Columbine woke up feeling grimy and icky. She looked at the analog clock hanging on the wall opposite of the bed. It read seven thirty. She vaguely remembered last night. Rounding up the supernatural, placing runes and spells, and stumbling into bed. She got out of the bed and tiptoed to the bathroom.
She looked in the mirror and was so shocked at what she saw. Her normally golden skin was a dull gray, her wings were lifeless and saggy, and her eyes weren't the blue sparkly she knew. Dark circles hung low under her eyes and her cheeks were hollow, obviously missing that fullness that they once held. Her beautiful, luxurious hair was dreary and caked with mud, dirt, and blood. The gorgeous dress that her mother made for her seventeenth birthday was in tatters.
Columbine started crying as she took in more of her dismal and dead features. Her hip bones protruded out from her body, not surrounded by the little fat she had. Her limbs looked weak and bony, while her stomach seemed shrunken and swollen at the same time.
She realized that she didn't have any extra clothes, so she snuck out of the bathroom and down the hall to what she assumed must be Stiles' room. She nudged open the door and was greeted with the sight of the gangly limbed teen, just all over the bed. She giggled to herself and made her way to his dresser. She rifled through some drawers before finding some gray Nike sweatpants and a navy t-shirt with a target on it. She quietly exited that room and made her way back to the bathroom.
She looked under the sink for a towel, stripped out of the dress and the belt of minerals she had, and looked at all of the scrapes and bruises that littered her body. She climbed into the bathtub and turned the water on. A steady stream of warm water hit her skin and she let out a relieved breath, the water causing the aches to dissipate.
She looked at the line up of soaps. A bottle of green apple shampoo, Head & Shoulders shampoo, and orchid lavender body wash. She grabbed the green apple shampoo and vigorously scrubbed her head of the dirt and blood. She finished with the body wash and exited the tub.
By the time Columbine was done and headed downstairs, Stiles and his dad were in the kitchen making whole wheat, non-fat vegan pancakes. John was grumbling about the food and Stiles rebutted each statement. Columbine sauntered into the kitchen, her feet bare. She could feel the magic of the house tickle her feet as she stepped.
"Good morning," She said, sitting down at the table. Stiles turned to set the plate of ready pancakes down and nearly dropped the plate.
"A-Are you wearing my clothes?" he asked, gripping the plate with both hands. John came around him and grabbed the plate.
"What's the big deal? It's not like she was going to wear that dress she had on before. It was ruined," John said, setting the plate down in the middle of the table. Stiles walked by her to the fridge and caught a whiff of her hair.
"Dude, she used mom's shampoo," Stiles hissed at his dad while grabbing some orange juice from the fridge.
"Well dude, I think that it is okay for her to use it. She is a girl and that is probably the girliest shampoo in there," John hissed back. "Columbine, how many pancakes do you want?" John asked, turning the conversation away from the shampoo.
"Oh, two is fine, thank you," Columbine said, reaching for a fork. Stiles sat down with the orange juice and John placed a plate in front of him.
"Can I get the syrup?" John asked.
"We don't have any syrup, my voice is enough," Stiles said, his voice dripping with sweet sarcasm. John chuckled and sat down. "Let's begin," Stiles announced. They ate their pancakes in awkward silence. John finished first and stood up.
"Well, I got to go to the station for my shift. See you whenever I get home. Be safe, you guys," he said, picking his keys up. He waved as he left.
"So, Columbine, have you ever played Left4Dead?" Stiles asked, clearing the table.
"I haven't but my brothers did. I think I know the gist of it," she replied, walking over to the living room.
Columbine was just grateful that she could rest and recover. She sat down on the wooden floorboards and spread her hands so that they touched the floor. She felt the tickle of magic as it entered her body and she laughed.
Peter Hale was running through the forest on an early morning jog when he was hit in the leg with a silver shrapnel arrow. It exploded inside his leg and he went down like a sack of bricks. A woman carrying a bow and a glowing amulet stepped up to him.
"Well, hello there. And what type of supernatural being are you?" she asked. her voice sickly sweet like poison.
"Go screw yourself," Peter spat.
"Oh that's no way to treat a lady," she tsked. Peter growled and showed his blue werewolf eyes.
"Ah, there we go. We have a werewolf," she smirked and pulled out a large sword from the sheath on her back. Peter's eyes went wide as he tried to scramble away. She swung down and chopped him in half, straight across his hips. Peter gurgled the blood that was spilling out of his mouth. The lady walked over to his upper half and swung again, decapitating him. She turned to the men standing behind her.
"Dump his body near the beginning of the trail and let's go," she said, walking away. The men nodded and scrambled to Peter's remains.
Danny pulled up to the Beacon Hills Preserve and started stretching for his run. Twenty minutes into his run he tripped over something, twisting his ankle. He screamed out and looked to what he tripped over. He screamed again when he saw a head half hidden by leaves and dirt. He scrambled for his phone and called 911.
"Hi, yes I was running on Trail #3 and I tripped over a dead body and twisted my ankle. I'm Danny Mahealani. Please hurry, I'm in pain," Danny rushed out.
He winced and turned his gaze away from the dead body. Ten minutes later, he heard dogs and people running. He yelled for help and soon everyone came rushing to his location. The paramedics rushed to his side and helped him to the ambulance. He saw the dogs sniff out the rest of the body. The sheriff walked past him to the body.
"Oh God, it's Peter Hale," the sheriff said.
"Who is it, John?" Deputy Marx asked.
"He's a local. One of the remaining Hales," the sheriff said. The forensic scientists swooped over the body as soon as the sheriff left. He called Stiles on the phone.
"Hey Dad, what's up?" Stiles answered.
"It's Peter. He's dead."
