"𝒾 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝓁ℴ𝒸𝓀 𝓂ℯ ℴ𝓊𝓉"

𝘛𝘞: 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮

By definition, a nightmare is a dream that evokes intense emotions of unease, paralysing fear, and distress. The terror of the dream sinks into the bones of the person experiencing it, and it can create a permanent irrational or rational fear based on the subject matter. Traditionally, a nightmare is said to be created by a mythological, supernatural demon or spirit that plagues its victim with emotional torment and abuse whilst they sleep. Sleep paralysis is a little different. For some, they can wake up after a dream and are unable to move a muscle or talk; their body is completely paralysed. Their mind can wake up before their body does, so for a few seconds they're aware that they can't move. Stiles Stilinski would say that's what the most terrifying part is. For others, they're aware that they're dreaming, however, they can't remove themselves from the dream nor wake themselves up from it.

Ophelia Stone would tell you that her hellish nightmares and sleep paralysis over the last three weeks have been specifically caused by something she quite likes to refer to as the 'biggest bastard to ever exist.' In other words, the permanent darkness that remains inhabiting her body and mind. Whether it's a demon or not, she doesn't know. What she does know, is that the dreams she has been having are affecting her day-to-day life so much that she doesn't know how much longer she'll be able to keep powering forward and brushing them to the side.

It reminds her of the curse Niklaus once told her was placed on him after killing multiple supernaturally gifted vampire hunters. He was given hallucinations for more than fifty years, the goal to eventually drive him to insanity and take his own life. Right now, Ophelia feels like she's losing her damn mind, just like her older brother once was. She's struggling to differentiate what is reality and what is a dreamscape. That's what scares her shitless. Maybe she already has lost her mind.

"Fuck!"

Noah Stilinski's eyebrows raise as he turns the corner into his kitchen and spots the teenage girl at his stove turning over rashes of bacon. "Language," he scolds. Her long-sleeved shirt is alight with flames, and he winces as she speeds over to the sink to run water onto the burning fabric.

Ophelia sighs heavily in disappointment as she examines the now charred sleeve of her shirt that was far too expensive and switches the tap off as she spares a glance at the man. "English," she replies.

The older Stilinski runs a hand down the side of his face in exasperation. "You know what, I can make breakfast if you-"

"Sheriff, I'm immortal, m'kay? A few minor burns from this bloody thing won't ruin the eggs." She isn't aware of the look of disbelief he gives her at the use of 'minor.' "Plus, you asked me to come over so it would just be plain rude to get you to finish what I offered to do."

He nods in defeat at her persistence and grabs a coffee cup calling out his name, already filled up to the brim with the caffeinated drink. "Fine. But if you burn my house down-"

"I buy you a new one. Got it." Ophelia glances over her shoulder to give him a beaming smile.

Due to having yet another night of no sleep, literally no sleep, the girl had been awake to answer the distressed phone call from Noah Stilinski at five in the morning explaining that her best friend had just experienced one of his own nightmares, waking up screaming and clutching onto his father for dear life. She had been asked if she could come round, so she suggested that she would make breakfast for the father and son, and then take Stiles to school afterward. Her presence always somehow managed to calm the teenage boy down, so, naturally, Ophelia had been the first person the Sheriff had called.

"Hey, Dad, where did..." Stiles trails off as he enters the room, his eyes immediately finding the figure of his friend with her back turned to him. Ophelia refrains her pleased smile as she silently takes notice of how drastically his demeanour changes upon seeing her: his chemo-signals are no longer flooding with stress, and his heartbeat has evened out. "Oh, hi, Fi, what are you doing here?"

She finally turns the gas to the stove off and begins to serve out the eggs and bacon onto the waiting plates. "Hi! I decided to make breakfast for you."

Peering over with curious eyes, Stiles' small smile suddenly drops as he gets a look at said breakfast. "Um," he begins hesitantly. "You know, the bacon look-" He stops himself short when his father waves frantically at him out of the eyes of the girl, pleading him to stop talking. After all, Noah had been present to see just how excited she had been at the prospect of helping out.

"Hm?"

"Oh, no, nothing. I was just gonna say how good it looks," Stiles corrects himself quickly.

