Butterflies' Dance - [A Kimetsu No Yaiba Full Story]

Chapitre 13

   Looking in the mirror, she groaned.

  Why would her untamable hair would not stay put for once ? 

   She inhaled, trying to keep her calm, screaming internally. A ghostly, somber figure appeared behind her. Cold fingers brushed against her ear shell. Hair were being pulled. And tying her hair in a well-done bun.

   She had not heard any metal clang. Did she ?

   Ah, yes. She had lost her coin.

   But did that mean–

   Kanao was looking at her with blank, deep purple eyes. She stayed silent in the pregnant pause, before moving from her roommate's way. Nezuko blinked, and carefully moved forward.

 "Our dear scenarist finished the story we will have to play." The butterfly lady — because her shawl reminded her of it — announced. "After I agreed to it, I gave the permission for the costumes, and soon enough, I will find an orchestra." Mutters rose between the girls. "I will have to find some other dancers, too. But for now, we will practice essential movement." Her graceful figure turned towards the lip sealed girl. "I am sorry, Nezuko. I promised we would train pointes, yet I prefer training the movements for our representation. I could organize some additional lessons for you, what do you think ?"

   The mentioned one did not know whether or not to nod. And she understood that it would happen either way, since their teacher had many reasons to, and did not let her choose.

   It's fine, it did not matter. She had to catch up Kanao's level, even if it was close to the word "impossible".

   They were next to each other, in line. They were five. If she counted the boys seven. Would the teacher participate ? That would make eight. Still not enough.

   The girls first trained.

  Pas de bourré. Pas de chat. Plié. Demi-Plié. Plié. Glissade.

   The pace was quick, but Nezuko followed, arms opening like a bud, stretching its petals, the fragrance springing from its center, into a flower.

   Her mind was elsewhere, eyes lost in the lights. One of them was starting to fade. Her attention too, visibly, as she was too lost to remark that she was delayed, and everyone fell on the floor.

   She massaged her head. Apologizing profusely with nods, her twitching hands groped, ripping her papers to write.

 "My, my. That was quite a..." The teacher seemed at lack of word, her pink tongue passing over her lips, wetting them. "It does not matter. We still have plenty of time ahead of us. Now, let us try again. And no daydreaming."

   Doing it without music was certainly more distracting and her elder must have been cognizant of that fact.

   She rolled up her sleeves, revealing her wrists, and, approaching a set of curtains that she discarded, let light fall on a wooden, small piano. Except, when she lifted the flap lid, and pressed the black and white notes, sitting on the stool, divine notes elevated. They were light, acute and pure to the ear.

   She cleared her throat so as to let the wind carry away her voice.

 "Now, we start from the beginning. Three, four !"

   Music transported her, making it difficult for her not to go on her own. She had to stay concentrated.

  Piqué. Plié. Chassés, and chainés. Pirouette.

   She could not fail. She could not.

   She rolled her head, leaned as far as she could, pulling on her legs and back's muscles, fingers not needing to straighten to touch her toes. She went back, stretched her back, arching it in a well drawn arc.

   She disappeared behind the red velvet, torn curtains, just like she did for some months. As she walked, she could feel the planks of the parquet underneath, imperfect, cracking, moving. The anxiety-inducing yellow walls of the corridor were ready to swallow her. She gulped, heart growing too persistent. Her nails dug in the flesh of her arms, crushing them against her chest, her torso.

   She could hear screams. See blood on the walls, on the floor. Even before that, she could feel touches on her body, her bare arms. She could–

  No, Kanao. You have to stay concentrate.

   Creaks.

  No. Kanao. It is only in your head.

   A presence.

 Kanao. Stop it ! For–

 "Kanao !"

   She jumped, the scream she held choking her in her throat. Her muscles were tense, stiffness awakening since, at least, some years. Tears started to prick up in the corner of her eyes, which were dilated, and her breathing was heavy.

   Steps came closer, and she realized it was reality. Or at least not one of her mind's tricks. She made haste to rub her eyelids.

   A warm, calloused hand rested on her shoulder. She met rubies, because that was all it was. Rubies, red brilliant, shining looking directly at her. Flawless rubies.

 "I am sorry, did I scare you ?"

   A flash. A light blinding her. In his hand a golden coin. A familiar golden coin.

   Orbs widened.

 "Oh ! Heh, I suppose I should give this back to you." He opened his palm, showing his find. "I asked everywhere, but no one seemed to have anything thin and pointy. T–to get it back. So, I had to search even harder." He was talking. Fast. As if, if he did not explain himself, the words would fail. "You know, you should follow your heart. It is not about making choices, it is about how every choice makes you you." He talked. To ease his embarrassment. To ease his pain. To ease the ache his heart felt when they barely touched, when her soft digits caressed his skin as delicately as a butterfly landing on one's hand.

   She tensed. Holding it to her heart, as if she hold onto her dear life. She nodded, a small movement of her lips, oh so pink and desirable lips. Since when was he that type of boy ?

   They separated.

   While Tanjiro was angry at himself for feeling this way towards a young, respectable, lady, his head suddenly perked up. She had not used it. She had not used her coin for this decision. She must have changed her mind, he thought, his heart beating quite hard, a small smile forming on his mouth.

   She had changed her mind, going instead for the kitchens.