"𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾'𝓂 𝓈ℴ 𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓇ℯ𝒹 ℴ𝒻 𝓁ℴ𝓈𝒾𝓃' 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒸ℴ𝓃𝓉𝓇ℴ𝓁"

Her fingers curl up into the linen bedsheets tightly, and her knuckles blanch to a ghostly white as laboured breaths leave her mouth. Ophelia's lips part open as she suddenly awakens, and her body lurches up in her bed. Her chest heaves in a repeated pattern, and her neck and forehead shine from sweat. The girl's bedroom is haunted in almost absolute darkness, the only source of light from the moon peeking through the curtains of her window. She flinches as a rather cold hand gently grabs onto her shaking one, and a soothing voice reaches her ears. "Hey, baby, are you okay?"

Ophelia shakes her head. "No," she whispers hoarsely. Every time her sleep is cursed with a nightmare, she feels completely and utterly helpless. She's drained of any and every last remaining ounce of strength.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

She sighs and falls back onto her pillow with a dull thud. Her head turns slightly so she can face Bonnie, and a sad smile lifts at her lips. "No, but thanks. I don't think you'd understand it."

"I don't have to understand it to be able to listen," the dark-haired girl counters quietly, her voice filled with concern as her hand rubs up and down Ophelia's bare forearm. "I know the ritual's done something to you guys, and I want to help you, Lia. You know I do."

Ophelia's eyes begin to sting from the tears quickly developing, although something inside her stirs as she properly takes in Bonnie's comforting words. Her body tenses and she sits up, all the while keeping her gaze locked onto the Bennett witch. "How do you know about the ritual?" she questions sharply.

Bonnie's eyebrows furrow as her eyes follow the girl moving her back against the headrest. "What do you mean, how do I know about the ritual?"

"I mean..." Ophelia's voice raises in worry. "We're not together." Her eyes dart down to the hand that is slowly being detached from her skin. "We haven't been together since you tried to kill me and my family. So, how the fuck do you know about the crap I did a few weeks ago?"

Ophelia tries to detect the emotions the teenager beside her is feeling, but to her displeasure, the only one Bonnie is showing is genuine confusion. "Fi, I don't know what that nightmare was, but we're still together, I promise you." Her lips dip into a frown as she tries to shuffle closer to her girlfriend. "I'd never leave you."

The Stone scoffs and jumps off the mattress to back a few steps away into the middle of her master bedroom. "Bullshit. You-" Her eyes flick over to her door that creaks open eerily, creating a suddenly daunting challenge for her to complete.

Bonnie dryly swallows as she looks over to what she is distracted by. "Hey, just come back to bed, okay?" Glancing to her for a brief second, Ophelia takes a step toward the door and ignores her words entirely. The fine hairs on her arms stand up and her skin is littered with goosebumps. All of a sudden, she's cold. Which is strange because there's no windows open at this second. Hauling her body to the end of the bed frame, Bonnie's hand latches onto the girl's wrist tightly, the physical gesture accompanied by her wide, brown eyes begging her not to go. "Leave it, don't go."

Ophelia's eyes trail down to the fingers tracing her skin in small and comforting patterns. Her voice is small and fearful as she murmurs, "But what if someone comes in?"

"Like who?"

"I don't know. Someone, something."

"Don't worry about it," Bonnie tells her, her words becoming a little firmer. "Just come back to sleep."

Taking another step, Ophelia rips her arm out of the witch's loose grip and makes her journey to the door. Her exhaled breath is uneven, her hands are trembling against her thighs, and she continues to perspire, even though she's so cold that she feels numb. She is petrified. However, she has no idea of what she's so scared of. "But what if they get in?"

Bonnie watches her gain closer to the bedroom door. "What if who gets in?" She licks her lips anxiously. "Ophelia, just leave it," she calls out pleadingly. "Just come back to bed." Sucking in a deep breath, the blonde's fingers graze over the brass handle and she almost flinches away at how the metal resembles an ice block. "Ophelia, please." The door is yanked open with a brief surge of confidence, and she takes another step. A tear slips down Bonnie's cheek. "Lia, don't," she begs. "Don't go in there, please don't."

Ophelia doesn't look over her shoulder as she passes through the door, and her stature is engulfed into the endless shadows that loom behind.

"Stilinski!"

Ophelia's eyes snap open and she quickly lifts her head off her arm, blinking rapidly to try and wake herself up. She's so tired. The whistle that Coach has finally stopped vigorously blowing now rings in her eardrums, and she massages her throbbing temple. Her eyebrows furrow with concern when she notices that two desks down, Stiles is in a similar predicament to herself. The only difference is that he seems to have been the one to get caught. Shaking his head a few times, the boy is still trying to ground himself back to reality. "Uh-huh?"

"I asked you a question."

"Uh... Sorry, Coach," he apologises. "What was it?"

"It was, 'Stilinski, are you paying attention back there?'" Coach tells him with a small, sarcastic smile.

"Oh. Well, I am now," Stiles answers hesitantly, placing his pen up to his lips.

Finstock huffs a sigh and points a finger at the boy. "Stilinski, stop reminding me why I drink..." He lowers his voice to a mutter as he adds, "Every night." Before he turns his back to the class, his eyes narrow at the student slumped down in her chair, like she's trying to hide herself from view. "Don't think I didn't see you either, Stone. And I'm going to pretend you're not eating in my class."

