𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 | stiles stilinski ✔️

nine

(please read the author's note)

Harper's eyes flickered open, blinking swiftly at the amount of sunlight managing to pour through her windows and onto her face. Usually it was never this bright in the mornings. The brunette pushed herself off of her pillow, her forehead wrinkling when she realised something was attached to it.

She pulled off the bright yellow sticky note, reading it while she yawned into her hand.

we know you didn't sleep the night before, so mom said it was okay for you to sleep in today. text us when you're awake and hope you slept well!
— ur bestest friend scotty

Smiling a little, Harper huffed as she scrunched up the paper and threw it into the bin next to her bed. Of course Scott had decided to stick it to her forehead instead of just texting her. She climbed out and headed downstairs, scratching her head which was sporting some of the toughest bed-hair ever seen.

Harper decided on fruit for breakfast. Normally it was just a breakfast bar, but since she decided that today would be about some self-care, the brunette decided to treat herself.

Harper hummed to herself as she sliced through an apple, a bang from behind her making her jump.

"Archie!" She hissed at the cat who had been spooked by nothing, a groan coming from her lips when she realised in her panic she'd cut her hand in between her finger and her thumb.

Looking down at the cut, she gritted her teeth.

But then she froze.

The crimson liquid that started to pour reminded her or something- but what that was she couldn't put her finger on. Suddenly, as she glanced up, she realised she wasn't at home anymore.

Harper was in her old house.

Not the one she'd shared with Rose, or the one in Beacon Hills before that— her home back in Brighton. More importantly, she was in her bedroom, laying across her pink bed.

Her dad sat in a chair next to her, some pages in his hands. He had his reading glasses on, his eyes frowning at the words in front of him.

"It's all wrong," he sighed, shaking his head. "I wrote some more today and it's rubbish. I can't put my name on this."

"Read me some, daddy," Young-Harper requested softly, her hand going out to hold his wrist.

Real-Harper grimaced, but she found herself wanting to know what was going to happen. She couldn't remember this at all.

Gabriel Valack smiled at her. "You'll be in the second book, Harper. It will be all about people like you. You beat the bad guys from book one."

"Princesses?" Young-Harper gasped. At age seven, she believed whole-heartedly that she was one.

"People who are empathetic," he corrected.

The seven-year-old didn't know what that meant but smiled anyway, excited that she would be in one of her father's books.

"Am I the main character?" She asked.

"You're one of them," he nodded. "You and another boy."

"Is he like me too?"

Valack smiled, running a hand through her long, brown locks that were sprawled out across her pillow. He nodded, peeling back one of the pieces of paper in his hands.

"Are you sure you want me to read this to you?" He asked.

Young-Harper nodded eagerly. "I wanna know who I'm fighting in the second book, daddy!"