It was almost midnight. Midnight meant that Alaska would finally leave her room, because usually everyone was doing exactly what she should be doing- sleeping. Alaska slept, but she didn’t do it at night. She did it whenever she pleased, and eventually, that led to becoming almost nocturnal. So down the stairs she went, sketchbook tucked underneath her arm, quietly making her way to the kitchen for a cup of iced tea and a Poptart. Then she headed outside into the garden where she settled onto the ground, back against a tree, and ate her Poptart before cracking open her sketchbook. She was humming under her breath, trying to capture how the moonlight shone through the trees and shimmered onto the pond in front of her, when she heard a branch breaking. She jumped damn near two feet in the air, and given what had happened in Paris, she had every right to be terrified. She sat up straight, eyes wide. “Wh-who’s there?” She called, voice shakier than she’d have liked it to have been.