Ophelia sheepishly smiles at him and pushes a lock of hair out of her vision. She places another corn chip into her mouth. She chews it slowly and emphatically as her teacher stares at her in exasperation. "Sorry?"

"I need a damn raise," Coach mumbles to himself. "Does anyone else want to try the question on the board?"

Once she takes her eyes off the man, Ophelia glances to the side to find Scott switching between staring at her and Stiles in worry. "I'm okay, just really tired," she tries to reassure the werewolf. Her hand digs into the bag of chips on her desk and she smiles brightly at the students around her that turn to watch greedily.

"Yeah, me too," Stiles whispers. "I just fell asleep for a second."

Scott's eyes squint slightly. "Guys..." Both of his friends turn their heads back to him. "Neither of you were asleep." His eyes flick down to Stiles' notebook that is laying wide open on his desk, then he reaches over to Ophelia to point at her economics textbook.

Her heart thunders loudly against her ribcage, as if an anvil is hammering away beside her ears. Scattered across the pages are various singular letters that have been highlighted, underlined, or circled with a green pen. When she places the letters together and spends a few minutes organising the words into a legible sentence, she realises that it connects to whatever she had just been hallucinating. After whoever had presented her with a riddle back in her mindscape during the ice bath ritual, Ophelia realised that although she never really liked them, she was rather good at riddles. This one, however, she has no clue at all of what the answer could possibly be.

When is a door not a door?

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Staring into open, empty space has been Ophelia's forte as of lately. She continues to suck away at her metal straw, and hums quietly in delight as the blood runs down the back of her throat. Her Converse taps idly away on the ground, and her free hand drums on the table they're all seated at. Being exhausted in itself (setting aside all of her other problems) makes her feel like she's losing her mind. This is the eighth day without sleep.

"Okay, so, what happens to a person who has a near-death experience-"

"I'd say it was an actual death experience," Ophelia interrupts Scott. She rolls her eyes at the scowl from Stiles she sees in her peripheral vision. "Wow, fine. Near-death experience it is!"

"-and comes out of it seeing things?" Scott finishes.

"And is unable to tell what's real or not?" Stiles adds in. The boy reaches over to the side slightly to grab a piece of brownie out of the tub Ophelia had brought for herself to snack on throughout their lunch period.

The girl gulps down another mouthful of blood. "And is hallucinating dead people who she desperately wants to make dead, dead again, and ex-girlfriends she just wants to kill once. Just once. Like, why can't the dead people stay dead? Which is where they're meant to be. Excluding myself of course because I'm not really 'dead'..."

Lydia gives her a sympathetic look whilst the group stares at her as she rambles. "Sweetheart, you need to sleep-"

"No," Ophelia snaps irritably. Even the mere thought of doing just that makes her heart thud considerably faster. She winces when the strawberry blonde recoils diagonally opposite to her. "Shit, I'm sorry, Lyds. Case in point," she mutters. She sighs as she watches Stiles quickly shove another piece of brownie into his mouth and lean his palm on the side of his cheek when she raises a brow accusingly at him. "Did you just take my brownies?"

His eyes squint at her and he scoffs in disbelief. After another few seconds of frantically chewing the delicacy, he swallows it down. "No."

"Sod off." She rolls her eyes at the fist bump both her boys do behind her back and she and Allison share a look of amusement. It's strange. Ever since she had helped save the group stuck in the cellar underneath the Nemeton, things have... well, things have changed. There's no longer the death stares and snarky comments given to her by the Argent, and weirdly, Allison seems to actually be able to stand being in Ophelia's presence without having an urge to violently murder her. Of course, she would never go as far as saying that the huntress has forgiven her, but Ophelia thinks that they're moving along in the right direction. She doesn't know specifically what she had done to make Allison suddenly begin to detest her a little less, but she's also not complaining.

"Fi," Lydia calls out, a hint of worry within her voice. Said girl's eyes meet hers and she hums. Ophelia grows a little uncomfortable as one by one, all her friends turn to look at her to have their expressions grow to one of alarm. "Your eyes," she warns quietly. "Your eyes are glowing."

She immediately lowers her head and raises her hand to shield majority of her face from any onlookers. The familiar sensation of her fangs elongating from her gums appears, but this time it's a little more painful than the last. "Sorry, I'm just really hungry."

Stiles waves his hand to her thermos and container of food. "How? You've literally had a degustation so far today."

Ophelia grimaces as she turns her head slightly to look at him. Her eyes are still shining a brilliant red, and with the way the sun is hitting her face, Stiles can just see the dark veins beginning to travel across her skin faintly. "No, I mean, I'm hungry in the sense I want to actually kill someone."

"Jesus," Scott mutters.

Isaac lifts his head from reading Boyd's textbook and nods pointedly at her behaviour. "Yeah, all those people you were mentioning a few minutes ago? They're all locked up because they're insane."

Stiles turns his eyes back onto the werewolf. "Ha," he replies dryly. "Can you at least try to be helpful, please?"

"For half my childhood, I was locked in a freezer," the Lahey states bluntly. "So, being helpful is kind of a new thing for me."

