So, let's face it, every fanfiction starts bad. So just give it time, if you could. Isaac is my favorite character, if anybody wanted to know. Also, I don't believe in favorite-ing or anything like, so if you want more you're going to have to review;)

Prologue:

She was pretty sure he was breathing. But when she bent down, with her hands shaking and sweat peeling down her neck, she could barely breathe herself. Her heart was hammering in her ears, beating like a drum. She tried to ignore the boy behind her, but all she cared about was him. The boy beneath her, who seemed so small now.

"So this is what you are?" A husky voice said behind her, his voice cracking at the end. "You lied- you lied to all of us." She hesitated at first.

"I didn't lie," she promised, "I was planning on telling you but-" But when she turned her head to look at him, in hope to redeem herself, she choked. His tacky blue and yellow sweatshirt was soaked in blood, and his entire body was shaking. His fingers dug into the wall harshly, as if trying to hold onto something so he wouldn't fall. Every part of her wanted to get up, to walk toward him, but then she glanced at her brother under her. She couldn't move her hand – if she moved, she knew he would die.

"But we're just not good enough for you, right? Not me, not Scott, not Lydia. We're all just little characters in your silly game, right Felicia?" Her mouth parted briefly, her eyes burning with tears. But when she noticed the small drops of water that was spilling down his face wasn't sweat, but yet tears, she found her voice.

"No, no of course not. I didn't know about any of this," she swore, "Please, Stiles, you have to believe me. Please." She uncoiled her left hand, the one that wasn't on her brother's bleeding chest, toward him, but Stiles coiled away.

"You expect me to believe that these demon things just coincidentally came into town at the same time you did?" His voice rose. "I'm not that stupid, Felicia!" You're not stupid at all Stiles, she wanted to correct, but she couldn't. Instead, she let his last word echo against the stone walls, making her brother let out a shaky breath.

"Fine, fine," she breathed fast, "Maybe I was here for a reason, but you have to listen, Stiles. You need to understand who I am!" His eyes refused to look at hers, but he motioned his head.

"Go ahead," he said hollowly, "Amuse me. I'm going to die anyways, right?" At first she was quiet, her eyes stuck on his, but then she heard herself speak.

"I am the host of The Oracle. I am the host of Delphi."

Chapter 1

It was snowing. Her fingers were starting to become a cold white, making her ugly, pale fingers look whiter than they really were. Of course, she would normally just go inside, but instead she found herself facing a burned-out door, and a wet piece of paper between her fingers. She looked down for the thousandth time, reading the number on the piece of paper and then at the mailbox, but she couldn't make herself move. She had been out here, for what? Thirty minutes? Forty-five? It wasn't that big of a deal, but now that she was facing the truth she couldn't move. It was just too much of a stretch. Who would actually believe that their "lost sister" would just suddenly turn up at their doorstep? He would think it was a joke. A sick joke.

"Do you need any help?" A voice echoed behind her. She gasped roughly, spinning on her heel, but as soon as she caught eyes with the boy her feet slipped from under her and she went diving toward the ice. She let out a scream, but then an extra second ticked by and the wind hit her. She opened her eyes slowly. Why was she in the air? She shouldn't have hit the ground? But then her eyes fell above her and she sucked in a breath.

"You okay?" He asked, but she couldn't breathe. Not that he was attractive or anything – blonde curls, lanky type, was probably sixteen feet tall compared to her, but he was proof. He was proof that this was actually going to happen, that she was actually going through with this madness. His eyes were glaring down at her sternly.

"Uh," he said awkwardly, "Maybe we should get you inside. It's kinda cold. Is there any reason you are here?" She couldn't get herself to talk. He lifted her up until her feet were planted on the ground steadily, his eyes hallowing with concern. His long, thin fingers wrapped around her biceps easily. He eyed her short-sleeved shirt and shorts wildly, nodding his head.

"Yes, I should definitely get you inside," he muttered under his breath, more to himself this time. She let him pull her into the house, slowly unlocking it and then carefully pushing her in. When she reached into the house she heard the television playing, "NASA gives no information why the moon is yellowing! If-"

"Who's that?" A voice interrupted. Her eyes fell toward the couch in front of her. Slowly, a boy lifted himself up. Immediately, her eyes widened. At first she only saw his brown hair, which was wild from laying on the couch, but then she digested the rest of him. She wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn't.

