. Her ignorance. Her desires. Her fears.

"Isaac doesn't know what he's getting himself into. Neither does Erica," Malikai defended.

"Do anyone of us really know what we've gotten ourselves into? Why are we dividing ourselves when we can help each other?" Harley asked, cracking her knuckles. She refused to stay still in her spot. She fidgeted worse than Stiles. Her anxiety rippled in waves that nearly consumed Neviah.

"You're blinded by nostalgia, sweetheart," Stiles stated. He earned a smack on the arm for that.

"Neviah," Scott called, pulling the girl back to them. His fingers grazed her bare arm. The atoms that made them collided for the first time since he forced himself onto her. She flinched.

Everyone noticed.

She met his eyes. She refused to look anywhere else. Big dark eyes clouded with emotions that begged her not to go with Derek. She didn't see the boy she grew up next door to. She saw the monster inside of him—the one they shared, forced upon them by the same man.

How much of the enhanced aspects remained the person they were before? How much of them had mutated into the beast that resided inside? The blood lust came from somewhere. Was the violence always theirs or were they able to blame it on their circumstances?

He retracted his hand, gluing it to his side. "You can't help him."

Scott didn't know Neviah. He didn't know anything more than what the rest of them did. None of them knew her. Not even herself.

And maybe that was the issue.

She may not have been born to destroy but she molded herself to do so. She carved her path of the pain and suffering of others to keep herself from falling with them. Stepping on the hands of anyone and everyone, she dug knives into their backs to help her rise. Being murdered showed her that she hadn't climbed to the peak but demolished her way to ever try again.

It was in her blood, written in her destiny.

On the rocky bottom she fell to, she laid her head and found peace in the soulless depths. Never to fall again. Never cause ruin again. Never to be expected to be more than the carrion that stole the warmth of hellfire beneath bedrock.

Nothing could absolve her. Nothing could correct her wrong. Nothing could save her from her mother's DNA.

She was her mother's daughter, and that was all she would ever be.

"I don't need your moral compass to make my own choices." 

As I grow older and continue to write about teenagers in dangerous situations, I actually get so sad. When I started this fic, I intended to write Neviah with mental problems but due to being the same age and viewing her as this "powerful character" I looked over the fact that she's (and all the others) are just kids. While I still plan on writing Neviah's mental issues, I plan to delve further into it than I originally wanted. The same with the other characters cause what do you mean they only ever used mental illness and disorder as a means of moving the plot forward after season 2 then brushed over it??

Lydia definitely should've been more afraid of the supernatural world after everything she went through. Liam's I.E.D. should've had more time before they decided to basically write it off. All of these kids should have had PTSD. But I digress.

I still very much want Neviah to learn to accept her siren side as hers rather than as a curse from her mother, but she needs many more strenuous events and several therapy sessions to get to that point. 

I hope it doesn't come off as annoying or dragging this plotline! I know it can get a wee bit annoying to continuously read a character with self-deprecating thoughts and other notions like that. But it is all done for a reason! 

And that reason is that I'm sick of the murderous, badass teenaged OC without any guilt or side effects of their actions trope that has been around for years. 

In any other circumstances, like an apocalyptic setting, it can sort of work (heavy on the sort of) due to the need of survival. But Teen Wolf is set in a modern time where supernaturals are simply an addition to the regular world. These are kids fighting other kids, being used by adults, being forced to fight for their lives then return to class the next day. They are not gonna be as mentally stable as the show portrayed them. 

Okay, rant over!

I truly hope you enjoyed. I apologize for the wait; I'm trying to find time for all my works, university, and personal projects so please be understanding. 

With that being said, please share your thoughts, theories, ideas, comments, or literally anything! They motivate me a lot. Like what do you mean people actually read my little stories??

Thank you <3

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