1:22 a.m. blinked faintly from the rugged night stand, splashing its smooth, faux-wood surface with a cyan glow. There weren't any other lights on in the room, save for a small table lamp perched on top of a desk in cluttered disarray. Papers had been scattered across the desk's length, each a new homework assignment completed within the last few nights. Books lay half-opened facing downward to mark the page last read, and rings, much like crop-circles on a farmer's corn field, broke the surface of piled papers. The rings were stained a dark brown and came from an ordinary mug, still warm from its last batch of coffee, albeit empty.

She had hoped that tonight would be different. There were piles of homework to be done for the next day that she purposefully put off for the night, and she had bought a new coffee maker with fresh grounds from her usual studying spot. One way or another, she was going to stay up all night and responsibly work on her homework while downing every gulp of caffeinated goodness. She would not fall to slumber. Alba refused to go another night fighting off her terrors.

When her alarm clock chimed midnight, her eyes had already begun to droop from heavy lids. No amount of coffee or homework would save her from her fears, and even with her trusty sony discman playing Don't Stop Believing through her ear-buds, sleep had garnered another victim. A #2 pencil clacked and rolled off the desk as her hand relaxed while the crook of her elbow cradled Alba's sleepy head.

Her eyes opened to what she worst feared: a raging storm, far worse than the night before, threatening to overtake the tiny island she was now stranded on. Driftwood from what used to be the small row-boat that brought her there washed up against the shore, and Alcyone, sailor soldier of storms, took no hesitation to grab a hefty piece.

It won't be long before her friends came by, bodies soaking, eyes hollowed out and yearning for fresh blood to warm their dead veins.