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The worm moon hung bright in the sky.
“Lydia, you don’t want to do this” said Peter, tugging in vein at the wolfsbane-soaked ropes that bound him.
“Oh, but I really do. It’s the only way to make her happy, to stop the visions” said the redhead, her shovel hitting something at the bottom of the hole she was digging.
Peter blanched as the smell of rotting flesh hit his nose, but Lydia didn’t even flinch. Instead, she pulled out a dagger.
“I just want you to know: I take great pleasure in what I’m about to do. This is for every awful thing you put me through” Lydia said, before slicing open Peter’s wrist.
As the blood began to spurt freely, she held it over the corpse she’d uncovered.
Before her eyes, the body began to heal itself: skin rehydrated, wounds closed, parts that had been eaten away grew back.
When the process was completed, the figure climbed up out of the hole.
Standing before Lydia and Peter, naked, weakened, and confused, but very much alive, was Laura Hale.