HEART OF GOLD | CORIOLANUS SNOW

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 51

In the week between her cast removal and birthday, Lilith had only one goal: to regain sufficient flexibility for her to dance. She wasn't an avid dancer, nor by any standards professional, or aspiring to be. It wasn't even her hobby. She just liked it—the feeling of twirling across a room, experiencing the breeze in her hair and the swish of fabric around her legs. It was her favourite thing to do at balls, but it was also tradition.

Every birthday she could recall celebrating, her father had taken her by the hand into the middle of the room and moved them to music. What had once been silly, childish jigs accompanied by hearty, upbeat tunes became the elegant waltz she picked up when she was ten. This year would not be different. There was no reason for it to be.

On her object, Lilith was frank with her physical therapist, who gave her a reality check: There was no rushing her progress. To do so would only compromise her rehabilitation. If she wasn't careful, she could cause permanent damage, and then she would never dance again. The body had to be encouraged to heal—not forced. With what time they had, she could reasonably expect participation, albeit not in its entirety. Lilith took it.

Tailored to her condition and aim, the regime and schedule was followed to a tee. Even on the Winter Solstice public holiday, Lilith engaged in her exercises religiously and obediently, always mindful not to overexert herself. She had been taught the signs to look out for, described pains that indicated she was pushing the limits. She rested and iced regularly, just as she was told. She would not make the same mistake of being complacent with her body again. She still remembered how it had suffered the last time—she would always remember.

Always, and forever.

Slowly but surely, her efforts paid off. Her elbow still refused to extend completely, but at least it could pass off as a natural bend when hanging by her side. What would not lift at first without her shoulder feeling like it was twisting out of its socket, she could now raise past her ear before it became unbearable. Although yet able to usefully grasp a fork, her fingers could manipulate buttons—so long as plenty of patience was included in the equation.

Lilith had been warned that her recovery would not be quick. She might spend months rebuilding the muscles lost in her arm. It might be more before it would function as it once did. It was important she did not focus on the setbacks, or discount her accomplishments, however minor.

Attitude went a long way, according to her therapist.

Finishing up Lilith's left hand, the manicurist signaled for her right, which was so comfortably elevated and cocooned, Lilith was momentarily reluctant to oblige. Wistfully, she unbuckled her sling and slipped off the cold compress that had been swathing the extremity—her post therapy ritual to prevent inflammation and swelling. Then she slid her arm forward, proud and eager.

The moisturizer had cured her skin of that flaky, wizened appearance. Perhaps it wasn't very supple, or glowing, and was still somewhat coarse to the touch. At a glance, though, it was smooth, and enough colour had returned so as to render her surgical wound less striking and gnarly by contrast. She no longer flinched looking at it. A fine nail polish job might just steal the limelight anyway.

A cushion had to be placed beneath her forearm to alleviate the strain on her still relatively inflexible wrist. Lilith's priority had been to loosen her other joints, which she could now hold at right angles to each other, both perpendicular and parallel to her torso. Even if she was managing this just for brief periods, it meant that she was capable of performing the underarm turn—a variation of it, at least. If she could stretch out enough for her partner to grip her hand, and if she could turn, then she could dance.

Maybe awkwardly, but it was better than nothing. Better than dwelling on her dimensionally mismatched limbs, or the way she lacked the strength to rotate even a door knob. Because if she did, then she lost the light at the end of the tunnel, she didn't see the end to this journey, and that was too terrifying.