Staying up all night, Deuce was just about to retreat under the covers of her bed. One or two hours of sleep wouldn't hurt. After all, she'd gone by without rest plenty of times before, always finishing her projects at the break of dawn. Putting down her paintbrush, still moist with colour, Deuce crawled towards the mattress. As soon as she pulled the covers around her, Deuce slipped into an unconscious state, dreaming. Usually, she was engulfed in swirls of colour, bright lights and soft whispers. She liked to imagine that the whispers were messages that her mother was in charge of, though Deuce never could decipher them. But this time, it was different. The colour scheme of the air around her was pale and there were more cold colours than warm. And it was quiet. She stood still inside her dream, trying to pick up the smallest voices, but there were none.
Breaking the eerie silence came the deep rumble of thunder. She awoke with a start and frowned. Deuce had only gotten 45 minutes worth of sleep.