Kellen was not a heavy sleeper. Dreams were one of her many fears; the idea of being alone with her thoughts sent a visible shudder through her body. She was one of the stranger children of Hephaestus. As far as she knew, there weren't any other schizophrenics at the camp. Kellen had become a target for taunting and teasing that was just as merciless from demigods as from regular mortals. At least the humans had been afraid of her metal-kinetic abilities. 

That being said, she suffered from another case of insomnia, only having just woken from am onminous nightmare. Kellen's nightmares weren't your typical dreams of a monster chasing you or the like. No, she suffered that enough during the day. At night, it was mental suffering that traumatized her. The faces in her dream were blank, stony and expresionless. Rows upon rows of faces that bore into the very essence of her being, silently screaming to her for something, [i]something[/i]... but what was it? What did they need?

Her body was juxtaposed into a fetal position when she heard the thunder. Camp Half-Blood was gifted with perfect weather, as far as she knew. What could this mean? The roar of the thunder reverberated in Kellen's ears, the deafening clap distorting itself into layers upon layers of screams, screaming for help, help, help-- until Kellen realized that it was she screaming, not the voices inside her head.