[He may not be trying to pry her open, but he's sort of hitting home, and it's...less prying, and more opening a door she's careful to keep locked around certain people.]
I'm not weak, though. [She shakes her head, voice still thick with tears and eyes still damp, though she feels so much steadier, so much less like she's coming apart as she wrings Zane's handkerchief between her hands.] I'm part of a pack...I'm not a werewolf, but I'm still part of the pack, and packs make you stronger. For...werewolves, it's the supernatural stuff, but for humans it's different. For humans, it's...it makes you stronger inside.
[Her gaze grows distant as she speaks, tears falling silently. They're warm as they run down her cheeks...leftovers with nowhere to go, and in a weird way they feel soothing as they spill over like rain.]
It makes it so hard to understand why anyone in my family ever hunted them. They're violent, they're dangerous, but so are Argents. Werewolves, though...they feel so much, so deeply, and when that turns to loyalty and love? When they give it to you, to make you stronger? There's...nothing, literally nothing you can't do. Fight, kill...die.
[She takes a deep breath, lowering her gaze to her hands. Hands drenched in blood she can see in her mind's eye...blood she's shed herself, blood her family has shed...her own blood, even, in some not too distant future.
Because stories don't always get happy endings...and when someone has to die, there's always blood. Blood Scott's too pure to touch, blood Lydia sees too much of, blood Isaac's lost to darker things...blood that Stiles had his hands shoved into against his will.
She's strong enough to bear the blood, but her friends won't let her...and deep down, she knows that's how the pack stays strong: she's more wolf than human now, and she has a taste for it. She would take all of it if she could, bathe in blood...drown in it. She does bathe in it...
And when she's about to drown, the four of them pull her out. After, they can wash the blood away...but they can't always get all of it, and that she can't stand. She can't stand that it stains them at all.
She finally blinks, realizing that her distress...there's something wrong with those dark thoughts, softened by understanding. She blinks, then looks to Zane, watery features muzzy with confusion and slow-dawning comprehension.]
Are you...doing something to me? [It's, oddly enough, at least to her, a guileless question: innocent, inquiring.]
spam . cw: mention of self-harm
I'm not weak, though. [She shakes her head, voice still thick with tears and eyes still damp, though she feels so much steadier, so much less like she's coming apart as she wrings Zane's handkerchief between her hands.] I'm part of a pack...I'm not a werewolf, but I'm still part of the pack, and packs make you stronger. For...werewolves, it's the supernatural stuff, but for humans it's different. For humans, it's...it makes you stronger inside.
[Her gaze grows distant as she speaks, tears falling silently. They're warm as they run down her cheeks...leftovers with nowhere to go, and in a weird way they feel soothing as they spill over like rain.]
It makes it so hard to understand why anyone in my family ever hunted them. They're violent, they're dangerous, but so are Argents. Werewolves, though...they feel so much, so deeply, and when that turns to loyalty and love? When they give it to you, to make you stronger? There's...nothing, literally nothing you can't do. Fight, kill...die.
[She takes a deep breath, lowering her gaze to her hands. Hands drenched in blood she can see in her mind's eye...blood she's shed herself, blood her family has shed...her own blood, even, in some not too distant future.
Because stories don't always get happy endings...and when someone has to die, there's always blood. Blood Scott's too pure to touch, blood Lydia sees too much of, blood Isaac's lost to darker things...blood that Stiles had his hands shoved into against his will.
She's strong enough to bear the blood, but her friends won't let her...and deep down, she knows that's how the pack stays strong: she's more wolf than human now, and she has a taste for it. She would take all of it if she could, bathe in blood...drown in it. She does bathe in it...
And when she's about to drown, the four of them pull her out. After, they can wash the blood away...but they can't always get all of it, and that she can't stand. She can't stand that it stains them at all.
She finally blinks, realizing that her distress...there's something wrong with those dark thoughts, softened by understanding. She blinks, then looks to Zane, watery features muzzy with confusion and slow-dawning comprehension.]
Are you...doing something to me? [It's, oddly enough, at least to her, a guileless question: innocent, inquiring.]