<span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #BFBFFF"><br/>Nyah Solas yawned dramatically. It was a quarter to eleven, and her shift at the drive-thru window, was almost over. In spite of being tired right now, she knew that once she returned to her efficiency apartment, she wouldn't be able to sleep for life of her. The curse of a stint on a mental ward as a teenager. A large, black truck pulled up next to the open window to her left, triggering the dinging of a tinny sounding bell, as if she could miss the damn thing right beside her, even if her eyes had been closed, the chugging sound of its diesel engine rumbled through her little body. "What can I getcha?"<br/><br/>Thirty minutes later, she was home. Such as it was. An array of mismatched furniture filled the small place she lived in; things she'd garnered from yard sales for cheap. She clearly preferred dark colors for a palette: black and dark grey were very predominant. She made herself a sandwich, with thinly sliced chicken breast, and colby jack cheese, grabbed a bag of Cheetos, and curled up on the loveseat in one corner. She did not click on the small tv across from her - she despised the thing for the most part, far preferring to read a lengthy novel from one of the many bookshelves crammed into the tiny living space. Nyah felt the television to be a necessary evil, in order to watch the occasional, fantasy-themed movie, whereas the books she collected from yard sales, were a more perfect escape from her ordinary life.<br/><br/>Halfway through her midnight snack, a rumble of thunder made her jump, and then break out into a smile. She adored thunder storms, most especially the lightning as it raced in zig-zags across a darkened sky. She made short work of finishing her food, and as she dropped the crumb-laden plate into the sink, she eyed the bottle of Trazadone on a shelf close by. She wouldn't be taking that crap, until the lightning had ceased - she was so drawn to watching the ferocious display, that she would willingly pay the price the following day, of not having had enough sleep. Perhaps this particular storm would pass quickly.<br/><br/>They hadn't at all understood the lightning appeal at Grey House, though the counselors there attributed it to her wild, imaginative nature. She apparently had a penchant for placing herself into dangerous situations, or at least, so she'd been told throughout her years in the mental institution. Trouble was, she didn't really have many memories from before her admittance to the facility.<br/><br/>By the time the storm abated, it was well past 5 am, and Nyah was pretty beat. She cracked a sleeping pill in half, so she'd still be able to shake herself awake enough to make it to work, and collapsed tiredly into bed. She hadn't even gotten around to opening her mail.<br/><br/>Much later in the day, as she scurried about to get ready for her shift at work, her eyes fell on the small stack of envelopes on her kitchen table. Quickly, she leafed through it; bill; bill; bil...not a bill. Glancing at the time on the microwave, she figured she'd open the letter real quick. Grey eyes glinted beneath a furrowed brow, as she tried to make sense of the words on the page. Well's Summer Camp? What was this? A vague memory of laughter, and better days flooded her mind briefly, but it was so intangible, that she wasn't even sure it was a real memory at all. She threw the scrap of paper down to the table, and ran out the door, jumping into her black, '66 VW Bug. Every time she drove the thing, it was a reminder of her parents' guilt at having had her committed in her teens - guilt enough to drive them to pay a high price for a restored classic, in lieu of apology.<br/><br/>Nyah meant to go to work. She truly did. But the letter of invitation to a place she wasn't sure she truly recalled, nagged her, and almost without realizing she was doing it, she turned her Bug towards the interstate, flipped on its GPS, and spoke the address from the letter, out loud. <br/><br/>It took her nearly four hours of driving just a little over the speed limit, to reach the place. She parked her car, barely noticing anything about her surroundings, other than a large, faded yellow sign, commanding her to walk. If there were other vehicles parked there already, she was too puzzled to notice, and in short order, she was standing before a small grouping of cabins, varied in size. She stood with her hands on her hips, buzzing with anticipation. Now what?<br/></span></span>