She sits in the corner of the clunk brick training room, the dim lights and moonlight clash on the floor and olive green sofa. A steady thump sounds from the center. Her sister is traning, pounding into the punching bag with unnatural power.  Dawn moves subconsiously, as if she is punching the bag. No one is noticing her sitting there, the shadows like a cloack over her perfectly slender body.  Long shimmering hair cascades over her shoulders, its brunette gleam untouched by sweat or dirt, like the slayer in the center.  Her long graceful eyebrows arch fawlessly and identical over her huge doe-like blue eyes, those long black lashes setting off the sparkle. She leans her porcelin cheek into a impossibly small hand, playing with boredom and the curling ends of her tresses with the other smooth hand. A sigh breaks out of her glossy pink lips as she squirms her narrow torso with anxious energy again. Suddenly the steady punching stops and the strong form of her sister leaves the room, followed by her talking friends. The lights flick off. Dawn sits up straight, and then hops off of her invisible perch. She pulls on the gloves and begins to pound into the shiny black bag with power and authority. Her petite and perfect hips moving with the movement of her long arms. Feet planted firmly on the floor, one pivoting, the other set, she kicks high into the air. Beads of salty sweat form at her hairline and lip as she finally pulls off the gloves and walks from the practice area, and into the blue moonlight square shining brightly in the middle of the otherwise dark room. It holds a promise for her. Someday she will be great, and they will see her. Someday soon.