Sensing what his best friend is about to rebut, Scott's head drops down to his arms on the table in disappointment. Stiles raises his eyebrows, purposefully ignoring the warning nudge Ophelia jabs at his ribs. "Hey, dude, are you still milking that?"

Isaac nods at him. "Yeah, maybe I am still milking that."

"Stiles, I was beaten and locked under the stairs for most of my childhood. Are you going to say to me what you just said to him?"

Except for Lydia and Isaac, the entire table turns to look in shock at Ophelia, whose eyes have finally stopped glowing. Of course, most of them know as much that her birth parents had died at an early age causing her to go through the adoption system multiple times, and eventually landing in the hands of the Original family. She never reveals details of her personal life, especially her life with her abusive, adopted parents, let alone in public and to numerous people listening to her.

The two people in the known had been told on occasions throughout the year. Lydia, because Ophelia had felt safe within her presence from the very beginning; she didn't feel judged. The two girls had reached the stage in their friendship a few months ago where Ophelia had realised that she could literally do anything, and Lydia would not care. Mass murder? Perhaps a talk on why it would be better to avoid slaughtering innocent people... Failing a test? She could do it as many times as she wanted in the future. Having an intense, suppressed trauma from the emotional and physical abuse of her 'parents' that she eventually murdered? She received the kind of support she got from Niklaus, minus the violent, incredibly violent, threats. She wasn't treated any differently, or more importantly, viewed in a different light as to before.

Isaac was a little different. It had become fairly public knowledge that the boy's recently deceased father (the one good thing Ophelia would ever praise Jackson for) had physically abused his son. That in itself was something the two supernatural teenagers could bond in: their unhealed traumas. It was what also makes her feel so protective over the Beta wolf. She feels a responsibility to have to protect and shield him from something like that, if it was to ever happen again, because she knows exactly what it's like to suffer with it herself.

Ophelia doesn't seem to care much about her friends' reactions, as she's returned to sipping out of her thermos and munching on one of her many snacks for today. Stiles huffs a sigh. The group know that he would never dare say something like that to her. So when she raises her brows at him, he rolls his eyes in defeat. "Sorry," he murmurs quietly to Isaac.

Both Boyd and Isaac share a look, silently agreeing with one another that a shit apology is better than none. When Ophelia notices her friend gesturing to have a drink, she takes one look at Isaac whose mood has dropped due to the Stilinski's comment, then joyfully passes the metal cup over to him.

He's obviously assuming there's coffee inside.

As soon as the blood drops inside his mouth, Stiles shoves the thermos back over to the girl who cackles gleefully and he spits the substance onto the pavement in horror, gaining a few odd stares from nearby passing students. Both Boyd and Isaac give her discreet high fives, and Ophelia sends the latter a comforting smile. "Well deserved," she announces, bringing out quiet chuckles from the group. Isaac's lips twitch up into a small smile.

"Hi, sorry..." All the attention moves to the female with long, dark hair that has appeared at the end of their table. "I couldn't help overhearing what you guys were talking about." Everyone shares a look. "And I think I actually might know what you're talking about..."

Ophelia lifts a brow at the girl she recognises from history class yesterday. "You know what it's like to be locked in a cupboard under the stairs? 'Cause, love, I'm telling you, it's not all like Harry Potter."

Stiles turns his head toward her to try and hide his chuckles. Lydia just rolls her eyes at her best friend. The new girl's eyes widen in a mix of incredulity and confusion. "Sorry? N-No, I meant what you were all saying about the near-death experience?"

"Actual death experience," the hybrid mutters to herself. She smacks Stiles' hand when she spots his fingers creeping along the table toward her brownie container once more. She just hopes he doesn't take a drug test within the next week because she'd hate to have to inform him that the reason her brownies are so good is because of the marijuana in them.

"There's a Tibetan word for it- it's called 'Bardo.' It literally means 'in-between state.' The state between life and death."

Ophelia tilts her head to the side. "Technically speaking, I'm already-"

Lydia's eyes widen and she quickly jumps in to try and avoid the blonde from revealing what she is to a complete stranger. She looks back over to the girl and raises her eyebrows curiously. "And what do they call you?"

"Kira," Scott answers for her. Whilst his friends turn to look at him in surprise, Ophelia slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle her giggles. "Shut up," the werewolf murmurs to her in warning, just loud enough for her supernatural hearing to pick up on. "She's in our history class," he explains louder.

"So, are you talking Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism or Indian?" Lydia questions.

Kira shrugs as she takes the spare seat at the top of the table. "Either I guess. But all the stuff you guys were just saying?" Ophelia grimaces as she waits to be criticised for wanting to murder someone in broad daylight. To her pleasant surprise, if Kira had heard that part of the conversation, she doesn't bring it up. "All that happens in Bardo. There are different progressive states where you can have hallucinations."

Oh, now Ophelia's interested.

"Some you see, some you just hear. And you can be visited by peaceful and wrathful deities."

Boyd's eyes widen slightly as he takes his attention off his chemistry textbook. He leans over to Isaac to mutter, "Did she just say wrathful deities?"

"Yeah," the boy replies hesitantly. He raises not only his and Boyd's, but the entire group's confusion by asking, "What are those?"

With a bright smile on her face, Kira says, "Like, demons."

