GOLDEN ICHOR || Theo Raeken

one; the senior scribe.

As was always the case, something felt wrong.

Waverley always knew when something wasn't going well whether she was there to witness it or not, because she could always feel Luc's excitement. Chris and Derek had both explained to her that day that the car crash was caused by the angel falling to earth through time and space, and out of everyone in the past present and future, had latched himself onto her like a parasite and it was mistaken for Dissociative Identity Disorder.

She remembered crying, begging to understand why he would want her out of anyone (she found out later that day after reading a note in her own hand writing that said I couldn't ask for a more sad, distraught, lonely little vessel than you) and had gone numb for days.

Admittedly she understood how confusing it would be for medical professionals, and how her aunt had thought behavioural therapy would be a good idea for her when it came to uniting both her and Luc into a cooperative body. But when she lived in constant fear of her alter, it was hard to want any part of her near him.

After spending weeks of not getting out of bed, hardly eating or drinking or sleeping, she told her unbelievably worried friends what was wrong with her.

It was Stiles and Scott who'd been the most understand towards her, which admittedly she wasn't all that surprised about. After handling Void back in the first half of the previous year and understanding perfectly how Stiles had felt, she knew he could relate to her situation all too perfectly. He'd told her, word for word, I know what it's like to be afraid of yourself; I'm sorry that you do too.

After he'd left, Scott had sat down with her and they'd had the conversation of what she needed him to do if she felt Luc — it was even more terrifying to call him by his full name, so she was sticking with the name he'd given her all those years ago — becoming more present, and what he could do to help her. He'd explained that he knew it wasn't her fault in the slightest, that there was nothing she could've done to be in control of the car accident that night, and that just because Luc was her alter, it didn't make her a bad person.

Lydia had held her in bed as she cried, murmuring that she was still her family and nothing would ever change that, and then had slept in her room for the night. Things had slowly gotten better for her, as she'd learned to live her life in spite of the fear she felt over knowing what lived within her. She had gone out on a couple dates that really hadn't worked out, had taken up ballet lessons in the basement of their now-sold lake house with YouTube as her teacher, and she had gotten a job at the local public library with her aunts help.

Yet, even more than ever, the dull throb of a headache was enough to send her into a panic attack that resulted in Waverley locking herself in a very small room until she was sure she was the only one controlling her body. The only one in her head, moving her limbs, and heaving in shuddered breaths. A flash of warmth through her body would send her into a well-controlled panic attack until she was sure she was the dominant personality.

It had taken a lot of convincing on her cousins part for her to show up for the senior scribe. She had showered twice, convincing herself she needed it as she had hardly left the house during the summer aside from work. Straightened and then curled her hair, did her makeup, changed her clothes close to half a dozen times; but Lydia had convinced her to go.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Waverley grimaced as she ducked into the car. It was pouring rain outside as it had been for hours now, and it showed no signs of slowing down.

Lydia smiled sympathetically at her from the drivers seat as she closed her own door. "We'll be right there the whole time, I promise."

She looked at her cousin uneasily but buckled her seatbelt "That doesn't mean you'll be able to stop him."