The two males are given two plates of steaming hot food on the table in front of them, and their reactions are almost identical. Ophelia folds her arms over her chest as she waits for one of them to cut into the meal. Noah plasters on a smile for her as he reluctantly cuts into the bacon that is obsidian black and raises his fork to her. "Cheers." As soon as he swallows it, he coughs a few times, although he makes it out to be that something had lodged into his throat.

Her eyes narrow as she turns to Stiles. "Well?"

Looking down at the pile of food, the boy blanches at the prospect of stomaching the eggs that appear to be mush. Swallowing thickly, Stiles smiles at her. "Thanks." Like his father, he coughs. "Jesus. Little heavy on the sugar, Fi."

Her expression is one of confusion. "Sugar? I didn't put any-" Ophelia's lips part in realisation. "Oh, I thought it was salt..." She gestures to the pancakes that are placed on the side. "Try those! See, they're meant to have sugar."

A single bite is enough for them both to gag in repugnance. "One of the ingredients must've expired, don't worry," the Sheriff tries to reassure. Stiles winces and braces himself for a violent reaction from her, maybe something like punching through a wall... Or two.

Finally, Ophelia has enough of trying to hold in her true emotions. She bursts into laughter.  "I can't believe you really ate it," she states in disbelief, her eyes watering from tears due to the endless stream of giggles leaving her lips. "I-I can't cook for shit!"

Stiles blinks. "You're hilarious," he deadpans.

"I know."

"It was very sarcastic."

"Well, I thought it was funny."

Rolling his eyes at the teenagers, Noah stands up from the table. "Right, you kids need to get to school." He looks to his son as he asks, "Are you sure you're okay?"

Stiles nods. "Yeah." His father furrows his eyebrows in concern. "Dad, seriously, I'm fine. It was just a nightmare."

Ophelia frowns when she hears his heart blip, but it shouldn't surprise her. This isn't the first time this month Noah Stilinski had called her after waking up to his son screaming. As obvious as it is that Stiles isn't okay, she knows that it's his personality to bury his feelings down to avoid burdening someone else with them. In a way, he reminds her of herself. "C'mon, we can stop somewhere for proper food on the way," she tells her best friend with a soft smile.

Stiles pushes his chair back to grab his backpack on the floor and notices the cardboard box on the kitchen bench that his dad is going to pick up. "Hey, what's that?"

The eldest glances down to it. "That's just, uh, files from the office," he responds with a slight shake of his head.

Ophelia's lips lift into an amused smile as her eyes find the bright yellow tape. "Did you somehow happen to not notice the giant warning?"

Stiles nods at her and points a finger to the front of the box. "Yeah, it says 'Sheriff's station, do not remove.'"

"In bold," she adds.

"Well, yeah, unless you're the Sheriff!"

"Oh..."

"Have a good day, you two."

As the front door closes, Stiles turns around to grab onto his textbook on the table to stuff into his bag. However, he hesitates, and it's something Ophelia doesn't miss. She watches his eyes skim repeatedly over the title of the book, like he's having trouble understanding what it's saying. "Hey," she calls out. "Stiles," she repeats when he doesn't answer her.

His head snaps up to meet her concerned gaze. "Y-yeah? Sorry."

"Don't apologise," she tells him sternly. Her voice softens as she adds, "Are you okay?" His lips purse as he debates on what to say to her. "You know you can tell me anything, yeah? I'm literally the least judgmental person on this planet. Actually, that's not true- I'm losing focus."

He gives her a weak smile and looks back down to the book. His eyebrows knit together subtly, but she notices his shoulders drop slightly out of relief. He's obviously experiencing something that she can't see. "I... No," he whispers. "I couldn't read the title; it was just jumbled letters."

Ophelia nods. "Yeah, I had a feeling you weren't." She gently pries the book out of his hands and takes it over to his backpack. "I think you, Scott, and I need to have a talk. A proper talk."

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

"You know, just because someone doesn't smile back at you, you don't have to punch them," Stiles comments, his voice muffled from his mouth full of a buttery croissant.

Ophelia's eyes narrow but she doesn't bother to spare the boy a glance. "You get pastry in my car, I'll punch you instead."

He nods slowly and swallows his breakfast. "Let's try something. There are ten kids and seven chairs, what do you do?"