Stiles slowly nods to himself. "Demons," he repeats. Turning to the side, he hums quietly. "Why not?"

Ophelia shrugs and places her straw back between her lips. "Yeah, I've met some of those. Not fun." Seven pairs of eyes widen. "I mean, my parents. Both sets."

Scott places a hand over his forehead and sighs. It's times like these that he wonders what he's doing in life.

Allison's lips purse in thought. "Hold on, if there are different progressive states, then what's the last one?"

Keeping her eyes on the brunette, Kira answers with another smile, "Death, you die." Her reply is delivered in far too much of an unbothered tone, and she clearly doesn't understand the gravity her words have on the seven teenagers.

Ophelia blows out a breath of air and lays her head on Scott's shoulder. Repeating what the boy on the other side of her had said a minute ago, she mutters, "Yeah, why not?"

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The rest of the school day was long and gruelling. The only motivation Ophelia had from not ditching and going home to have an hour-long shower was that someone needed to keep an eye on both Scott and Stiles. Sure, the rest of her friends could've also done that, but they're not necessarily as capable as she might be. For example, if Scott hallucinated something and tried to attack her, Ophelia would be able to stop him from causing any permanent damage. Isaac and Boyd... Actually, Boyd might be just as capable as herself. However, when she finally gets the chance to go home, she's told her boys are going to see Deaton to hopefully get some answers to whatever is going on with them. Of course she doesn't say no.

As she walks in the front door to the veterinarian clinic, Ophelia growls in annoyance as the bell rings loudly, signifying their arrival. Without another thought, the girl reaches up and rips the small object off with her free hand that isn't carrying her fruit salad, and looks up to find Stiles, Scott, and Deaton who has joined at the commotion, all watching her in amusement. A smile stretches her lips as she slowly crushes the bell in her bare hand, and sighs once it's just a flat surface of brass. A piece of pineapple is shoved into her mouth before she says, "Much better."

The next few minutes are spent talking through the side effects the three have been experiencing over the last couple of weeks. But the most pressing topic is what Stiles had revealed he was hallucinating earlier in Coach's economics class. The boy explained that he had walked into a class, only to find all of the students and Coach Finstock staring at him whilst signing him certain words in sign language.

Ophelia has yet to mention hers, only because unlike Stiles' hallucination it doesn't have a certain significant theme to it. It would probably be worth mentioning that she had unintentionally jumbled letters to create words in her textbook, though.

With a thoughtful frown on his face, Deaton walks over to the front door and turns the entry sign over to 'closed.' "It sounds like your subconscious is trying to communicate to you."

As the three follow the adult through to the examination room, Stiles' eyebrows furrow. "Well, how do I tell my subconscious to use a language that I actually know?" His head turns to look at Ophelia chomping away on her evening snack. "Could you chew any louder?"

She swallows her grape and nods. "Yes."

Deaton turns his head slightly to look at the boy. "Do you remember what the sign language looked like? The placement and the movement of the hands?"

Ophelia's eyes widen. "You know how to read sign language?"

He smiles slightly as he looks between the girl and his employee, both who appear equally as surprised as the other. "I know a little." His eyes return to Stiles, and they flick down to the boy's hands before returning to his face. "Let me give it a shot. "

"What don't you know?" Ophelia mutters quietly, Scott nodding beside her in agreement.

Stiles purses his lips together as he holds a single finger up in the air. "The first one was like this..." He circles the finger with his other hand.

"That's 'when.'"

"Then there was this, twice." He places his hands up in the air, then pulls one backwards.

"That's 'door.'"

"And there was this in between."

After watching the boy sign the final word, the veterinarian's eyes narrow. "That's it?"

Stiles nods. "Yeah," he answers.

Ophelia finally swallows the lump in her throat that had been slowly accumulating as her friend was signing each word. Maybe her hallucination of wanting to close a door wasn't so insignificant after all. "Uh," she clears her throat, and the three males turn to her expectantly. "I think I know what it means."

Despite his visible confusion, Deaton gestures for her to continue speaking. "Go ahead, Ophelia."

Her eyes close lightly as she recalls the riddle she had managed to arrange from the words in her textbook. "'When is a door not a door?'"

The room is deadly still for a few seconds. The two boys turn to Deaton for confirmation, and when the man slowly nods, Scott asks the first and most important question. "How the hell did you know that? Do you know sign language, too?"

Ophelia shakes her head in denial as she throws her empty container in the nearby bin. "No. Um, before, back in class, I had a similar moment to Stiles. You saw it," she tells Scott. "I didn't say what happened in it 'cause I didn't think it was as important as the sign language and stuff. But the hallucination, in it I was trying to close a door, and someone was trying to stop me from doing it." The girl takes in a deep breath and leans her back against the white painted wall. "Stiles, when Scott pointed out you were actually awake the whole time, you saw you had written in your notebook, right?"

"Yeah," the Stilinski confirms.

"Okay, for me, I had highlighted a heap of letters. It took me a while, but when I put them into words, then rearranged them into an actual sentence..."

Scott's eyes bulge in disbelief at how the two hallucinations connect with one another. "Let me guess..."

Stiles blinks multiple times at a fast pace, then repeats the riddle. "When is a door not a door?" Both of his friends share a look with one another, a little surprised how he has just completely skimmed over everything else Ophelia revealed. They're both going to use the excuse that he's extremely sleep deprived, and as shown earlier with Isaac, he's running very low in his tank of patience.

