It was a good dream. A dream unfulfilled. A girlhood dream spent in pink tutus and white tights leading to curtain calls and roses. Talent, dedication, desire; all betrayed by genetics. Too tall, too endowed and too much longing for a dream forever out of reach. Even now as she danced alone in her studio listening to the music, the small girl was reflected in the mirrors. Unaware of adolescence and the havoc hormones would cause, the girl moved en pointe, dreamed of the jeté. Times like these were when the woman most felt the shackles on her balletic soul.