It occurred to Stiles just how absurd it was that he could feel snow landing on him through his clothes. "Stiles," a soft voice breathes, caressing his ear like the sweetest of melodies. "What do you feel?" His head snapped to his right, looking his creator in her emerald eyes. "Everything, Lydia." he said. "Everything." She grins, fangs glistening in the cold, pale light.