"When is a door not a door?" Ophelia says in a quizzical tone. "What the fuck does that-"

Scott's voice is quiet as he comes to the realisation. "When it's ajar."

"You're kidding me," Stiles deadpans. He almost scoffs. "A riddle?" He looks over to Ophelia, acknowledging the girl for the first time in a few minutes as he continues, "Our subconsciouses want to tell us a riddle?"

"Not necessarily. When the three of you went under the water, when you crossed from unconsciousness to a kind of super consciousness?"

"That's a lot of big words," the girl mumbles.

"You essentially opened a door into your minds."

Ophelia stares at the veterinarian in utter disbelief. "I'm sorry, we what?"

Scott glances to her and shares the same level of confusion as she and Stiles do, if not more. "What does it mean? The door's still... open?"

"Ajar," Deaton corrects quickly.

"A door... into our minds?" Stiles slowly reiterates, unable to comprehend just how lucky they've gotten.

"I did tell you it was risky."

"Okay, well, there are different levels of risky, Doctor Deaton!" The two boys grimace at the way Ophelia pronounces the veterinarian's name, dramatically emphasising and drawling it out. "Like, oh, your cat might get ill today, you might get run over by a car today, you might die today, or you might have a door open in your bloody mind today!"

Stiles rolls his eyes in amusement and stifles his chuckle, whereas Deaton seems to be getting increasingly exasperated with the girl, even if her intentions aren't ill intended. "Sure," the man agrees. "But you all went into it knowing there was going to be a risk, no matter how big."

Ophelia sighs and grabs a nearby jar on the countertop, turning it around and examining it in curiosity whilst Scott questions his boss about the foreseeable future. "What do we do about it?"

"If you say close it, I will slap you, because it can't be that simple," she calls out without looking up from her jar.

Deaton's lips press into a firm line as he glances to her, then back to the boys who are grinning at her threat. "Well, it's difficult to answer-"

Ophelia shoves the glass container back where it had come from and squints her eyes as she scrutinises the man's expression. She seems to be a little behind Stiles, who has already picked up that something isn't quite right. "Oh, no," the boy interjects. "Wait a second, I know that look- that's the 'we know exactly what's wrong with you, but we have no idea how to fix it' look!"

The girl tilts her head to the side. "Spill the beans, Doc."

"One thing I do know, is that having an opening like that into your mind..." Deaton shakes his head grimly. "It's not good."

"No shit," she murmurs.

"You each need to close that door," he adds, sending a pointed look to the hybrid. Her mouth closes from retorting something. "And you need to do it as soon as possible."

"You know, now might be a good time to mention I was asked a riddle back in the ice bath thing, when we were, well, dead. I didn't mention it..." Ophelia sheepishly smiles. "'Cause I might've forgotten about it until this new door crap was brought up."

Both Stiles and Scott turn to look at her in surprise, neither having expected her saying something remotely like that. Deaton frowns in worry. "Ophelia, can you tell me what happened?"

"Well, I found the Nemeton, and I was waiting to wake up again, like, I literally just stood there with my hand on it looking like a bloody idiot. Then someone, I couldn't see them by the way, was like, 'Oi, what is so fragile that...' Oh! 'What is so fragile that saying its name breaks it.' And I was like, 'Bitch, fuck you.' But they were like, 'No, fuck you!'"

Stiles breaks his composure that he has successfully maintained as serious up until now, and loudly snorts.

"So, I told them the answer and then woke up here."

Deaton shifts his weight and narrows his eyes ever so slightly. "And you're positive you couldn't see this person?"

"Yep."

"Well, when you are dealing with visiting memories, like in your cases, your present self isn't-"

"Able to interact with anyone else within them," she finishes for him with a sigh. "Sorry, Freya said the exact same thing. You know, how I wasn't meant to have anyone ask me weird stuff..."

"You've talked to your sister about this?"

She hums. "Yep, but it was the day of, and she didn't really have anything to give me if it was bad or not." She hesitates, then her lips drop into a frown. "It wasn't bad, was it?"

The man looks between the three. "I'm not sure," he replies. "But it can't be a coincidence that whoever spoke to you then gave you a riddle, and both you and Stiles have been given one now..."

Ophelia is aware the male continues speaking, but his voice has become like someone has suddenly muted the volume on a television. She can see his lips moving but she can't make out the words. It's like when she had seen Bonnie at the high school. It's a similar feeling because she can suddenly sense someone in the room that she hasn't seen, smelt, or heard in months. The length of time doesn't change the fact that she would be able to recognise this person no matter what.

One thousand years could pass by and Ophelia would still be able to hear Elena Gilbert's incessant, whiny voice ring through her ears as if it was yesterday she had killed the girl.

Unlike the vampire she had seen the day prior whose body was clean of any of the fatal wounds that had been his cause of demise, it's painstakingly obvious that Elena is dead. The once glowing, vibrant Gilbert girl stares at Ophelia with pale, soulless eyes, and skin that has faded to a sickly blueish purple, but still remains ashen at the same time. Her head is cocked at an unnatural angle with various protruding shafts of bones visible to the eye, leaving her killer reminiscing of the moment she had snapped her neck. The ends of her brunette hair have been stained in something sticky and scarlet, possibly thanks to the blood of Damon Salvatore that had made its way down to her rotting corpse.

