Black Webs

First Day On A Brand New Planet

"No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself were undone, no more crying like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden, no more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world."

xxxxx

f i v e:

L y d i a

In her dreams, she saw a hurricane.

There was darkness and then there was wind, tidal waves of wind, swirling around her, swathing her. Lydia opened her mouth to scream, it got lost in the hissing of the wind. Lydia could taste metal in her mouth; blood. Her eyes stung like there were tiny shards of glass clinging to her irises, blinding her vision. She was in the eye of the storm and then the storm was gone.

Lydia was somewhere else when she opened her eyes. It was a large ballroom with wall-to-ceiling windows so she could see the familiar face of the moon and her counterparts, the stars right above her. The ballroom was drenched in moonlight, faceless people waltzed all around her, laughing and snickering and sipping on fine wine. There were motifs across the walls, of mermaids and werewolves and other mythical creatures she couldn't even fathom. The floors were shiny and made of golden marble.

When she looked up again she was dancing with somebody, honeysuckle eyes that she would know anywhere but couldn't put a name to. Her dance partner smirked and leaned in towards her, he smelt like fresh flowers and caramel.

"Don't you see? What you wish for you is what I wish for me," Lydia frowned, staring down at the purple dress she wore, splashed with blood stains.

"How did I get here?" she wondered aloud. Her partner simply twirled her around. "Does that hurt?" her partner extended a slender finger, pointing it towards her forehead. Lydia touched her head absent-mindedly, it felt sticky, and when she looked at her fingers, they were matted with blood.

"Who are you?" Lydia asked. "Where am I? Why am I bleeding?" she bombarded him with questions she would never know the answers to. He smiled once more, he had lips made for kissing, lips like rose petals.

"We all must bleed," he responded cryptically.

Lydia wanted to scream again, her partner stepped away from her, she would disappear without his touch. There was laughter again, echoing, gnawing, pulsating.

"Lydia," his voice was gentler than a wind chime. "Lydia. Wake up," he repeated. Her eyes fluttered open and her vision sharpened. Stiles Stilinski was staring down at her, his expression a portrait of mystification and concern. "Jesus. Don't ever do that again. You scared me half to death," Stiles muttered, grimacing. Lydia frowned. "What...?"

"You were sweating and screeching and kicking, it was like a scene straight out of The Exorcist. I thought something happened to you..." Stiles explained.

Lydia yelped (even though it was un-Lydia-like to do so), and backed up from him a little, the fabric caught in her fingers was soft. They were in her bedroom. Lydia sighed, her pitter-patter heartbeat steadying as she got her bearings, and despite the fact that she felt like she'd been run over by a monster truck, she knew where she was now. It had been a bad dream. Nothing more than a bad dream. A very vivid, very terrifying, bad dream.

"It was a... nightmare," she muttered, unable to meet his gaze. He nodded, scratching the back of his neck. Lydia watched him from the corner of her eye. He was wearing a black round-neck t-shirt that stuck like a second skin and dark jeans.

Even his hair was kind of wild, like maybe he'd been driving with the windows down. The way he was dressed made him seem oceans apart from the Plaid King she was so familiar to.