Swan's Fire

9. Je Veux Être Ta Chérie...À Quel Prix?

As her gaze lingers on me, I sense an unfamiliar shift in her expression, a fleeting moment of what could be construed as pity. Internally, I plead with her not to adopt that demeanor, silently urging her to be more forthright. Her nose scrunches, a telltale sign that she's wrestling with unspoken thoughts. I brace myself, hoping she'll simply articulate whatever is on her mind. "That's nice, Haerin," she finally utters, a response that sends a surge of regret through me. In that instant, I question my decision to come here, yearning to escape my own skin and retreat into the shadows.

A discreet knock interrupts the charged atmosphere, and Minji addresses her wife, "One moment, chérie." Her eyes remain fixed on me, a focused intensity in her gaze. Her fingers twitch subtly, a signal that anticipates my next move. Before she can articulate whatever might be lingering on her tongue, I take the initiative, she mumbles a hasty, "Just, uh, yes," as I retreat into the storage room, enveloped in the neglected dust of the confined space.

The whispered refrain of "chérie, chérie, chérie" lingered in the confined space as I fixated on the door. After what felt like an eternity, it swung open, revealing Minji with a welcoming smile. "Are you up for some practice?" she inquired. My response was a mere nod, my demeanor resembling that of a disinterested rag doll.

In a robotic trance, I made my way to my locker, retrieving my pointe shoes and a blue leotard. Scanning the limited contents, I resigned myself to the scant options, occasionally adding a lucky pink leg warmer to the mix. The act of changing left me shivering, the cold air leaving my nipples rigid and pronounced. Clad in my makeshift ensemble, I ventured out, the resounding clank of my der against the floor creating echoes that seemed to reverberate within the walls.

As I navigated the maze of corridors, my intuition guided me to the correct studio. Minji, absorbed in her own thoughts, suddenly snapped her eyes toward me as I entered. "Chérie," I silently reminded myself, a self-imposed mantra to maintain the desired dynamic.

The seemingly futile practice unfolded as I executed the familiar moves with precision. However, Minji abruptly halted me mid-grande jeté, music lingering in a temporary pause. Her words hung in the air, creating an anticipatory stillness. "I only need one thing from you," she declared, leaving me eager for her guidance. What aspect of my performance needed refinement? More head movement? More expressive eyes?

"I want... hunger," she announced. Confusion furrowed my brows; hunger wasn't a term often associated with ballet instruction. She clarified, "You dance with amazing technique, but with little expression. I want you to entice me." Her words lingered in the studio, and I found myself processing the new dimension she sought.

Approaching me, Minji directed, "On the bourrée." My feet instinctively carried me into the familiar motion. She continued, "The arm movement..." Demonstrating with a sweeping motion, she extended her arm invitingly. "Yes?" she prompted, and I nodded in understanding. "Emphasize it, pull us in," she urged with fervor. Responding to her directive, I heightened the movement, my eyes hooded, lips parted as I bourréd away. "Better, more," she commanded. I continued, feeling a sense of satisfaction when she exclaimed, "Yes!"

Her attention shifted across the room as she called for the next element. A sigh escaped me, realization setting in that there was always more to refine in the intricate world of ballet. The pursuit of perfection in this art form was an endless journey.

Minji's affinity for the spiral move became evident as she guided me through the intricate steps, our bodies entwining and lines converging on the floor. With each repetition, she found nuances to correct, prolonging the dance as if savoring the feigned closeness of our bodies. I remained silent, withholding any commentary on our apparent affinity for this particular movement.