Similar to how she had reacted upon seeing Bonnie, all of Ophelia's features suddenly present themselves to the eyes of those watching her in confusion. Sure, Bonnie had evoked a level of anger in her that she hadn't felt since she had Mystic Falls, however, both the vampire she had seen and Elena are different stories. She had killed them, yet here they are, still finding a way to haunt her outside of her nightmares.

The atmosphere within the animal clinic flips to one of malevolence and intense hostility, all supplied by the girl that looks like she's about to commit murder, and lots of it.

Scott McCall swallows as fear begins to creep up his body, eventually settling into something that paralyses him frozen. The colour in his face is now completely drained. He's seen his best friend as her proper self before, but those supernatural abilities have only been directed at him a few times. Out of all the times she had ever been violent with him before, he's never felt this petrified for his own life. This is something entirely different. She seems like a ticking time bomb. Like, if he moves a muscle, she'll pounce and rip his heart out of his body.

Ophelia's glowing eyes bore into the teenage boy that she sees as Elena Gilbert. She sees a corpse that should have stayed a corpse, rotting away underground in her grave, not a teenage werewolf frightened that his friend is going to kill him.

Elena's mouth opens slowly, and it appears like she's either going to scream or protest something; something that would stop the girl from severely hurting her. A guttural growl rips through Ophelia's throat as her supernatural speed aids her in reaching the Gilbert's decaying body. Both sets of eyes lock with one another, and Ophelia remembers all those times the person in front of her had manipulated, lied, used, and hurt her, before eventually trying to kill her and her family.

Even if Elena really is dead, there can't be any harm in trying to murder her again.

"You ruined my life," Ophelia seethes. Her voice cuts through the room like a sharp knife. Everything goes to plan up until something is thrown over Elena's shoulder, flying straight into Ophelia's eyes. She stumbles backward and hits the metal table roughly, although she barely notices the pain as she continues to violently splutter from the combined concoction of toxic herbs.

The three males cautiously watch her recover, keeping a safe distance away from her. When she finally returns, Ophelia's eyes are filled with tears that aren't from the stinging sensation given to her by the toxic herbs. "Fi," Scott calls out gently. The boy ignores both Deaton and Stiles' gestures to stay away from her, and he crouches down beside where she is now on the ground. His hand touches her leg. "Are you okay?"

Ophelia's green eyes snap over to his face, and she hesitates for a second before finally shaking her head. "No," she whispers. "What happened?"

Scott glances over to his boss and best friend, and he clears his throat as he returns his gaze back to her. "Um, I think you were going to kill me," he answers honestly.

Her throat closes up and her fingers resting against her knees begin to lightly tremble. "What?" she says quietly.

"Y-You, uh, you looked sort of distant for a few minutes, then something kind of switched and you came at me," Scott explains hesitantly.

Ophelia shakes her head once more at him, this time in denial. "No, no, it was Elena. Elena was here." The two teenage boys share a look upon hearing the name. She had briefly given them stories of her time in Mystic Falls. It hadn't been detailed, far from it, and they could tell there still remains a fair bit of trauma attached to the place, however, one name that came up in almost all of the stories was Elena Gilbert's, each time with the same amount of fury. She frantically looks around the room to try and find the brunette. "She was here, I swear, she was here." The tears welled up in her eyes begin to slowly drop, one by one.

Stiles joins the werewolf crouching beside her, a deep frown of concern etched onto his face. "Fi, there was no one here," he says softly. "Just the four of us."

Ophelia wipes the salty liquid staining her cheeks away with a sniffle. "Are you sure?"

Deaton nods as he takes a step closer to the three on the floor. "Positive. I believe you just had another hallucination. And Ophelia? I can tell you are severely deprived of sleep as of lately. I would suggest trying to rest tonight, even if it's just a few hours. Sometimes, not sleeping enough can become the cause of hallucinations. I'm not saying that's correct in this case, given your circumstances... But it could certainly be making things a little worse."

As much as she doesn't want to (at all), the repercussions for not sleeping aren't paying off. Running off no rest has meant that the girl has been on even more of an edge than usual. Her patience is at the very end of its line. She's much more irritable, she's exhausted, but most importantly, her prey drive has been increased tenfold. She noticed it the third day after not sleeping a single minute.

One of the biggest misconceptions with vampires is that people new to the supernatural world have the common belief that the creatures function like an actual dead body. That means people believe their hearts don't beat, they don't eat nor drink, don't sleep, or perform any of the other necessary duties that a regular human does in order to survive. Unlike the vampires in Twilight, Ophelia's version of a vampire is entirely the opposite to the Cullen family. As long as she consumes an appropriate amount of blood on a day-to-day basis, her body performs almost exactly the same as a human being. Without letting her body reset and recover at night, her urge to slaughter innocent people has blown up through the roof. Throughout the day, she had constantly been snacking on something, whether it was solid food or blood. It had managed to help considerably, but when she doesn't have something in her mouth to distract her from ripping into the nearest carotid artery, those violent cravings return just as strong.

