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                    BASED ON thisÂ
                                     “I know it's not you, I just...
                                      I don't understand why me.
                                                     Why are you doing this to me?"
    Scott's eyes were closed, his fingers clenched so tight his knuckles turned a sickly white color. It'd be about a month. 30 days, and 720 unbearable hours since the end had come. 24 days since the funeral.
                                            And 12 since the hallucinations started.
       Of course, at first he'd thought it an omen. He killed his best friend by bringing him into his world of the supernatural, so why shouldn't he be the same man to take him out? He'd accepted that even. Accepted the inevitable veil that had coated his once bright life. He was ready to go; but the madness continued.
       Occasionally, he'd confront family and friends. Asking the vague, transparent question of 'doesn't it feel like he's still here?' But all he'd gotten was sympathetic pats and short lines of 'he's in a better place.' Scott already knew that, though. Any place with Stiles was a 'better place'. But, at least he'd gotten the answer he'd been looking for. He was going crazy. And to cope, his mind concocted a fake Stiles. Alive in every meaning of the word but one.
                                                   "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."
