Oneshot stories| FireWeaver

The Dance of Dual Lives

A/N: This is an unfinished, scrapped scene I wrote in early November before I officially began writing FIREWEAVER. I ended up scrapping it because it didn't fit into the storyline once I decided it didn't fit in the direction I wanted to go with- but dang it would have been nice.

I wrote it with the song "one my hour" by tame impala in mind, so feel free to listen to that while you read.

And so it begins;

Esmerelda wrapped the bandages around her leg, tightening it tightly. She grit her teeth, pulling her red tights up.

"Esmerelda, you're on in five." She barely registered the voice tell her. She was seeing dark spots on her vision. She nodded numbly.

She tied on the laces of her shoes. She stood, slowly shaking off the dizzying nausea she felt course through her.

Esme looked herself over in the mirror. She looked haunted, her skin pale and her eyes dark with mascara and sharp eye liner. Her red lips looked disturbing to her. But the others said she looked dazzling.

Esme turned, knowing her queue. She walked, the pain in her leg shooting up her spine. She could do this. She had to do this. She stepped out past the curtains, the spotlight a light blue, turning her scarlet dress to purple. She lifted her arm, looking forward, then moved fast, weaving her legs like a braid.

She looked out at the audience, pitch black and blinded by the spotlight, but she looked.

Her body was aching, joints screaming at her. She was pushing herself and she knew it. The wounds from her battle last night had left her weakened- but she had to do this. Had to ensure her spot on the company. This was her dream.

The music began and she moved. Adagio. She repeated her dance instructors voice in her head, moving fluidly.

She stood on her toes, feeling a sharp pain shoot up her body. She pushed past it. She pivoted on her toe, lifting her leg into a allongé.

The stage light changed from blue to lit, casting a soft glow against the red fabric of Esmerelda's dress. She stands on the stage, her chin held high and her back straight, her red lips forming a subtle smile even as a pained expression lies beneath.

The red silk of her tights clings tightly to her long legs, accentuating each graceful movement of her limbs. Her eyes fixed on some distant point ahead, she raises her arms, feeling the pain in her joints but ignoring it, for this is a performance of utmost importance.

As the music begins to swell, she continues to dance, her movements as graceful as they are painful, every step and turn a testament to her skill and determination, every single pull and tug of her fingers and joints purposeful.

Despite the pain that gnaws at her bones, she pressed on, focuses on the dance, giving everything she has to bring the scene to life. With every spin and leap, the crowd's breathless gasps break the silence, their haunting gaze growing louder and louder, but Esmerelda didn't notice, their faces drowned out by the ringing in her ears.

Her mind only focused on the music and the movement. The pain heightened, her abdomen throbbing. She dances on, her red dress billowing around her like a sea of flame, her brown hair flying in the air as she leaps and twists through the air.