The Boy Behind The Glass • Stydia

2. dirty glass

C H A P T E R • T W O 

Lydia soon found herself, still shaken scared and unbelieving, sitting cross legged in front of the mirror, the boy staring back at her. She found herself more interested in how she no longer could see herself in the mirror, only Stiles. The rest of the reflection, however, was exactly the same. She saw the refection of her room, all of her things and belongings. It was strange, trippy and Lydia was still half convinced she was sleeping.

She found herself speechless, staring into the class like some mental patient. Stiles was staring back at her with the same curiosity, brown eyes wide and bambi-like. Lydia took the moment to take in his appearance, from the sunken, bruised eyes to the old-fashioned clothing on his small body. He was skinny, gangly and pale. He looked sick, almost possessed - which lead Lydia to her first question.

"Are you sick?"

Stiles blinked, evidently surprised. "Sick . . . as in illness? Like a stomach bug or something?"

Lydia nodded, and Stiles sighed. 

"No, I'm not sick," Stiles said, and Lydia didn't have time to dwell on the tightness in his voice before he was asking his turn in question, "how old are you?"

"Eight," Lydia replied, chin high and voice proud. She didn't need to be told to know she was a intelligent eight year old.

Stiles' face lit up. "Same!"

"Are you always eight?" Lydia asked.

"No. I can grow up, if I want," 

"How do you do that?"

"What? Grow up? Same as you, I guess—"

"But you're dead, so how can you keep growing up?"

"I died when I was seventeen," Stiles explained, and Lydia felt her eyes widen. Seventeen? But he was eight? "But something happened when I was eight, so it's like an important age. It's like a cycle— a life cycle. I start at eight, grow till I'm seventeen, and then I go back again."

Lydia swallowed thickly. "How many times have you been eight?"

Stiles smiled, looking sad but excepting. "I've been in here for ninety-seven years."

Lydia gasped, slapping her hand over her mouth with a audible clap. She felt her stomach twist uneasily. She was staring at a boy who was over 100 years old, but somehow was in the form of someone who looked no day older than her. Hell, that shouldn't be the most surprisingly thing in the situation as the boy was currently inside her mirror, but the number shook her more than she'd expected. 

"You. . . you're—"

"Old, I know. It's kind of embarrassing, really. I always used to make fun of my parents because they were old, but now I'm like a dinosaur," Stiles said with a light chuckle.

"Dinosaurs went extinct over 65 million years ago," Lydia said, almost automatically. She hadn't realised she said it until Stiles burst out laughing.

"Very true. Okay, so maybe I'm not a dinosaur, but it sure felt like it when you looked at me like that," Stiles said. His eyes widened suddenly, grinning. "Hey, what's your favourite dinosaur?"