The Beginning || Stiles Stilinski ¹

20 || Jack Daniel's

Episode: Lunatic

She fell to the ground roughly, impacting the ground with a loud thud - My body shook with fear. Crimson-colored blood seeped out, coating her pale throat, a large bite embedded on her neck.

"Lydia!!" My voice strained, and I tried to reach her, but the scene in front of me became like some mirage, impeding me from getting too close. Slowly everything began to fade away, and I wasn't in a field - I was standing in the woods. The darker atmosphere created goosebumps on my arms. I went to step forward, but as I did so, I realized how difficult it was to walk, and I finally looked down, only to see my feet buried in snow. My eyebrows knit together. "Snow?" It doesn't snow in Beacon Hills.

A female cry of pain then came from somewhere in the woods. I frowned and dug my feet out of the snow before walking forward. The closer I got to the sound, the more my heart began to race inside my chest, the more I wanted to turn around and leave... but I couldn't - This was a dream. I mean, it had to be a dream, right?

I slowly stepped out from behind a tree and felt bile rise in my throat, making it burn and tears formed. A woman lay on a bed of red snow, skin pale and looking like she was about to pass at any moment. Her hands were over her heart. It seemed like she had been attacked by something big - Her chest and stomach had been lacerated and ripped to shreds. Whimpers escaped her, and I felt tears burn in my eyes, wanting to help her. Suddenly, there were loud patters behind me, but I couldn't stop staring at the dying woman - It made me feel terrible. It made me feel broken. And that feeling never left as a man dropped behind her with a string of sobs.

He wailed loudly, his French accent thick. "Adela, my love!" As the woman continued to gasp and long for the cool air slowly disappearing from her grasp, he let his hands gently touch her bloody face. He glanced at the wounds, and I could see how pained he was, knowing they were too bad for her.

"Demitri? My baby? Where is he?" She heaved.

"Home." He answered quickly, kissing her forehead, "Our son is home."

Her eyes squeezed tightly, "Take care of him."

A head shake was given in response, "You will be there with me. You're gonna heal."

She sniffled, "I can't."

"My love, why have they done this to you?"

"Condemnant quod non intellegunt." She whispered - My eyebrows furrowed, acknowledging somehow that what she had said wasn't French but another language.

The man cried, "I understand you..."

A tear rolled down her face. Her hand reached to cup his face, tainting his face with her bloody handprints. "Y-You're a great father." The woman smiled softly, breathlessly. Blood at the corner of her lips. "A good husband."

"Adela, don't speak like that."

"Please don't -" She tried to say, but her voice cracked with tears. "Not him."

"I'm sorry." He whispered, kissing her forehead and temples, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"I love you both." She coughed, specks of blood hit his face. Her voice became strained, as if it took everything for her to speak.

"Adela, please heal."

"I love you." She breathed hard, panting, "I love you. I do."

"Heal, Adela."