Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
(a/n - the song is joep being's ala, but wattpad doesn't seem to want to add it :( my apologies)
The high-pitched sounds of joyous laughter of young girls echo across the studio floor, rising in different volumes as break-time conversations take hold of their chatter. The sharp lights take me back to when I was fourteen, just before I was recruited, where I sat and wore down my brand-new slippers. The dull pleasure of dance had found its comfort in the crooks of my bones, and the fatigue in my muscles - I welcomed it like a cold visitor in the winter, reaching for a blanket. Of course, no one spoke to me - I was good, and I knew it - but there was another reason. One so frail and painful, that no one thought to approach me about it. And thus, I was left with the conversation of Esther, the girl whose eyes held longer than it should have. In the back of my mind, I knew there was another reason she spoke to me, one slender enough to poke its tall fingers between my ribcage and tug at my heart, in a way that it feels like I cannot swallow at times.
My eyes bring me back to the present, of a girl I was no more, sitting nearby where I usually stationed myself. Instead, this girl seems a bit shorter than I was at that age, her hair held together by a claw clip, strands hanging down the sides of her pretty face. Of course, she is beautiful, I would never deny a woman the truth of her magnificence, but in the way she looks up at her friends, staring down the length of her pointed nose, I know she knows it. Yes, I allow her the fact of acknowledging it, but not at the expense of others'comfort. Not in the way this girl and her small group of friends stares at another girl across the room. My eyes follow the line of their stare, at a girl with a shy composure and a downturn chin, stretching her limbs across the floor. The former group of girls giggles suddenly, and I notice the beautiful one making a vulgar motion with her hands, the type Amelie used to reflect in the mirror. The only difference is, Amelie's movements were self-deprecating, and this girl's movements are not.
Before my thoughts take me deeper down the rabbit hole, I lift my cane up and bring it back to the hardwood floor of the studio floor, although I regret it once I notice they've been polished. The sound of the impact silences all conversation, and all eyes turn to me. Of course, some eyes move down to my cane, and some are filled with recognition - like the beautiful girl from before. I lift my chin towards my audience, ordering my new class with my very first order.
"First position."
A few students take the first position, uncertainty in their movements, which color their actions sloppy. Others still sit and stand around, their eyes taking me in with caution. I make sure my next words are sharp and cutting, clearing up any confusion around my position.
"I said, first position!"
Now, feet scramble to find their way to their place in a line of twenty girls, taking first position. The authority in my voice is too assured to ignore. It is quiet and tense, as the girls take near perfect form, as they've been taught. This doesn't surprise me, they were handpicked from their various studios and invited to be apart of St. Catherine's. Slowly, I walk through the line of girls, entangling between them, my critical eyes searching for any imperfection.
