January 25th 2011 - Tuesday

The redhead witch came home after a grueling day at work, and for half an hour, she debated the wisdom of her next move. From her handbag, she retrieved a small string bag containing a piece of bloody cloth—a trophy she had snatched from the crime scene when no one was looking. It was a risk, but she knew it held secrets worth uncovering.

Navigating through a maze of moving boxes, she found an oblong tube housing several posters. Browsing through them vaguely, she selected the one she needed. Pulling back the living room curtains, she shrouded herself in privacy, wary of neighbors who might accuse her of satanic rituals. Beacon Hills had enough troubles without adding witch hunts to the list.

Charlotte spread a pentacle poster on the floor, its symbols as familiar to her as the lines on her palm. Placing a mirror in the center and the bloody cloth on top, she lit candles at each point of the star, their colors chosen with care. Standing within the drawn lines, she gazed into the mirror, chanting ancient formulas engraved in her memory. Her focus sharpened, her senses detaching from the present environment.

The mirror's surface undulated, creating a mesmerizing ripple effect that revealed the hidden world within. Through the distortion, Charlotte found herself transported into the interior of a yellow bus. The rows of dark, padded seats materialized before her, emitting a faint scent of musty upholstery. As her eyes met Mr. Meyers', a mixture of terror and pain consumed his gaze, sending shivers down her spine. With a sense of urgency, she squeezed herself between the seats, feeling the rubberized floor under her fingertips.

The visions that unfolded seemed so vivid, so tangible, that Charlotte often lost herself in their illusion. Peering cautiously through the narrow gap, her heart pounded against her chest as she caught sight of the attacker. It was a massive, black figure, with an animalistic aura that was both intimidating and unsettlingly human-like. Its blood-red eyes pierced through her, paralyzing her with fear.

A familiar voice, sharp and urgent, snapped her out of her trance. Startled, she turned, her heart pounding, irrationally thinking it was the worst idea with the monstrous creature lurking behind her. Yet, there, in the driver's seat, stood a transformed Scott, his presence filled with determination to save the injured man. With a swift and courageous movement, he lunged at the creature, the sound of his battle cry echoing through the air. Enormous claws slashed across his chest, the sickening sound of flesh tearing, sending him soaring through the air. The Alpha, enraged and powerful, hurled a back seat towards them, the rush of air and the menacing thud filling the tense atmosphere. Paralyzed by fear, Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, her body trembling, bracing herself for the inevitable impact.

Nothing happened, no pain, no noise. Silent and still, she struggled to pry open her eyes, but they remained tightly shut. Cold beads of sweat trickled down her body, chilling her skin. Uncontrollable tremors wracked her body, rendering her helpless. Beneath her closed eyelids, a whirlwind of images flickered incessantly, like a chaotic slideshow. She pondered if this was akin to the experience of those afflicted by epilepsy, trapped in immobility while every thud reverberated through their being. Determined, she resolved that if she emerged from this state, she would intensify her efforts to forge a friendship with Erica Reyes.

A firm grip on her shoulder jolted her awake, accompanied by a gut-wrenching howl that echoed through the air. As her senses returned, she fought to regain control, clamping her mouth shut to stifle the impending scream. Blinking away the haze, her gaze fell upon Derek, his powerful arms encircling her trembling frame. Seeking solace, she clung to him desperately, her tear-stained face a testament to her anguish. As his hand moved in a comforting rhythm along her spine, she yearned for more. The touch, though gentle, failed to alleviate the storm raging within her.

She slipped out of his embrace, her heart racing, and stumbled to the kitchen. In desperate need of solace, she splashed her face with cold water, feeling the immediate jolt against her skin. The last thing she needed was to be hit with an overwhelming wave of hysteria.

Derek measured her with a careful gaze, his brows furrowing with concern. The dim light cast eerie shadows across the room, amplifying the gravity of what he had just witnessed. If what he had seen was a normal emanation of witchcraft, he couldn't fathom encountering more witches. Few people would consciously choose to do what had happened to Charlotte. The weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders.
As he stepped into the house, a suffocating silence enveloped him, causing a shiver to crawl up his spine. Isle, lingered outside, sensing the foreboding aura that emanated from within. The two cats, usually aloof, suddenly darted past him, their figures blending seamlessly into the darkness of the encroaching night.
An unsettling tension hung in the air, palpable and unnerving. Strange sparks danced across Derek's skin, sending electric jolts through his body. His forearms prickled as the fine hairs stood on end, a physical manifestation of the otherworldly energy that permeated the room.
Heart pounding, he cautiously made his way to the living room, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. There, he saw the witch's silhouette, elongated and distorted, sprawled upon a pentagram etched on the floor. The sight froze him in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, he believed the girl to be lifeless, until her body began to tremble, a faint sign of life. The relief washed over him, but the experience had left an indelible mark on his psyche. He vowed never to repeat such a harrowing ordeal again.

"I need to get out of the house, think about something else," she pleaded.

"Sure, let's go for a drive," he agreed, seeing she was still shaken.

As they drove around town, they stopped at a petrol station. Charlotte, hungry and the Camaro needing fuel, stepped out. As she exited the shop at the station, she froze, watching the scene unfold before her. She froze as three men flanked the car. Recognizing Chris Argent, she noted his cruel smile.

He was the epitome of a well-groomed, dangerous man. Standing at about six feet, his lean frame was always impeccably dressed. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed back, giving him an air of sophistication. But it was his eyes that left a lasting impression—cold, calculating, and as sharp as a hawk's. Those piercing blue eyes seemed to see right through you, assessing every weakness, every vulnerability. His chiseled jawline and a day's worth of stubble added a rugged touch to his otherwise polished appearance. The aura of control and intimidation he exuded was palpable, making it clear he was not a man to be trifled with.

"Nice ride," he said to Derek, running a finger over the car's bonnet. "Black cars are hard to keep clean. If you have something this nice, you want to take care of it, right?" He cleaned the windshield with a brush. "Personally, I'm very protective of the things I love. But that's something I learned from my family. And you don't have much of that these days, do you?"

Derek's demeanor remained composed, his face impassive, until the mention of his family pierced the air. Charlotte, her anger palpable, noticed his fists tighten, the sound of knuckles cracking faintly audible. She quickened her pace towards him, her footsteps echoing through the tense silence. Yet, just as she approached, Derek's body suddenly loosened, his muscles relaxing. A faint scent of relief lingered in the air as Argent, a smug grin on his face, observed the scene, content with the outcome.

"You forgot to check the oil," Derek retorted as Charlotte reached his side. Argent ordered his men to check it. One smashed the side window with a rifle butt. Charlotte recoiled, but Derek's grip on her arm stopped her from intervening.

"Drive safely," Argent concluded, nodding at Charlotte.

As they drove off, Charlotte shook with fury. Derek's stone-faced expression held unspoken questions and concern.

"It's alright... I'm just having trouble controlling my anger," she reassured him.

"Remind me never to get under your skin. You're terrifying in this state," he attempted to joke, but his tone was serious.

"The first night, this state seemed to make you feel differently," she teased, raising an eyebrow, easing the tension.

They drove on, Derek plucking up the courage after a few minutes to tell her he wanted to go to the hospital and confront Mr Meyers, to perhaps find out who the attacker really was. Witch stayed in the car and waited for him. He came back heavily agitated, although he tried not to let it show. He did not go into the house with her and when she got out of the car, without a word, he drove off, leaving her wondering if he'd return.