Leah like her home. It was actually a small house on Cross Lake with just enough room for two people to live comfortably. They had a private dock, a small boat, and the nearest neighbor was about ten minutes walking distance away. Very peaceful. Just perfect, she thought. Her room faced the lake and the sunset as well. Her walls were blue and purple. Her bed was made to match as well. Stacked against the wall were boxes. Her stuff. Leah's stuff; stuff that she didn't remember acquiring.

Leah slowly opend the first box. In it were paintings of portraits. She took the first one out. It was of a woman with long, blonde hair. Her eyes were blue and her lips thin. The painting seemed almost as if it were a photograph but you could see the brushstrokes. She looked at the other paintings. All were of faces she didn't recognize. There was one and he was handsome. Wavy black hair tied back into a ponytail, dark blue eyes and a secretive smile. Dimples in the cheeks. Leah stared, mesmerized at his features. Her signature was at the bottom left of the painting.

Leah opened the next box. She found clothes, similar to the ones she found tasteful at the Boardwalk. She immediatley set to unpacking all the boxes and sorting through her things. She found pictures of herself--though she had long flowing black hair in these. Her eyebrows were finely arched and she was beautiful in these pictures. Now, she was scarred, short hair with still-healing bullet wounds in her head, but she was still alive.

Hours went by and Leah looked at the clock which said 6:45. She strolled downsairs and found Clarisse who was standing in midair. Leah stopped and stared.

"Clarisse!"

Concentration broken, Clarisse fell to the floor.
"Leah! I almost had it!"
"Had what?"
"Floating! You can do it, too,"
"You were floating. How did you do it?"
"Do you remember what Col. said about our gifts?"
"Yeah, but I thought he was talking about survival."
"He was, but not in the normal sense."
Leah nodded, still not believing what she was seeing and hearing.

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