Without a second of hesitation, "Kill three."

The boy's eyes widen as he turns in his seat to stare at her in incredulity. "Fuck. Okay, a man walks into a bar-"

"Kill him."

His head leans back onto the headrest of the passenger seat, and he lets out of a breath of air. "You're insane," he states. "You're clinically insane."

Ophelia hums. "I wouldn't go that far, but yes, I don't have much sanity left over." She giggles as her friend begins to mumble a mix of profanities and incredulous statements to himself. Her fingers tap mindlessly along the steering wheel as she presses her foot a little firmer on the gas pedal, revelling in the way the wind whips through her straightened hair. The piece of bubble-gum in her mouth pops quietly, the confectionary being a way to keep her grounded to reality.

The vehicle falls into a comfortable silence except for the low background sound of the local radio station playing through the speakers, and both teenagers find themselves returning to the thoughts of their own mental states. Sure, they had been warned of the potential risks of sacrificing themselves a month ago, and at the time Ophelia didn't give a shit if something might happen to her. All she could think about was the wellbeing of her brother, and she didn't regret anything at all. It just would've been a little nice if they could've possibly, maybe, potentially, gotten a little information about what those risks might be instead of a vague, 'darkness around your heart.'

Even if she hadn't talked specifically with her two friends about their own personal experiences and what they might each be going through in detail, if they're going through something like what she currently is, they all need some help. The first (and preferable) option would be Deaton. Surely the veterinarian would have-

Ophelia's eyes squint slightly as she leans closer to the windshield, trying to get a better look at what is getting closer as they speed along the road. Stiles furrows his eyebrows as he glances at her, puzzled as to what she might be trying to see.

Lying flat on the tarmac is something that appears to be a body. It's far too large to be an animal, so it must be human. Their dark clothes and leather jacket help to blend into the surface of the road, making it difficult to spot them. Which means that Ophelia realises that a living person is obstructing her from driving any further at far too late of a time.

Quickly, her hands tighten on the leather of the wheel, and she jerks it to the side, causing the car to veer off the road. "Fi!" Stiles yells in alarm, his eyes wide in horror as they begin to head straight toward a tree. It reminds him of his crash a few weeks earlier. He doesn't know what had suddenly caused the change in her behaviour, but he manages to grab onto the wheel and manoeuvre the vehicle safely back onto the road. Running a hand through his hair, he makes sure his friend has control of her car again before letting himself question what had just happened. "What the fuck? What was it? Are you okay? Do you want me to drive the rest of the way?"

Heavy breathes exhale out of her lips, and Ophelia's Doc Marten slams onto the brake once she centres herself. The girl doesn't register Stiles' voice raising at her in concern as she yanks off her seatbelt and hauls herself out of the car. Her head whips around frantically as she tries to find the body situated further back, and once she lays eyes on him, her heart begins to pound a little faster. Now standing upright, roughly fifty metres back, stares a man with inky black hair and piercing ocean eyes that she would recognise anywhere.

Because he still haunts her dreams.

As soon as they lock eyes, those once blue irises begin to transform into something that mimics Ophelia's vampiric features. His lips curl up into a smirk, and his entire body language screams of danger. She watches the dark veins trail down his cheeks and suddenly everything begins to fade away. Her heart now sounds like it's in her ears, and she feels like her knees are about to give out.

Watching his best friend quickly emotionally deteriorate floods Stiles with a level of protectiveness that he doesn't feel very often. He rushes over to her and grabs onto her arms gently whilst searching to find what had been the trigger of the incoming panic attack. "Hey, Fi," he calls out. Her glowing eyes snap over to his and he dryly swallows. She won't hurt him. "Hey, hi," he speaks softly. "Can you tell me five things you can see?"

A small part of her brain registers what he's trying to do, although it takes another two times for the question to be asked for her to give an answer. "I-I, um, you," she starts, stuttering out her words as she stares into his hazel eyes. "My car, r-the road, trees." Her head swivels back into the direction where the vampire had been standing. He's gone. Ophelia's eyes close as a small wave of relief moves across her body, and she inhales a shaky breath through her nose. "Houses."

"Yeah, that's good," Stiles praises. "Four things you can touch?"