After almost accidentally killing her best friend a few minutes ago, suddenly sleep doesn't sound as terrible as it did this morning. Maybe Deaton is right. Maybe not sleeping is actually doing her mental and physical health more harm than learning to withstand the nightmares and troubles she's been having. If it means the hallucinations might not be as bad tomorrow... She's willing to give it a go.

Ophelia takes a deep breath and gratefully smiles at the boys who help her stand up. Her eyes flick over to Deaton, and the man raises a brow at her expectantly. "Say, is there any chance you have some ice cream here before we leave?"

It didn't take the three much longer before they depart from the clinic, with, to Ophelia's delight, a leftover tub of chocolate ice cream. The veterinarian had promised that he would investigate anything that could help him figure out what was going on with the teens, and that he would call Freya Mikaelson to get her opinion, because perhaps she knows something he doesn't.

As she steps outside, Ophelia giggles at something Stiles says about how he loves Deaton, but that he's just barely helpful at the best of times. Scott doesn't have a chance to defend his boss as a familiar vehicle pulls up hastily beside the blue Jeep. They share the other's confusion as the driver's door opens, none of them understanding why Sheriff Stilinski has decided to visit them. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

Noah double takes as he notices the glistening stains of tears on Ophelia's cheeks and her irritated eyes. "Are you all right, kid?"

The girl gives him a weak smile, thankful that he had even bothered to ask, and licks her lips clean of any chocolate residue. "Right now, I'm okay, thank you."

He slowly nods his head, making it quite obvious that he doesn't believe her statement. "Okay, well, I'm here because I could use some help. Actually..." He gestures between the two supernatural teens. "Both of your help. But only if you're up for it," he adds in quickly, speaking specifically to the girl.

"Sheriff, I'm all right. What's wrong?"

Scott tilts his head slightly. "And why us?"

"Because eight years ago, almost an entire family died in a car accident. One of the bodies, a young girl named Malia, was never found." Both Stiles and Ophelia lock eyes as they remember the case they discussed with Noah yesterday. "There's enough evidence to have me thinking that a... werewolf could have caused the accident and dragged her body away. If either of you could somehow get a lock on her scent, if you could somehow help me find her body, it might provide the missing clue."

"So, we're just completely discarding the fact there's an actual coyote out there that could have also done this?" Ophelia questions.

"You said you think the coyote isn't an actual coyote and is supernatural," Stiles counters with a raised brow.

"Yeah, but she still counts as a coyote. Plus, we know Malia's family was killed on a full moon, so..."

The boy squints his eyes. "Still doesn't explain how she's a coyote not on a full moon, though."

"I think we need to be open to all possibilities here," Noah tells her, attempting to break the conversation up to avoid a potential argument. Ophelia huffs a sigh.

"But what if it was a werewolf?"

The Sheriff nods at his son. "Well, there's somebody out there who murdered an entire family. Someone who still needs to be caught."

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

After carefully taking into consideration Alan Deaton's words last night, Ophelia Stone finally got the first four hours of sleep after almost nine days of forcing herself to stay awake. Although it wasn't much, she had already noticed a rather substantial difference in her behaviour throughout the day. Her urges to kill are still there, but they've dulled slightly, fading to more of a middle ground thought instead of being highlighted by a spotlight in the foreground. Skipping school on Thursday had also been a huge help. There weren't hundreds of beating hearts surrounding her, instead, she had been with just three. Scott, Stiles, and Sheriff Stilinski.

Both Scott and Ophelia didn't need to think much about whether they were going to help find Malia or not. Hearing the oldest Stilinski talk about the case so passionately meant that this was important to him. Which meant the two supernatural teenagers would do everything they could to help track down the missing girl. Part of that 'everything' included travelling to the Tate's property and breaking into the house without alerting Henry Tate that they're trespassing. The goal is to find something personal of Malia's to be able to track her scent with.

"Stiles!"

Said boy winces and his body freezes as the deck chair he has tripped over creates an incredibly loud screech. It would be a miracle if their mission would continue from here. "Sorry," he sheepishly whispers.

"Shut up!" Scott whispers back.

Once Ophelia is positive that neither adult inside the house is making any sort of movement toward the backdoor that leads into Malia's room, she nods and waves the boy in front of her on. Taking a deep breath, Stiles twists the brass doorknob and opens the glass door. The three stop in their places when it creaks. "This is a disaster," she murmurs.

Stiles purses his lips together and attempts to open it a little further. The creaking loudens in volume.

Scott covers his face with his hands.

Ophelia throws her head back in exasperation.

Scrunching his face up, Stiles quickly opens the door wide enough so they can slip in, thankfully without making too much more noise. Finally inside the bedroom, they make quick work of their limited time and begin grabbing various stuffed animals and pillows off the bed. After a few minutes of silence, Scott sighs. "All I'm getting is some animal smell."

"Me too," Ophelia adds. "It's very... dog like." A low snarl from behind confirms her theory. She clicks her tongue and points a finger over to the large Rottweiler staring at them. "That dog."

Stiles swallows nervously and moves the figurine in his hands into the pocket of his jacket so the dog can no longer see it. "Hi, puppy... Get rid of it," he hisses, trying to remain as calm as he can.

"Me?" Scott questions.

"Yes, you. Glow your eyes at it, something, be the Alpha!"

