<div class="floatright">(http://i127.photobucket.com/albums/p121/Mab_faerie/Elliquiy/b36a2cbe-7ec2-4a0f-83c1-80b5a9177b34_zps94ff6f9e.jpg)</div><br/>On the evening of the day that Aislin found the purple diary, her sleep was troubled by nightmares.<br/>Every time she closed her eyes she could see a face lingering at the edge of her consciousness. A woman in a grey and green kimono, whispering inaudible words.<br/>Fragments of sentences rushed at Aislin from every corner of her mind, but none of them ever made enough sense for her to fully decipher.<br/><br/><em>"...can't remember." </em>The woman in the Grey Kimono seemed to be getting closer, her bright, equally grey eyes were soft and imploring, she looked so young, and somehow, so afraid.<br/><em>"give me back my..."</em>Her hands reached out towards Aislin, as if pleading, begging for something. But what?<br/><em>"Please..."</em>The Kimono woman was so close, Aislin could hear her soft, ragged breath as she inched nearer and nearer. It was only as the Kimono woman closed the gap between them that Aislin finally heard the laughter.<br/><br/>Echoing all around, spreading out and reverberating back inward, a sound like madness and sorrow amplified a thousand times over. The woman was upon her then, those once sad grey eyes now stricken with madness, solid black and emptied of life. A smile played onto her lips, as if she had finally found something she had been searching for, for a very long time. The smile spread farther, almost inhumanly so as the laughter died down to nothing. Silence hung in the air for a moment, before the woman whispered, softly, almost tenderly so.<br/><em>"I remember you..." </em><br/><br/>With a start, Aislin shot up, her breathing fast and shallow as a cold sweat ran down her back. She gasped for air, her lungs straining, as if she had just run a marathon in her sleep. Gagging slightly, Aislin coughed and sputtered until her lungs were full of air once more and her breathing had calmed itself down.<br/>Shakily, she climbed out of bed, her eyes straining against the darkness, fumbling towards the wall switch. When at last she'd found it, she flicked it upwards, blinking in pain as light flooded the room and shocked her eyes.<br/>Snatching her glasses off of the beside nightstand, Aislin took in the sight of her room as her vision adjusted to the light. The bedroom was simple, clean, empty really. There was her bed, with its now rather ruffled white sheets and blue floral blankets, propped against the leftmost wall.<br/><br/>A tiny, scarcely used white desk rested in the opposite corner of the bed, currently piled half-height with film, photographs and various camera parts. If Aislin would ever take the time to clean it off, she was sure she'd be able to use it properly. She almost was half certain that there was still probably a working desk underneath that mess.<br/>Maybe.<br/><br/>Beside the bed was the previously mentioned small, white nightstand, empty save for her now vacant glasses case and a coffee cup that looked as if it hadn't seen a sink in a few days now.<br/>Tucked in the corner nearest the door was her dresser and at the foot of that rested her laundry basket, with fresh clothes still waiting to be put away.<br/>Everything was just as she'd left it. Everything was as it should be. No creepy kimono-clad women claiming to remember her here.<br/><br/>With a quiet sigh of relief, Aislin left her bedroom and crossed the few sqaure feet of the studio apartments living room to enter the kitchen.<br/>Really she was being generous even calling it that. The living room and kitchen were divided by a shift in the flooring from burgundy carpet to bare checkered tile and little else.<br/>Her living room consisted of a cream colored couch pressed against the wall her bedroom shared, opposite two tall windows that let in a fair bit of light but never seemed to open quite as high as she'd like them to and more empty space than could be good for a person.<br/>A very expensive and scarcely used television set was latched into the wall opposite the couch, it was something that her ex had convinced her to buy and it rarely, if ever, saw any use. Aislin had considered it a waste of time and money, much like the ex had been, but she certainly wasn't going to let him have it, even so. It was expensive and non-refundable, after all.<br/><br/>Two bookshelves lined the walls on either side of the television, stacked high and packed tight with books of varying colors, shapes and sizes, from topics ranging as far as Shakespeare's poetry to Marjane Satrapis Persepolis. Books, along with photography, were Aislins not-so-secret passion. Normal escapism could be found just as easily in food, caffeine,  alcohol or drugs. But Aislin? She preferred literature as her vice of choice.<br/>Across from the television, nearing the couch was a long, thin, black glass counter-top coffee table, where stacks of mail and that weird purple journal now sat. Looking at that diary for too long made Aislin shiver. She needed to concentrate on something else for a change.<br/><br/>Turning her focus away from the living room, Aislin scanned the kitchen. It was decent, if modest, with just a stove, fridge, a few cabinets and some counter space with a double sink stuck smack dab in the middle of them. She had a mini microwave that she hardly ever used and a coffee machine that could stand for a cleaning as much as its cups could.<br/>The neon light flashing on the stove informed her that it was half past three in the morning. An excellent time for coffee, if there ever was one.<br/>Okay, so maybe caffeine was a bit of a vice of hers too but it was probably less likely to kill her than drugs and she was happy enough to settle for that.<br/><br/>Rummaging around in her cabinets, Aislin procured a clean coffee mug, some instant coffee mix, powdered creamer and then set to work.<br/>In no time at all, she had a hot cup of coffee nearly burning her hands despite it's supposedly heat-resistant mug.<br/>Shuffling the few feet over to the couch and plopping down, she set her coffee mug on the thin glass table, beside a small stack of unopened bills and a few old letters. Her eyes were drawn yet again to that diary. How had it gotten her name in it? Who had been able to imitate her writing so perfectly? It just didn't make sense! Why would anyone do such a thing?<br/><br/>Frustrated, Aislin picked up the diary again, intent on pointing out some kind of flaw in the writing style of her name, if only to ease her own mind and deploy an argument able to convince Madeline that she hadn't written it herself.<br/>As she tugged the diary open once more, a small, barely audible gasp escaped from her throat.<br/>There was more writing.<br/>On the very first page, in the same delicate swirl that was a mimicry of her own handwriting, were the words "I remember you." Beside the words, scrawling up along the entire length of the page, was a drawing of flowers. Penciled in, in what looked like blue colored chalk and black ink, were delicate, sprawling Myosotis flowers. Otherwise knows as Forget-me-nots.<br/><br/>Shakily, Aislin tossed the diary away as if it were hotter than the coffee she'd just poured.<br/>"What's going on..." She whispered, the fear she'd felt before in her nightmare gripping her heart again, tighter now.<br/>"What's happening to me...?"