Reverence - Book 2

- 12 -

My skin burned like wildfire. 

The tingle that rambled against my jaw from the gentle swipe of his fingers had yet to subside. It was the feeling of hot dry air billowing over you after you'd been shielded by the shade. 

I found myself selfish for wanting more now. My exuberance was harshly snuffed when he had caught my hand. My fingertips itched to race down the firm expanse of his body. 

Unraveling. 

That touch unraveled me. 

I was restless on the flight back to Moscow. My knees shook with an unprecedented electricity, and I had all but flashed from my skin as the wheels touched down on the smooth tarmac. 

I could've been able to run 1,000 kilometers then. 

That night, in a flourish of mania, I rolled that rug stained with the harrowing Rorschach up tightly and placed it on my door mat for maintenance to retrieve the next day. 

It was time to shake out the rust. 

Even now, I found myself a count ahead of the piece. My muscles moved sharp and the breath of life waltzed around my body like a swan on a still morning lake. 

In the mirror, curious brown eyes followed the crave of my dancing, her slender arms reaching as fervently as my own. 

She was fast and lithe, falling in time with me. 

Our final Assemble flourished well before the tinkering of the music. 

Her chest rose softly with worked breaths, but the smile on her face superseded the exhaustion. 

"You are quick, like fox." 

She quipped, adjusting the tights over her slim thigh. 

"And you just as so." 

I said slyly. 

I was quickly becoming impressed with Svetlana. This was her fifth week beneath my wings. She was a sobbing play handed delicately to me from Ingrid. 

Svetlana had been discovered puttering around in a dilapidated finishing school outside of Siberia. Ingrid had fallen discreetly in love with her the same way in which she loved me. 

"Her dance, she move like you. Beauty from her brokenness." 

The day that shy, brown haired girl stood nervously beside Ingrid as we watched her with insincerity upon our faces, was the day that she died. 

Born from her tragedy was she who stood beside me now. 

Beauty from her brokenness. 

The whiplash of her success held strongly over the other dancers. I knew how they revered me. I heard it on the hushed whispers that tittered around us. I wasn't stupid. I was formidable and strong. And I was determined. 

People were afraid of those that were stronger than they themselves. Even more so when it was the one who clawed their way from perdition to stand amongst the gods. 

But no one was quite affected as Yanyah. 

The bitter scowl that crossed her lips was ever apparent at the passing of Svetlana's name in a conversation. 

She not only spearheaded beside me, but was cast in the shadow of a different giant now. 

I had noticed the frost permeating from her at my warmth to Svetlana. 

So many times I had rejected to protégé Yanyah, so I saw the ground on which I stood taking so immediately to the strange little bird that came accosting at my window. 

I had no reason to ostracize my closest ally. But the constant overcast of her kept me wrapped tightly in my shell. 

I wanted to bloom. 

After Paris, things had been different.

The unannounced visits had dwindled, the need for constant gossip and prosecco ceased. I was falling beneath her graces. 

It was sad to watch her envy me now. 

If she only knew. 

"What are you thinking about." 

I met her gaze in the mirror. 

"Lunch." 

I smirked, brushing down the worrisome plume of guilt. I had nothing to feel guilty over. I owed no one but myself my happiness. 

The sun was coming now, I could feel it in my bones. 

A rose was not concerned by the progress of weeds. They were hearty and beautiful. And they had thorns that threatened to cut the hands of those who tried to rip away their beauty. 

I had lived my life in the shadows of the weeds because I had thought nothing more of myself. 

But I am a rose.