“It doesn’t work that way.” The intensity of it all might have changed, but she knows that much. She can’t kill directly; she never could, and it’s not even about her powers, it’s about herself. “I just … ” One hand lifts, slowly, but she doesn’t touch him, it’s more like tracing the edges of his emotions.
She just made the shield, but she takes it down, popping the soap bubble of it, to reach into him more deeply. Because this might go /so/ wrong, she concentrates on it fiercely, fingertips curling, and pushes sorrow at him, into him. ‘Cry,’ she thinks, and ‘Sadness’ — only it’s not words exactly, it’s the sense of it, and she pours it into him.
“Right,” Stiles says, giving in immediately because he doesn’t understand her powers enough to comment all that much, apparently. The teen watches her as she starts to speak, lifting her hand just slightly. It seems like she’s attempting to understand what’s going on, but can’t quite grasp it. Her hand rests near to him, but it doesn’t come in contact with him.
It takes a moment, but Stiles feels her reaching into him. It’s a complex matter that he doesn’t exactly understand, find that it feels more weird than anything. He watches her with large amber eyes, but then finds that she’s pressing much more extensive emotions at him. Ones that will make him emotional, sad, the works. Regardless, tears begin to form in his eyes for unknown reasons, and he wants to move away.
She pushes harder. This is her power, this is what she is, what she’s for — she needs him to cry. She needs to know she’s still in control, at least a little, and the consequences of any other emotion she could have put on him wouldn’t’ve been acceptable. It’s harder than she expected, but maybe that’s because of his power.
“Don’t fight me,” she hisses, hardly aware of it.