It was a charming summers day just west of the coast with, a slight breeze which, sent the smell of salty richness from the sea drifting lightly across the neighbouring fields and streaking glitter through Alice’s honey coloured hair, as she lay silently drawing beneath a rather obliging old oak tree. Alice, as a young girl of nine often took it upon herself to venture out across the green moors after school to the peaceful tranquillity of the outdoors, taking with her, her sketch book filled to the brim with elegant little drawing of which, showed promise and was her pride and joy. Her Grandmother once said that everybody has a treasure and to dear Alice that was hers, her passion marked lovingly into every page. At that moment she was drawing one of many wild daisies which, inhabited her lush surroundings. With its creamy petals and orange face, propped up proudly by its smooth green stalk it was a perfect subject but as she finish shading a very strange thing happened.