You would never know it, but Molly was a dancer, had been for over twenty years. No one knew, of course. She did not do it for the attention, to show off her skills. In fact, she really couldn't stand to have people watch her dance. It was private, intimate, the way her body moved to the music. Slow, not sensual, but graceful, and filled with a soft sort of peace. Molly danced for herself, for her tired soul, for the quiet sadness the consumed her kind but lonely heart. In the dancing, she could forget, just for a little while, the sharp sting of rejection, of being used, of being timid and meek and a stepping stone. She could forget that she hated herself, at times.
With dancing, Molly didn't have to hide. Molly was strong, her body almost made to dance, and her past regrets, her secret future hopes, they had no bearing once the music started. All that mattered was the music and her motion. So Molly danced and became greater than she was. And for infinitesimally small periods of time, Molly Hooper was almost happy, a flutter of emotion that enveloped her heart and threatened to spill out over into her soul. She was more than Molly, and yet somehow also more of Molly, a great, vast appeal of skin and bone, muscle and sinnew, hidden strength. For these small moments, life stood still, life was irrelevant, and she could almost believe the words once uttered to her under duress, small words filled with hidden secrets and broken apologies, words that changed her life forever: "you do count".