Her arm shifts slightly in his grip. "You, the ground." Another uneven breath. "Jeans... Hair."

"Three things you can hear?"

"Your voice. Birds..." Another breath. "Heart."

"Okay, and two things you can smell?"

Ophelia shuts her eyes. "Petrol, and your blood." When she looks at him again, her lips lift into a weak, thankful smile. "Thank you," she whispers.

Stiles nods and tries to return the smile. "It's all good." He looks behind to where they had been travelling from before. "Why did we almost crash?" The girl exhales and she tries to walk back to the driver's seat, only for Stiles to stand in front of her, give her a pointed look, then gesture around to the passenger side. "No, I'm driving. Get in."

His tone leaves no room for rebuttal. Ophelia huffs a sigh but follows the instruction nonetheless. When the car begins to slowly pick up speed again, she clears her throat. "I just- I thought I saw someone back there."

"There was no one there," Stiles says. "Promise. The road was empty." He hesitates. "Who did you see?"

Her jaw clenches as the image of his glowing eyes and that sinister smile returns to her mind. "Someone I thought I killed a while ago," she answers.

"Okay, well, the last time I checked, when you kill someone, they normally stay dead."

Ophelia makes a quiet noise in the back of her throat in agreement. "Are you sure you didn't see anyone there?"

He nods confidently. "One-hundred percent sure." She falls silent. "Yeah, I definitely think we need to have a talk with Scott," he concludes grimly.

The rest of the ride to the high school is silent until they arrive. Debating about where in Beacon Hills sells the best croissants, Stiles and Ophelia begin the walk up to the school's building. Almost in sync, they both stop talking once they find the familiar figure of their best friend running frantically down the stairs, turning around every other second in panic.

Sharing a look in concern, they jog toward Scott and Stiles grabs onto his arms. "Hey! Hey, are you all right?"

The True Alpha pants heavily as he glances between his friends and Stiles slowly removes his hands. Ophelia purses her lips when Scott nods his head to the question, and she continues to listen to his heart thud rapidly in her ears. "I'm no psychologist, but I'm gonna say you're not," she counters.

"I'm okay," Scott says, trying to convince both them and himself.

"No, you're not," Stiles argues back with a shake of his head. "It's happening to you too." He looks over to Ophelia as he thinks about how she had claimed that she had seen someone in the road. "You're seeing things, aren't you?"

Scott's eyebrows furrow in surprise. "How'd you know?"

She sighs and shifts the strap of her shoulder bag. "'Cause it's happening to all of us."

Running into Lydia and Allison on the way to their lockers meant that both girls immediately noticed something was wrong. Which then lead to a serious discussion about the side effects the three teenagers were receiving from the Nemeton. Sure, Lydia knew that her best friend was struggling with something, something that she knew was related to the ritual, however, she was in the dark for majority of the details; just like everybody else. Ophelia Stone is the type of person that worries about her limited friends before herself. Which means that similar to Stiles, she doesn't worry much about herself at all.

As she opens the double doors, Lydia sighs to herself in something that resembles satisfaction. "Well, well, look who's no longer the crazy one."

Allison rolls her eyes and shares a look with Ophelia, both girls mirroring one another's unamused expression. "They're not crazy," the brunette defends.

"Thank you!" Ophelia exclaims.

Lydia halts and spins on her heels to look pointedly at her friends behind her. "Hallucinating? Sleep paralysis? Yeah, you guys are fine."

"We did die and come back to life..." Scott does his best to provide a realistic explanation. "That's gotta have some side effects, right?"

Before anyone can reply, the bell rings loudly overhead and Ophelia flinches. She plasters on a smile when she meets Lydia's worried eyes. "Just tired," she mutters. She's exhausted; mentally and physically.

"We keep an eye on each other, okay?" Stiles tells them, his palms rubbing against one another. He points to the banshee as he says, "And Lydia, stop enjoying this so much."

Being left with the strawberry blonde, Ophelia is there to hear her response, "What?" Her arms fold over her chest as she stares her friend down, and Lydia's eyes widen at the girl's judgemental look. "What?"

Ophelia rolls her eyes and loops their arms together as they walk to their lockers to begin the day. "Pretend to be a little less entertained for my sake, please."

