Matt couldn't comprehend how beautiful and stimulating the dark was, ironic as it sounds. He arrived at a horseshoe-shaped lake in the center of the thick forest, about 40 feet in diameter, untamed grass spoking from the moist ground, waving with the gentle breeze and trees hovering over the lake like skyscrapers. Thickets of wildflowers decorated the trimming of the lake, coming to a colorful zenith at two bushes guarding a moss-inhabited, rotting log. Dragonflies walked across the surface with their wings flapping like a hummingbird's, perfect targets for unseen fish and plump bullfrogs crouching into camoflague against the green lilypads. The light cascaded the lake into a light tint of blue, sparkling off the backs of bullfrogs and lush lilypads bobbing for a midnight dip in the cool, clear water. Matt trudge over ruly grasses and weeds to the log, sitting down on it and making it crack slighty with his weight and the log's mortality. This lake was so quiet, tranquil, utterly untouched from the hazards that lurk right outside the forest's walls. Even the most overwhelmed individual could come here and find peace within nature's songs.

Matt's mind drifted off to the past 2 1/2 years of his life, a life he was perfectly content with before Dream Street was even a conception. He couldn't deny that Dream Street was the best thing that could have happened to him, but there's still this tiny voice squeaking in the back of his mind about how things could be different, more enjoyable. He bent down to the left and plucked an small orange forget-me-not bud from its bunch, its silk petals shining from shimmers of midnight dew from the graced hand of Mother Nature. He stroke it pensively, thinking about how soft the petals felt, like a princess's skin. He let it slide from the security of his fingers to the marshy forestbed, his eyes raising to the obscure figure approaching the lake, taking a stance like a boxer, never knowing who trampled through these woods in the dead of night. He suddenly felt a surge of vulnerability shoot through him as the figure loomed closer.

It was a girl; dressed in nothing but a satin light blue nightgown and cloud slippers, creeping toward him in suspicion, trying to see his face through the curtain of darkness that opened wider with every step. "Who are you?" Matt called quietly, never seeing this girl before in his life. The darkness swam over her face like it was noon on the brightest day; a beautiful face catching his eyes; a small nose, high sculpted cheekbones like those belonging to a models, deep, blue-green eyes resembling minature earths circling in the universe of her eye sockets. Golden blonde waves framed her face like a goddess, traveling whimsically down to her mid-back.

"This is private property, Sir," Alana responded uncharacteristically forceful, dropping her bracing arms to her sides.

Sir? Matt pondered. "Oh," Matt responded unsurely and innocently, glancing back in the general direction of his house, instantly regretting bringing a flashlight in the cloudiness of his rage. It would be quite a journey back home. Maybe the moon will beam enought light so he could get home safely. "I didn't know anyone lived out here. I live back there on Parkson's. I don't come here often, just once in a while to think..."

The girl's eyes soften, a tinge of dejavu highlighting them as her head gave a slight nod. "I know what you are saying," she began, "My home is on Twilight. This is where I come to think, also." She walked passed him coyly, sitting gently on the log, her hands clasped refinely on her lap, her eyes drifting over the lake's surface.

Matt scooted next to her, wondering why such a young girl would be strolling through the woods at night. What was he thinking?; he couldn't have been much older than her. The silence rounding them in a fine mist was almost theraputic, clensing each of their souls of the malevolent, fustrating illnesses that ailed them. "Did you move into the Danforth's place?" Matt asked her, smashing through the silence like a bull in a china shop.

"I..." she started, brushing invisable dift from her left hand dantily, "I suppose so. I know little about our new home or our new country."

Matt was perplexed, his nose scunching up at her last comment. He watched a few leaves float above his head like pixies, settling behind them for a rest before taking off again. "What do you mean?" Matt asked, peering at her stoic profile.

Who is this gentlemen? Alana question, shifting her eyes to his briefly. "My mother and I are natives of Liechtenstein. We traveled here and are staying here on...business."

"That's a real country?!" Matt enquired a bit too childly, his voice spiking up a few octives.

