Stars twinkle in the night sky, helping the moon in illuminating the earth below.
Below them, a teenage girl sits on her windowsill, staring up at the stars. Her hair is a bright blond, and reaches all the way down the back of her knees. But her most striking feature is her shining silver eyes.
She looks away from the stars, and down at her lap, where a small dark brown leather book rests. She opens the book. The pages are blank, ready to be written on.
She is tempted to not write on them, but John gave her this book for a reason.
She picks up her pencil, writes the date, and begins to write:
I'll make two things clear, here and now. One, I will not be starting each entry with a "Dear Diary". Two, I will be writing here as though I'm writing to a person. Don't ask why, I just will. Now that that's out of the way, I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Luna Knight. I am sixteen almost seventeen years old. Favorite color is blue, any shade. I want to be a Pokemon Trainer. But my mom won't let me. She says that it's too dangerous out there for a "pretty" girl like me. She thinks I can't take care of myself. She says that if I want to go do contests, however, then she'd me more than happy to let me go. If I traveled with her and traveled "like a lady" and stayed in hotels and stuff like that. But I don't want to do that. I want to battle trainers, train a team, sleep under the stars or even just in Pokemon Centers. I want to be my own person. Not sheltered by my mom. The only person who encourages me to follow my dream is John, my best friend. He knows me better than anyone, even more than my own mom. His dad works at Prof. Oak's Pokemon lab. Oh, yeah, I live in Pallet Town. I moved here just before the three trainers from Pallet Town became the top trainers in Kanto. My mom moved here thinking that this place would be a nice quiet place to raise me. Instead, it was a place full of aspiring trainers who wanted to say they were from the same place as the Champion, even if he was over thrown two years later. And while I'm on the subject of dads, I've never known mine. He wasn't there as I grew up, and every time I ask my mom about him she freezes up and won't answer my questions. He's dead. I know he is. But why won't Mom answer my questions about him? Well, I'd better go, it's getting late. Maybe I'll write here again tomorrow, if anything happens, which is doubtful.
The girl closes the book, and walks towards the bed on the other side of the room. She places the book on the nightstand, before climbing into the bed and falling asleep.