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Despite her desperate pleads to just tag along with Lydia and Allison to art, Ophelia was firmly told by her best friend that she should go to her normal classes, and that in the worst-case scenario, the Martin would only be a few minutes away. Like normal, Ophelia walks into history with no idea of what is currently happening. Her friends inform her of the important points, like if there's an assessment due soon or if she needs to take something home, but for the most part, she pays little to no attention at school. Which probably explains why she's failing.

In her opinion, she's immortal, so what's the point? She can retake the education part of her life as many times as she wants to, just like Edward Cullen (she purposely didn't tell that to Stiles, as he has finally seemed to move past the Twilight fantasy). Paying no attention in class means that Ophelia also didn't see it coming at all when she found out there had been a replacement to the recently sacrificed Mr Westover. As long as they aren't on vervain, she couldn't give a damn.

"Good morning, everyone. My name is Mr Yukimura. I'll be taking over for your previous history teacher." The man walks away from the chalkboard and positions himself in front of his desk, his eyes searching across the sea of students watching him. "My family and I moved here three weeks ago. I'm sure, by now, you all know my daughter, Kira. Or you might not, since she's never actually mentioned anyone from school. Or brought a friend home for that matter..."

"Damn, that's cold," Ophelia mutters. Stiles bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. Her constant commentary on anything and everything is a pleasant distraction from their troubles.

A loud thump causes almost everyone in the room to turn around in their seats to find a girl in the back row with her head in between her hands. "Either way, there she is," Mr Yukimura finishes, pointing to his daughter who refuses to look up out of embarrassment. Sensing all the eyes on her, Kira slowly removes her head of black curls off the desk and sheepishly smiles.

Ophelia raises an eyebrow as she hears Scott's heartbeat pick up once he and the dark-haired girl lock eyes. She nudges her friend beside her, "Stilinski, this right here is example A of what a hormonal, lovesick teenage boy looks like." Snickering together, they watch Scott continue to stare at Kira, seemingly not hearing her comment. Leaning as far as she can in her chair over to the werewolf diagonally behind her, the blonde quietly says, "She's cute, hey?"

Snapping out of his daze, Scott whips around in his chair and scowls at the pair who still wear amused expressions. "Fuck off," he murmurs.

"Now, let's begin with American history at the turn of the twentieth century..."

This is when Ophelia either falls asleep or begins doodling in her notebook. Today, she's a little distracted. She picks up on Scott's heart increasing yet again and would assume it was from Kira if it wasn't for the subtle change in his breathing. As each second passes, his chest begins to heave a little more than the previous. Her eyes flick between Mr Yukimura and her friend, and when she knows their teacher isn't watching she leans over to gently grab onto Scott's arm. "Hey," she whispers. His eyes snap to hers. "Are you okay?"

The werewolf glances down to the floor, then looks back up to her. The shake of his head is so small, she's not entirely sure if she imagined it or not.

The rest of the class moves slowly. It seems like Scott, Stiles, and Ophelia are all too preoccupied by their own problems to be able to focus on reading a textbook. When it finishes and they reach Stiles' locker, the hybrid leans on the one beside his, picking at the chipped nail polish on her fingers. "Maybe we need a little more time to get back to normal?" Scott suggests.

"Yeah, try not to forget, we hit the reset button on a supernatural beacon for supernatural creatures," Stiles reminds as he starts on the combination for his lock. "There's a pretty good chance things are never going back to normal."

"Lovely," Ophelia mumbles.

As she looks up into the crowd of teenagers trying to make their way through the hallway, her posture immediately tenses and her back straightens up. Her nostrils flare as she struggles to keep herself calm, and her eyes refuse to leave the girl that she's found amongst a group. With dark, curly hair that is now short, and those stupid honey eyes that are staring back at her, Ophelia feels that familiar rage resurface inside. Her eyes glow their scarlet hue, and she feels that sandpaper-like sensation in the back of her throat. Every inch of her body screams at her to go kill the witch. To suck every last drop of blood out of her corpse. To give her exactly what she deserves.

Stiles shakes his head and the numbers on the lock return to being legible. When he looks over to see why his best friends are so silent, he begins to panic. "Oh, shit, guys," he hisses in alarm. "Guys, your eyes!"

