The little girl, who looked no more than eight, sat on the chair close to the french window, her small legs tucked beneath her long dress as she watched the pitter-patter of the rain as it fell down and made puddles on the grounds of the Dawson's mansion. Her hazel eyes were blank and somewhat dazed as she watched the water puddling and the mud splashing as the rain dropped into the mud. She could hear the hit of it against the roof and also see how the droplets of it slid down the glass window she was watching. But that was not what made her sit quietly like that—her forehead was still bandaged, and a few bruises from their accident were still on her body.