P R I M A

Brisé

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3. Brisé: "Broken." Indicates a step where the dancer's legs are moving one right after the other, not simultaneously but in succession. Usually paired with another term, i.e. brisé volé.

With each pointed toe, each flexed arch, you entered a realm where precision reigned supreme. Ballet wasn't just a passion; it was your very existence. From the moment you entered this world, it seemed destiny had already choreographed your steps. Your mother, a formidable figure in the ballet community, had laid out your path from the day you were born. It was as if you were a genetic anomaly, purpose-built to don those delicate pointe shoes and grace the stage as The Paradis National Ballet's prima ballerina.

In the hallowed halls of the dance studio, you navigated a landscape governed by unyielding rules and exacting standards. Every movement, every step, was scrutinized with a precision bordering on obsession. Your natural gifts—your impeccable turn out, your strength, your elegant limbs—earned you admiration from ballet instructors young and old. But behind the façade of admiration lay the weight of expectation, the silent pressure to follow in your mother's illustrious footsteps.

The path to becoming a prima ballerina was a narrow one, trodden by only a fraction of those who dared to dream. Yet, amidst the sea of aspiring dancers, you stood poised to defy the odds, determined to carve out your own destiny in a world where success was elusive but not impossible.

But within the confines of the dance studio, amid the echoing strains of classical music, you harbored a quiet rebellion. For all its beauty, ballet carried with it a heavy burden—a burden you were not sure you were willing to bear. The sacrifices, the relentless pursuit of perfection, the constant pressure to excel—it all threatened to suffocate you.

And so, as you stood at the precipice of greatness, you couldn't help but wonder if there was more to life than the confines of the ballet world. If perhaps, just perhaps, you dared to dream of a different destiny—one of freedom, of self-discovery, of charting your own course through the uncharted waters of possibility.

"Y/n, Eren. If you're not going to even attempt to get the steps right, is there a reason you're still sickling your feet throughout my studio?" your ballet master, Levi spoke with boredom lacing his words from across the room. 

"Y/n your mother would be vomiting on the floor if she was forced to witness this. Get your leg higher. Eren are you even trying?" Levi may be small, but what he lacked in height he made up for in his fierce teaching style. Although he was a man of few words generally, it didn't take many for them to hit their mark. 

He had attended Paradis Ballet Academy in his prime and was set to take a place within the company, but decided to take a teaching position when he met his husband, Erwin who was a member of the selection board. Now the two of them were then ringleaders of the academy with their friend, Hange who lead the girls' classes (and was much more forgiving in nature than Levi). As Levi's critical voice echoed through the studio, you couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration building within you. 

The pressure to meet your mother's lofty expectations weighed heavily on your shoulders, threatening to crush you beneath its oppressive weight. From the moment you were born, it seemed as though your fate had been sealed, your path predetermined by the whims of someone else.

"I'll get your legs up high when I wrap them around my neck." Eren whispered into your ear as he gripped you tightly with one hand on your waist and the other gently digging into the flesh of your thigh. Eren had been your Pas de deaux partner for the two years you'd been in the academy, although you'd danced together since high school when he first moved back to Paradis with his mother. Your mothers had danced together at the academy until his mother, Carla got sick and had to cast her dreams to the wayside.