Ophelia hears his words and is quick to shut her lids, forcing herself to dramatically take in a deep breath. Think of family. Think of Hope. Think of the coyote. When she opens them, she looks back to where she had seen the girl a minute ago and is a little unnerved to find her gone. Either it was something like earlier, where she had seen someone that Stiles hadn't, or she really had just locked eyes with Bonnie Bennett and the witch made her escape out of sight. "Are they okay now?"

The Stilinski nods quickly to dismiss her concerns. "Yeah, yeah, you're okay. Scott," he repeats urgently. "Your eyes."

"What about them?" Scott questions in confusion.

"What about them?" Stiles echoes. "They're starting to glow."

Scott's eyebrows raise as he looks between the pair anxiously. "You mean, like, right now?"

Ophelia resists the urge to face palm. "Oh, my fuck, how are you still alive?"

"Yes, right now!" Stiles exclaims incredulously, confirming the werewolf's question. "Scott, stop! Stop it!"

The True Alpha finally takes in what is happening to him and begins to properly panic. He barely notices Ophelia step closer to him to shield him away from any prying students. "I can't... I can't control it," he gets out between his heavy pants. A thin layer of sweat coats his forehead and he moves his hand up to shield his eyes.

Stiles briefly looks over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching them. "All right, just keep your head down," he instructs the boy. He places his hands on the back of Scott's neck to force his head down to the ground. "Look down, come on. Keep your head down."

Ophelia hurries after the pair and sends death glares to the students that scramble out of their way, then go on to stare. "Well, now people are looking," she tells the boys. Stiles scowls. "Sorry..."

Jogging ahead of them, she listens out for any heartbeats, and once she finds none, she opens the unlocked door to an empty classroom. Scott stumbles in, his laboured breathing now morphing into low growls. The boy strips off his long-sleeved shirt, leaving him in a tank top, and drops his backpack onto the floor. "Get back away from me," he rasps out to Stiles who attempts to go closer.

Ophelia's eyes are wide in concern as she watches her friend try to stop himself from fully transforming into his werewolf form. "Scott, it's okay," Stiles tries to reassure him.

"Scott, you need-"

"I don't know what's going to happen," he calls out helplessly, unintentionally cutting the hybrid off. His canines peek through his lips as he braces his hands onto a desk. "Get back!"

Scott straightens his back as he turns to face the pair again, and Ophelia quickly positions her body in front of Stiles. She knows the boy doesn't want to hurt them, of course he doesn't, but if she's learnt anything from the last few weeks, it doesn't matter how much you fight against your mind. Whatever is affecting them has taken away their self-control. It's increasing both her and Scott's prey drives and effecting their supernatural sides to a point where they don't recognise themselves anymore.

He shocks both of them when his unsheathed claws dig deeply into the delicate skin of his palms as he balls his hands into fists. Quickly, blood pools into his hands and drip onto the ground of the classroom. Scott's eyes screw shut in pain as his pained groans replace his animalistic sounding warnings. Ophelia's vision of Scott begins to become slightly blurry, and she realises tears have watered in her eyes. Scott's mouth drops open in a silent roar as he refuses to unclench his fists. The agony he is experiencing manages to drop him onto his knees.

Realising he's drained of strength, Ophelia makes the decision that he's safe enough to approach. She nods to Stiles, and they cautiously walk toward Scott as his claws and canines disappear. His body slumps against a nearby desk and he tries to catch his breath. Ophelia crouches beside him and bites into her wrist, her expression one of concern as she places it in front of his mouth. Scott glances down to his forearms that are stained a deep crimson, and reluctantly nods his head as his lips touch the blood belonging to a vampire.

Scott pulls back from the girl, still breathing heavily as tries to give her a weak smile. He lifts one of his hands. "Pain makes you human," he explains.

"Scott, this isn't just in our heads," Stiles speaks up. "This is real." He decides this is the right moment to tell his best friends about his own experiences. "And it's starting to get bad for me, too... I'm not just having nightmares," he says, glancing over to Ophelia. "I'm having dreams where I have to literally scream myself awake. And sometimes, I'm not even sure if I'm actually ever waking up."

"What do you mean?" Scott questions.

