St. Clair || Stilinski [2]

Forty-Five || Perfection

|| Perfection

Lydia Martin wanted nothing more than to escape the confines of Eichen House.

Whether or not it was possible, she would have to of been in her own body to do so.

Condemned to wander outside of her own physical being as a side effect of the catatonic state Theo shocked her body into, Lydia was forced to watched herself stuck in time, unmoving and abused by the staff.

She was drifting.

But another soul, trapped alongside her in the astral plane, was trying to guide her.

Lydia had free reign of the halls in her spirit form, traipsing along a corridor that she had once visited before.

Dr. Valack had spent more time than most inside of Eichen House, but his residency was empty. The glass that once contained the maniac was shattered, thanks to the banshee.

Lydia stepped forward, the spatter of glass shards crunching underneath her feet but earning no feeling.

"Do you know how he did it?"

Lydia's blood ran cold as an image of Meredith stepped into view, inside the cage that had magically repaired itself. "He put the recorder in the cup to amplify my voice."

"It didn't just amplify your voice," Meredith told her. "It gave it direction." She held a cup in one hand, lifting a mirror of the recorder that Valack had used. "Focus. Valack used your scream as a tool by focusing it." She placed the recorder inside the cup and held it against the glass. "If you're going to use it as a weapon, you need to learn to do the same."

Lydia's voice echoed out from the recording, the glass beginning to crack and groan against the pressure. The glass shattered between them, clanging to the ground once again.

An idea.

Lydia found her way to the school library, her version of the world condensed to darkness. Her own consciousness hummed around her, swirling her in and out of tune with the real world.

     Was this what it was like for Stiles all those months ago?

She approached the large shelves on the second floor that housed the famous Senior Scribe initials. Her hands jutted out in front of her, beginning to pull the books one by one off of the metal shelf until it was cleared.

Lydia's lips parted as she ran her hands along the surface. "Our names are gone. Our initials."

Meredith appeared beside her as if out of thin air. "Not just you and your friends. Everyone."

"What am I supposed to do? How do I save them?" she asked, heart pounding in her chest as the reality of the world flooded in on her.

"Don't be afraid."

Lydia sharply turned her head, suddenly alone in the library. She ran to the edge of the second-floor balcony, eyes growing wide as she saw a figment of Theo holding Meredith hostage on a table, his fangs bared and eyes alight.

"No, don't!" Lydia screamed, gasping as Theo's claws sliced along Meredith's throat.

Blood spattered, cloaking the table and floor in a sickly crimson haze.

And her scream, that infamous banshee scream, awoke something deep in her soul.

The large light in Lydia's room – where she had been all along – sparked and crackled, plunging the space into darkness.