Maya, a wisp of a girl with hair the color of spun gold, balanced on the rickety wooden fence post. The world below was bathed in the pre-dawn blues, the last whispers of night clinging to the horizon. But in the east, a sliver of fiery orange peeked through the inky darkness, steadily pushing back the night. A smile spread across Maya's face, warming even faster than the growing sun. What hope, what dreams, did she see painted in the colors of the sunrise?, she wear Western dress, her face is beautiful like godess