Stiles' eyebrows crease together as he averts his eyes to the floor. "Do you know how you can tell if you're dreaming?" He doesn't wait for one of them to answer. "You can't read in dreams. More and more, the past few days, I've been having trouble reading."

Ophelia connects the dots to what she had seen him go through earlier in the day. "Like this morning" she realises.

He swallows. "Yeah. It's like I can't see the words. I can't put the letters in order."

"Even now?"

Stiles slowly stands up to look at the various posters plastered around the classroom and the chalkboard at the front. After a minute of letting his eyes flick around, he mutters, "I can't read a thing."

A tear falls down Ophelia's cheek. She doesn't bother to wipe it away. "I almost crashed my car this morning," she reveals to the werewolf. "Stiles was with me."

Scott's eyes widen in alarm. "What?"

"I saw someone, someone I killed back in Mystic Falls right before I came here, but Stiles said there wasn't anyone there." She stares blankly into the empty space in front of her, and the two boys share a look with one another. "He was so real," she whispers. "I could hear his heartbeat. I could smell his blood." Her eyes burn, and as she screws them shut tighter, another tear slips out. "And I saw Bonnie before. I can't tell if I'm hallucinating people and I'm going insane, or if they're actually real and one of them has been resurrected."

Stiles' eyes soften as he recalls the moment she broke down in front of him a few hours ago. "Nightmares?"

"Every night. I've stopped trying to fall asleep now. I don't think I've actually slept in over a week."

"Jesus," Scott comments in shock.

"Everyone I see, I want to drain their blood. I want to slaughter this entire school." A sob rips through her throat, and Scott places his hand gently on her arm. "It's never been this bad before. It feels like I'm losing my fucking mind."

"It's getting worse," Stiles determines. "Whatever is happening to us, what has been happening to us, it's getting worse."

"Then we need to find a way to stop it all." Scott looks back to the girl who still has her eyes closed. "I don't think I can keep doing this much longer. And if what Fi's saying about her blood lust is actually that bad, I don't think any of us will be here much longer."

"Way to dull the mood," she mutters.

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As soon as the school day finishes, Ophelia tags along with Stiles to buy a fresh bouquet of flowers to take to his mother's grave. She doesn't know much about Claudia Stilinski. The topic at hand has always been incredibly sensitive, so she's learnt not to bring it up unless her friend does first. She had been to his mother's grave a few times before, and each time Stiles had asked her to come with him, not the other way around.

The two teenagers walk through the Sheriff's station to enter Noah's office, and they close the door behind them for some privacy. Stiles places the arrangement of flowers onto his father's desk and sighs. "You know, the last time we brought one of these to her grave, it was stolen the same day. Hundred bucks, down the drain," he says, recalling the moment with a brief scowl.

"The fuck?" Ophelia questions in disbelief, rolling her eyes when the human's expression becomes one of horror at her swearing in front of the Sheriff of Beacon Hills. "Who does that kind of crap?"

"Idiots," Stiles replies. His eyes squint as neither of them receive any sort of response from the only adult present. "Hey, Dad?" Noah lifts his head to see the pair peering over his desk to find him on the floor surrounded by multiple boxes and hundreds of pieces of paper strewn carelessly around. "Hi, what are you- what are you doing down there?"

"Working," the man answers before returning to his masses of case files. "And, hey, if somebody wants flowers that badly, they can have them." Ophelia raises an eyebrow. "It's the gesture."

Stiles stops beside the girl as they observe the chaotic mess behind the desk. "Hey, Dad, what is all this?"

"I've been looking over some old cases from a more... illuminated... perspective, if you know what I mean..."

Ophelia clicks her tongue in understanding. "Ah. How's it going?"

Before he can reply to her, Stiles reads aloud the description of one of the files he's grabbed. "'Strange sighting of bipedal lizard man sprinting across freeway.'" He casts a cautious glance over to the hybrid whose eyes narrow at the mere thought of Jackson Whittemore.

Noah taps a stack of files. "Kanima pile."

Stiles sighs through his nose and he drops the file on top of the others. "Dad, you're not going back through all of your old cases seeing if any of them had something to do with the supernatural, are you?"

Ophelia smiles and sits atop of the desk. "That's exactly what he's doing!"