A tiny, almost negligible chuckle sneaked through her closed personality. "Yes. It is a small country between Austria and Switzerland, about the size of your Washington D.C., whose exports include pottery, stamps, dental products and small hardware."

Matt listened intesely as his eyes followed a fat bullfrog leap on a lilypad, submerging into the black water because of the sheer differences in weight. "Wow," Matt commented, his eyes skidding back to her cool bluish-greens, "You seem proud of your country."

Alana nodded, clasping her hands together as the frigid air bit at her exposed arms, stimulating the hairs to raise to the sky to praise to a sleeping God to stop the uncomfotable ambush. "I miss home dearly." Her face fell into a sorry, reflective grimace, shivers beginning to shake her body like minature earthquakes. I curse myself for leaving without a coat, Alana scolded herself, trying to supress her uncontrolable nerves.

"Do you want to wear my jacket?" Matt offered, whipping the jacket off his back before she could respond, a slight, sweet breeze of his musky colonge tickling her nose and her unemotional lips.

Surprise seized her melancholy face, an appreciative smile sliding in its place. "That would be admirable," she told him as she clenched the jacket in her petite hands, the smooth leather almost gnarling her delicate, well cared for hands, sliding it over her freezing arms, it considerably large against her small frame. "Thank you."

"No problem," Matt told her earnestly, pressing his hand into the moss-dressed natural bench and lifting his head to the china-white moon dazzling the sky. "So...Why are you here?"

That thought rose in her brain for the first time from her flight from her house. She utterly forgot about it, talking with this gentleman extracted her problems from her tormented mind and chucked them into the endless sky, meshing with countless stars and comets like alphabet soup. "It's very hard," Alana murmured, her body slinking down as her troubles plagued her body again. "Being in my position with every thing going on and you have no power to control or stop it."

Matt's eyes augmented as her confession seeped into his brain. It was almost like they were destined to meet that night. "I totally know what you're saying," Matt confessed, turning 90 degrees to face this beauty, the wind weaving its hand into her soft waves. Her elongated neck turned slightly so her ears could receive his voice over the croaking of restless bullfrogs pounding on his words. "I had a fight with my mom tonight. She just doesn't understand what it's like for me these days. It's really hard."

"Yes," Alana agreed, plunging her chin onto her sweaty palm, her eyes turned to Matt. This boy was troubled just like her. It was almost comforting like a group counseling session, exclusive and confidential, only two members. She thought she was the only one in the universe alone, afraid and aggitated. "My mother judges me and questiones me all the time..." Time? she wondered, realizing she left her silver watch spraewled on her dresser. "Do you have the time?" Alana asked Matt, trying to find his arm with her eyes in the dark haze.

"Yeah," Matt replied, groping for the 'light' button on his Quicksilver watch. An illuminated '11:46' shined back up at them, making Alana's stomach tighten in knots. "It's...11:46."

"Oh, Lord," Alana cried softly, jumping up in fright. It was a 20 minute run back home, if she ran with the speed of a cheetah. The security camera catching her in the act of breaking and entering an increasing possibility with every stale second sneaking away between her and this stranger. "I have to go home. Mother's going to punish me!" With that, she dashed without another word from his side, water-soaken greenery sloshing under her slupper, her body blending quickly in with the dark night.

"Wait," Matt shouted, not ready for her to leave, acutally enjoying another's company in this testing time, "I don't even know your name!" Too late, Alana dissapeared into thin air like Cinderella's godmother, the only visable thing in her wake was tiny blue sparkles dancing in the breeze and her tender voice drowning out fractious frogs...and, her slipper? Matt bent down and pulled the cloud-print slipper out of the tangles of grass and into his hand like an antique doll, the surprisingly dried mudd overlaying its sole. He nibbled thoughtfully on his bottom lip. There had to be dozens of houses on Twilight, any one of them could be recepients of the deed to the vast woods. How would he return the slipper to her? He peered off in the direction of her house wondering if this was a sign, if this assured him somehow, sometime they'd meet again.