Two faces emerge from behind her lids, swallowed in blackness. Margo waits amidst the dark void, preparing for the minute possibility the boy's silhouette would define its eyes, and that they might momentarily lock with hers. The longing seems to last for hours aching her to her core. But when the time arrives, the other set of eyes open instead exposing an emerald so vivid they light up her whole face. Her creamy skin shines more radiantly than Margo remembers. Blonde strands ruffle around her heart-shaped face, softening her already smooth lines. She smiles as if thankful Margo has finally let her into her dreams. The brightness flowing from the being illuminates the entire vision, the golden light taking the form of the dream's backdrop.

The boy for once fades away.

"Margo," she calls out from across the Hederman's golden fields of wheat. She giggles and runs in what she considers her 'stealth mode,' though she is hardly as sneaky as she thinks.

"Kylie, what did you do?" Margo fusses but couldn't help laughing back at the sight. Her sister has hold of the rim of her tee shirt with a bulging weight sagging its middle downward and bouncing off her abdomen with every stride.

"Hedermans are out," she pants. "Thought I'd show Helen. Live up to the name of 'brat.'" Mrs. Hederman isn't exactly fond of the two of them roaming the farm, Kylie in particular. She's been known to throw a few parties past the eastern side of the farm where the woods meet with the creek. Though she's never been caught red-handed, the aftermath is enough for Helen Hederman's assessment to point toward the two Grisby girls. She was only half right.

Kylie catches up to her sister, and Margo joins her flight back toward the house, catching sight of the green rounds her blouse holds. "Apples? The Hedermans already suspect you for last week's party. You know they'll catch on." She glances over her shoulder at their landlord's grand white house with its green-tiled roof. It sits at the opposite end of the pond as the little replication they rent. Their driveway is empty of the blue pickup.

"Don't you see?" she asks, almost surprised at Margo's remark. "That's the point! Let her know it's me, but only on the inside. She'll never catch me. It'll drive her insane!"

Margo pops the latch on the picket fence that runs the perimeter of their house letting Kylie slip in first. The steps moan as they make their way up the porch and into the living room. Her sister drops the pile of fruits onto the kitchen counter sending them spinning in wild circles. Their mother looks up from her book sliding her reading glasses down to the brim of her nose.

"Where did you—" She shakes her head. "I don't want to know."

Kylie's glorious smile spreads across her face, hardly masking the mischief inside.

*

Margo awakens to a rough texture, cold and sharp as daggers. The skin of her arms is exposed and numb. Her eyes crack to see a cloud of frozen air streaming from her nostrils and blades of grass individually frozen over peeking through a light dusting of snow.

It wasn't a dream; she is still in that dark, cold place, crumpled in pain on the hard ground. When has St. Joseph ever been known to have such sudden-changing weather? In all of Margo's life, she's never seen it shift so drastically.

A moan escapes through clenched teeth, a plea for warmth.

The sky glares down upon her with angry clouds, threatening to release their violent weather again. Frost-coated trees line the clearing with icicles snarling down at her like pointed teeth.

The stabbing pain in her scalp suddenly returns. She finds the warm, sticky patch of matted hair which throbs beneath her quivering palm. Margo sits up, much slower this time, to look at her red, tacky hand and stares, once she sees it behind her, at the bloodstained patch of snow. Crimson upon white stretches on.

Lightly massaging her head around the severed spot, she finds the bleeding has greatly slowed. Once she makes it home, she will likely need stitches, but her mom won't be pleased with a trip to the hospital in the middle of this storm.

Still a little dazed, her eyes sweep over her surroundings. The reality of the situation is sinking in and approaching fast. Her body creeps from the feeling of cold into a silent numbness. Blood pumping slower, muscles stiffening...

But she will not give into nature, no matter how strangely it decides to act. Suddenly, Margo is on her feet and determined to escape. She keeps her arms wrapped around each other trying to create as much friction as possible. Her purple hands contradict her white, splotchy knuckles.

A sudden chill runs up her spine that has nothing to do with the cold. So much has changed in this autumn forest. Sunlight no longer pours through the trees. A heavy fog lurks over the area making it nearly impossible to see more than a few yards ahead, and a light sleet streaks the air stinging her bare arms with each drop.

Branches bow, straining against icicles' pull. She notices, then, a tiny hint of green hidden under the casing of ice. The leaves are still bright beneath, and she realizes the life of the woods hasn't fully disappeared; the ice merely stifles it. The grass is still fully green under a thick layer of ice. Mushroom caps have frozen solid. Even the wildflowers hold their blooms perfectly. Yes, there is still much life to be found in this forest.

What caused such bizarre weather anyway? she wonders. It's late September in the south; snow isn't due till mid January if it is to even come at all.

The wind tears through the icy branches creating a dulcet sound like wind chimes. The sharp wind encourages her to get moving. She cannot be sure of which way is home, but her feet seem to lead her in a good enough direction. With every step there is a sound like the snapping of bones. The sleet, now accompanied with snow, beats across Margo's face. She uses a frost bitten tree to brace herself on a slick patch of ice when — Snap!

A massive icicle, thick as Margo's thigh, falls from the trees towering above. It stabs the earth not three feet from her.

Change of plans.

She backs into the middle of the clearing again, huddling next to one of the large rocks and trying to get in the direct center of the clearing. She scurries to the top of one of the stones, but it, too, is covered in ice. She slips back to the ground, slightly injuring herself again.

Now with a scraped knee and a bloody head, Margo looks quite disastrous. But her only worry is finding protection against the harsh winds, and since walking home is no longer an option, crouching between the stone parapets is the next best thing.

The wind is kept to a minimum, but there is no way to avoid the falling snow and ice. She digs her foot in the ground to soften the icy grass and sits on the cold, damp ground to wait out the storm.