"I admit, the recent opening of my eyes to the greater mysteries of the universe has got me... reassessing. There are at least a hundred cases here, where I look at the details and I can ask myself, 'If I knew then what I know now'-"

The youngest nods his head slightly. "Right, but are you sure you wanna go down that path?"

"Do I have a choice?" Noah counters his son seriously.

"I can help out majorly with this," Ophelia chimes in confidently. She rubs her hands together eagerly and gestures for Stiles to pass her a file. Her eyebrows raise as she opens it, then she snaps it closed a second after she lays eyes on the crime scene photos. "That's a me pile." The file is tossed onto the floor, creating a new category. "Oh, wow, that one's..." Her head tilts to the side as she examines the body. "Cause of death?"

Noah leans over toward her and briefly scans the autopsy report. "Multiple bones broken, and the heart and liver extracted."

"Nope, that's me as well."

Stiles grimaces. "Why the liver?"

"Don't remember," she answers honestly. "Maybe I was hungry?"

"God," Stiles whispers in disgust. "Why am I friends with you?"

Ophelia snaps another file shut. "Also me."

The Sheriff turns to stare at her. "It's astonishing I haven't arrested you yet," he says, his voice holding a hint of disbelief.

She brightly grins at him. "You don't have the guts to arrest me, Sheriff."

He shakes his head in incredulity. It's times like these that they're reminded of what Ophelia is really capable of. "There's one case in particular that I can't get out of my head." He stands up with an open file in his hands. "Eight years ago, when I was elected Sheriff of County, my first official duty was to tell a man that not only his wife and two kids died in a car accident, but, as best we could tell, the body of his oldest had been dragged from the wreck by coyotes."

Ophelia stands behind Stiles' shoulder as they both read the details. Staring back at them is a photograph of a young girl with long, brunette hair. Her wide smile is so contagious that Ophelia can't help but smile herself. "You know, I'm pretty good friends with a coyote in the Preserve," she brings up. "She's pretty vicious, so I wouldn't be surprised if it was her."

"You mean dragged and eaten?" Stiles queries, choosing to ignore her words.

"We didn't find the car until three days after the crash. They had driven off the road into a pretty deep ravine. Two bodies that were still in the car were covered in bites and slashes."

Stiles looks back down to the file to examine the photos a little closer. "So, you're thinking 'bites and claw marks,' probably a werewolf attack?"

"Maybe," Noah responds.

"Or my friend," Ophelia adds pointedly.

Stiles looks over to her and nods. "Yeah, coyotes, they scavenge, right? So, couldn't they have just left the bites and slashes?"

"Absolutely," his father confirms. "But guess what night the accident occurred on?" He takes a step forward to point to the date stamped on the piece of paper.

"Oh, damn," she whispers.

Stiles sighs as he reads it. "The night of a full moon."

"Yeah."

The file closes, and Ophelia drags a hand down the side of her face. Man, she's tired. "Well, I think my coyote might be a tad supernatural, so..."

Stiles' eyebrows knit together. "But if it was her that killed Malia's family, how would you explain her being a coyote on any other normal day that's not a full moon?"

Ophelia goes to say that the animal might be like her, having the ability to shift at any given time and day. Her lips close and purse together as she remembers that only creatures of her status have the ability to do that. The coyote is definitely not a hybrid. "I don't know," she replies quietly.

Looking around at the boxes, Stiles gestures to them with a little bit of confusion. "Hey, Dad, where are all these going?"

"Yeah, we, uh..." Noah hesitates to answer. Ophelia's jaw drops as she follows his line of sight to read the label, 'Deliver to FBI Field Office, Special Agent McCall.' "We probably need to talk about that..."

The Stone slowly nods as she looks between the two and begins to back out of the office. "That sounds like a conversation I don't need to be here for... Toodles." Her plan instead is to go find the coyote and play a game of hide and seek: their version is that they seek out their dinner that is obviously hiding out of utter terror. She needs something to take her mind off who she had seen today, and what better way to do that with a little playful, harmless violence?

𝘏𝘪 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 3𝘉!

𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘛𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘧 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘤𝘰𝘵𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘥𝘦. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘴, 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦.

𝘐𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘭 𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦.

𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘭𝘰𝘭

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨,
𝘓𝘪𝘷 𝘹𝘹