The pale moonlight contrasted the color of the dark forest. It was wintry, but not at its best as to wake the hair on the skin. What should have been a quiet lovely rest, a journey to the wonderland—sheltered with the clusters of stars and grace of the full moon—turned out to be perturbed by the buzzing of insects, whose hymn destroyed everything pleasant about quietude. 

Ada slapped her exposed laps, and let her nails run through the spot until the sweet sensational feeling started to burn. Her smooth skin had now turned into a gritty of swollen and pulsing lumps that won’t stop itching. How many times? She wonders. It was so difficult to keep track of the buzz. She could hardly sleep from the irritating chorus of the mosquitoes, singing a noise to her unruffled soul. A song she would never, in an awoken state listen to. If only the bug could let her rest and bother some other animals. Soon it would be dawn and her journey would continue, but this bloo

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