Ophelia coos while the dog continues to snarl at them. "He's kinda cute," she observes.

"Cute?" Stiles repeats in disbelief. "Cute? Scott, do something!"

"I can't," the werewolf responds through gritted teeth. "I don't have control."

"I don't really either, but dogs tend to like me," the hybrid suggests confidently. She cautiously takes a step toward the dog, keeping her eyes locked with it. "Hi, puppy, oh, you're so cute! Yes, you are!" The Rottweiler tenses at her incoming figure, then begins to viciously bark. "Fuck."

Stiles turns to look at the girl with humour glinting in his eyes. "I don't think dogs like you today."

"No shit, Stilinski."

"Apollo!" The teenagers flinch nervously at the new voice that joins their conversation. They quickly realise that it must be Henry Tate, and that Apollo is the dog that looks like he wants to rip their throats out. "Apollo, shut up! Shut the hell up!"

After a few seconds that drag on for forever, Apollo closes his jaws and stares at the trio with wide eyes that now appear innocent. Ophelia's bottom lip juts out and she searches the pocket of her hoodie to find a single piece of chicken. Squatting down, she holds the treat out for the animal who narrows his eyes before bounding over to feast on it. The two boys share an incredulous look with each other, and they turn back to the girl on the ground who is now scratching between Apollo's ears. "The fuck?" Stiles just about screeches. "Why didn't you do that a minute ago?"

"Forgot about it."

Scott's eyebrows furrow. "Why do you even have chicken in your pocket?"

"Was meant to be for the coyote, but someone wanted me to use my afternoon for a B and E instead."

"A what?" Scott asks in confusion.

"Breaking and entering," Stiles answers nonchalantly. The werewolf nods in understanding, then his face falls as he realises that once again they're committing another crime.

After Apollo finishes his food, the dog trots out the room happily without a single care in the world. "I think dogs like me after all," Ophelia concludes with a wide smile.

Stiles shakes his head and returns to searching for various items to hand to his friends. "You know what, let's use Fi instead, her nose is better."

She nods in agreement as she takes the book from the Stilinski. "It's true," she directs to Scott. "It is." Holding the book up to her nose, she spends a minute trying to identify the various scents attached to it.

"Anything?"

She sighs softly and returns it back to the draw Stiles had retrieved it from. "It's been eight years, everything's faded away. All I'm getting is the dog and some sort of lavender smell."

Stiles holds up a small incense bottle filled with essential oils. "Great. So, nothing."

When he falls silent, the pair standing behind him follow his line of sight to a pink picture frame. Inside is a photograph of two young girls, one in a red coat that is holding a baby doll, and the other in a blue puffer jacket. One of them must be Malia since it's in her room, and the other must be her deceased sister. Taking his phone out, Stiles snaps a photo of the frame. Ophelia continues to stare at it with narrowed eyes. "Fi, what is it?" Scott queries quietly.

Her eyebrows knit together as she moves closer to the frame, Stiles moving out the way for her. "I don't know. It's just, that doll... I swear I've seen it somewhere before."

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

All three of the teenagers jump out the Jeep that has been parked behind the Sheriff's car, somewhere further down the street and away from the Tate's residence. Spotting Noah with a rather solemn expression, Ophelia gathers that his talk with Malia's father might not have gone so well. He reeks of guilt. Which makes it that much harder having to break it to him that they found nothing. "We're so sorry, neither of us could smell anything but his dog," she apologises.

"Yeah, we both tried. If it wasn't so long ago, we might have been able to do it," Scott tries to explain.

The adult gives them a small, tight-lipped smile. "It's okay. It was a long shot. In fact, it was a pretty terrible idea. I think I just ripped a wound open in that poor man. I never should have brought you guys here. I don't know what I was thinking."

"We all agreed to it, okay?" Ophelia points out gently. "Don't go blaming yourself, Sheriff."

He smiles at them all again. "Thanks for trying, though, all right?"

Scott nods in understanding. "Yeah."

"See you at home," he tells Stiles before getting in his car.

As they watch the vehicle drive off, Scott turns to his best friend with the hopes to try and reassure him. "Aren't there a lot of cases that go unsolved?"

Stiles shifts his weight and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Yeah, I just think this is one he felt like he could've figured out right now."

"Why is it so important now?"

Ophelia nods at the True Alpha. "Yeah, why after eight years?"

He continues staring off where his dad's car has finally disappeared. "Well, he wants to be able to solve one more while he's still Sheriff." It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in.

"What do you mean, 'still Sheriff'?" Scott asks.

The blonde's eyes widen in realisation. "Oh, shit. That's what you guys were talking about when I left yesterday..."

He nods. "Yeah. Um, I'll explain and drop you guys home, I guess." Stiles tries to give the pair both a smile, and it's obvious he's trying to conceal how he's feeling at this very moment. Ophelia doesn't know how, but she's going to find a way to track down Malia. It's important to Noah, which means it's important to Stiles, which means that it's also important to her.

She doesn't want to let them both down.

𝘏𝘪 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴!!

𝘚𝘰 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢'𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘒𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘴... 𝘞𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘒𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘯, 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘢𝘪𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 ☺️

𝘚𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦: 𝘖𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘳, 𝘴𝘰 𝘐'𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦.

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦,
𝘓𝘪𝘷 𝘹𝘹