"She was kinda just laying outside," the boy behind her said, shrugging awkwardly, "I didn't know what to do. I mean, I couldn't just leave her there. I think she's sick. I hope you aren't mad that I-"

"No," the other boy on the couch said firmly, "No, it's a blizzard outside. She shouldn't be out there anyways." Blizzard? She thought to herself. They were in a blizzard? She wasn't expecting that. She had been trying to keep in touch with the rest of the world lately, but since she had been traveling mostly on foot and hasn't had any contact with anybody it is sort've hard to keep track of the rest of the planet.

"Okay, well," the boy behind her said shakily, "What the heck do I do with her?" The other boy leaped from the couch, sighing.

"Come on," he beckoned, taking hold of her and leading her toward the kitchen.

"What's your name?" He asked seriously, seating her down. "Is there anyone I can…call?" She bit her lip. Was this the moment to speak?

"No," she said, her eyes wandering on the dark-haired boy wildly, "No. I just needed to speak to you." We look alike, she thought – both with brown hair and brown eyes. Both of them had tan skin, and sure was positive that the defensive look in his eyes was identical to hers. But he didn't look broken, like her. He looked like he was raised well.

"Me?" He sputtered, but than his eyes darkened. "Look, if this is about one of the pa-"

"No," she cut off quickly, before he could say any more, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to come like this." Maybe I should just leave, she thought to herself. But then she looked around. A warm house, a decent living room, a television, a full kitchen. He wasn't wearing a shirt, but his jeans didn't seem too tattered up. He was clean, he was taken care of. He deserved to know.

"Should we take you to the hospital?" He asked, the same look reflecting in his eyes as the blonde boy's had.

"No, no," she said, her eyes looking around the house again, "I just…I think we're siblings. My name is Felicia." The boy let out a low laugh.

"I'm sorry," he said, stepping awkwardly, "I think you're at the wrong house. I don't have any siblings, trust me, I'd know." He gave her a crooked smile, as if she was so wrong that it was humorous, and a thrust of anger pulled through her.

"Wait, I know it sounds weird," she said quickly, "But you live here don't you? My friend told me my brother lived here. She came out a week ago and helped me…helped me track you down." Her eyes bored into his deeply. For a second, just for a second, the boy's eyes flickered.

"I know you probably think-"

"You live here, don't you?" She asked sharply, bolting to her feet. The blonde boy beside her stepped back, as if she was a wild animal.

"Yes," the brown-haired boy said nervously, "Yeah, but I'm pretty sure I would know if I had any siblings."

"You go to high school here, don't you? Seventeen years old? You hang out with a redhead?" She heard her voice crack. "I'm sorry, but I didn't come this far for someone to tell me that I'm wrong. I've been searching for you for…for forever." The brown haired boy exhaled.

"And you were born here, weren't you? I was too! And I mean I know you don't live with dad, but-"

"My dad's side? Wait, you're from my – I mean, you're looking for somebody who you share a dad with?" The boy's face was starting to turn red.

"Yes!" She said, a smile cracking onto her lips. "Half-sibling. I was in foster care though. I see that you weren't…" His hands clenched the counter.

"But that isn't possible. My dad…"

"I should have found you when he was alive, but-" But then she realized how his face filled with reassurance, and his breath took a normal pace. Her eyebrows furrowed down.

"Wait, you didn't know dad was dead?" She asked, her voice small. He shook his head quickly, a small scrawling on his lips.

"No, my dad is alive," he said, and he dug hand into his pockets, and pulled out his wallet, "My name is Scott McCall. See?" The small paper that she had kept between her fingers.

"Scott?" She breathed. "Then who is Isaac?" And then the boy's smile died again, but this time instead of looking at her, he looked toward the entrance of his kitchen.

"That," a more husky voice said, "is me. I am Isaac." Her eyes turned toward the doorway, looking at the blonde again.

Suddenly she found herself searching him twice as hard as she was when she was internally dying outside of the house. His curls weren't blonde, they were copper. And his eyes were a stale blue that looked far too serious compared to his white skin and she wondered where he got his height – his mom's side or their dad's? He didn't look like the guy who'd wear polo shirts and American Eagle jeans either. Instead, he came off as the guy who'd be more likely to wear a sweater and whatever pants that weren't dirty that day. He was made for the cold, she thought to herself, with his thin but strong statue that made him appear handsome in cuddly clothes. He didn't seem threatening, but he was strong. He wasn't going to be the one to take the first hit unless he had to, and it would be a strong hit if he did. He was not a leader, he was a soldier.

He didn't look surprised as much as he did horrified. Maybe even scared. But for some reason she wasn't. Carefully, she crossed the kitchen, as if she was approaching a small animal.

"Hello Isaac," she said softly, "My name is Felicia. It's nice to finally meet you."

"