Chapter Text
I've never been good at keeping journals; the last time I tried was in second grade and I stopped after Scott found it and asked why I had scribbled "Lydia McCall" all over the back cover. But with Stiles gone, Derek dead and everyone still kind of reeling, I could use a place to write things down.
Ever since I tried to do the ritual to restore Derek's soul, I've felt... Different. I can't really put my finger on exactly how, but sometimes, when my mind is drifting as I wait to fall asleep, I'll suddenly feel something tugging at the edges of my consciousness.
Deucalion called my house the other day (and if you think he's all British and polite in person, you should really hear him over the phone). He asked me how I had been feeling and I almost told him that he had been right: attempting the Ritual of Restoration had opened a door. I mean, maybe not a full-sized door, but definitely a pet-sized slot of some kind. But then I remembered that the spell was a big, fat fail and it felt crazy to complain about side effects when the main event was such a bust.
I've decided that I'm just going to keep the whole witchcraft weirdness thing to my chest for a while and go do a little research first.
I borrowed some books from the Sunnydale High Library and have been checking out some of the sites that Miss Calendar used to visit. Besides, what else am I going to do? My best friend is missing, Scott is still being gross with Paige and in between summer school, the band, gigs and getting all wolfy, Jackson hasn't had that much time to hang.
Most of all, though, I can't stop thinking that if I'd done the research earlier, if I'd spent more time going over Miss Calendar's spells and notes, if I had been a full-on Witch rather than an amateur - then maybe the ritual would have worked and Stiles wouldn't have left town, maybe now we would all be hanging out at The Bronze, talking about how Derek is coping with not being evil anymore...
So, this is NOT going to be a journal. It's going to be my Book of Shadowy Thoughts. And perhaps, a Grimoire.
And if Stiles comes back - PLEASE, Stiles, come back! - I will be stronger, better.