We begin with a girl of only seventeen years old. She is currently laying in bed, underneath her own sea of neon stars, listening to the melodies of a raging storm outside. The brillant lightning accents the rise and fall of thunder, and it nearly spells out the words to a song.

     In the girl's mind, thoughts of love and magick run rampant...however, it is beginning to get later. Time comes, and the fuzzy grey tendrils that live in the dark depths of the back of everybody's mind begin to stretch and urge forward. These bring thoughts of death and uncertainty, among other things any beautiful, promising young girl should never have to think about. Plaited in these tendrils is imagination. Oh, no, not the wonderful imagination of faeries and angels, of magick and mystery. Oh no. This imagination is the kind of worst case scenarios. She clings tight to her magenta teddy bear as scenes of her loved ones dying, thoughts of heart break, and flashes of ultimate inner degradation fill her mind. Attempting to harness these thoughts will not work for the girl. Every night, she tries to stop these horrible thoughts; every night she tries to replace each false happening with a brighter, more pleasant thought. But the tendrils reign supreme, when it is after midnight and before six am. So the girl lays there, each night, not being able to fall asleep, because when her eyelids close, it's as if she's there, watching each awful moment. Every night, she buries her tear stained cheeks and full lips into the matted fur of her five year old teddy bear.

     This night, however, is quite different. Yes, very different indeed. The girl has just squeezed her eyes tight tight tight, in the routine futile attempt at banishing the thoughts. She buries deep underneath her covers, the lightning dashing over her face, making her eyes open wide. Of course, when she opens her eyes from the horrible thoughts, and sees how the light plays with the objects in her room, she believes she sees faces in the walls and bodies standing scarecrow-still next to her bookcases. Oh, how she wants to dash upstairs to her mother and her father's room, to crawl into bed with them, crying, telling them about the horrible dreams she's having. They would let her lie inbetween them, both of them cooing and telling her it will be okay, "Shh, child, you're fine, we're here for you," stroking her hair, her mother's cool fingertips gently caressing the girl's forehead, helping her to sleep. BUT. I'm seventeen now, the girl thinks, I can't go running to Mommy and Daddy anymore when I have silly imaginings of things that won't happen!  

     Nonetheless, the desire to be held doesn't cease, nor do the nasty thoughts. The storm continues to rage. In an earlier time of night, this would help the girl to sleep. She would lay there, staring out the small pane of glass at the top of the wall opposite her bed that served as the only window in her room. The equally small curtains would make the bright lightning a little less intense, though, if the girl wouldn't have been so comfortable, or so sleepy, she would have run upstairs, not to her parents room, but straight out the front door to watch the spectacle. But, this is not what happened.

     Suddenly, as a flash of white crossed the pane of glass that rested at the bottom of the driveway, the girl hears a ta-ta-ta-tap on her window. She shakes the noise away, dismissing it as a newer, more sensory part of her nightmares. But then it happens again. Ta-ta ta tap, with a little rhythm to it. Every moment or so, the tapping happens again, never getting louder, nor more frantic. It's just...patient, beckoning the girl to her window. She can take it no longer. Slipping off of her bed catiously, the girl inches towards her other bed that rests along the same wall of the window. The teddy bear's arm is clutched tightly between lithe fingers, boucing off of the girl's hip with each calculated step she takes. If the tapper is aware that the girl is moving closer to the window, they show no signs of knowing. She steps up onto her other bed, resting her hands gently on the wall for support. Slowly, the girl reaches forward towards the beads at the bottom of the black curtain. As she slowly pulls it upwards, above black and white angel feathers, her breathing grows harsher. The curtain is hardly one fourths of the way up, before she hears a warm voice telling her it's okay.

     I'm safe! The voice calls to her cheerfully.

     "How do I know that for sure?" she calls out warily. Suddenly, a hand is resting atop hers, every other finger decorated with golden rings, just like the girl's, except the girl's rings are silver. The girl screams and almost falls backwards (she doesn't, if you're worried). The mystery hand grips the girl's wrist and somehow---somehow, pulls the girl straight up and OUT the unopenable window. Once the girl realizes what has just happened, she nearly screams again, but the hand of the stranger covers the girl's mouth. A few moments later, the girl waves a hand, motioning that it's okay.

     "Who are you?" the girl asks.

     "Why, I'm you, silly!" came the response.

     "Me? Yo-you're..n-no, no, I'm me! I'm the only me there is!"

     "Not so! I'm you, and you are me, and we are each other," the voice explains, as if it were just that simple.

     "I don't know who, or what, you are, or what exactly you're trying to pull here, but I am having nothing of it! Just let me get back to my room!"

     The stranger sighs, exasperated. Just then, the brightest possible flash of lightning lit up the strangers face.

     "Y-you!," the girl begins, covering her mouth with her fingers. "You,"

     "Yes, I'm you. We've gone over this already."

     The girl couldn't believe what she was seeing. You wouldn't either if you were in her position. There before her, stood this stranger, a mirror image of herself, but, with inverted colours. While the girl had black hair, the stranger had stark white. As the girl saw through playful green eyes, the stranger saw through sparkling brown. The girl wears a black shirt and black shorts, as the stranger wears both of white. On the nails of the fingers of the girl, is painted a fresh blood red; the stranger bears a light aqualine colour. And, the final, most striking note, where the girl has the palest of skin, the stranger has a deep brown hue to her flesh. Other than the colour, there are no physical differences between the two, except one and only one. The stranger has elongated, pointed ears. When the girl noted this revelation, she was shocked and could only think back to her beloved books.

     "Are...are you a faerie? O-or a ghost? Or, a ghost of a faerie?"

     The stranger sighed again. "I told you, I'm you. Though, I suppose you could call me both faerie and ghost."

     The girl felt, as anyone would, absolutely bowled over. To be pulled from your room and through the walls like a wisp of smoke to be told that you have a twin of oppposite colour is quite a feat to have to swallow in just a few moments time.

     "Sooo...what do you want?" the girl ventures.

     At this, the stranger reveals perfectly straight teeth (abject to that of the slightly crooked teeth of the girl) which are almost pointed. "To reveal you to me, I to you, and you to you!... Among other things." With that, the girl felt a cold shiver slip down her spine and all of a sudden, she was no longer at the bottom of her driveway. She was floating up and above her house and outward to the sea of stars, with rolling waves of thunder and lightning.