Sora's Quest

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sora wished—really, truly wished—that she had not drunk that tonic.

Three chimes of a bell initiated the birthday ceremony. The guests had all gathered in the ballroom. The lanterns were dimmed, the musicians assembled. The stage was large and circular, crowded on all sides by rich Nobility. The most eligible bachelors got the first row; they would be admiring her grace and muscular calves from every angle as she performed.

Lily rushed her onstage once the lights turned low. The room was purposefully darkened so the audience could see nothing until the performance began. But there stood her father, front and center, his lined, portly face drawn into a discouraging frown. Of course he's right in front. Wouldn't want to miss a wrong step, Sora thought, resisting the urge to touch her hair nervously. Any small mistake would be immediately noticeable. And thanks to the tonic, she was wobbling. Off balance. The drink had been more than just pungent... it had been tipsy-strong as well. And the six-inch shoes weren't helping.

The bells chimed again. Lily clasped Sora's hands one last time, a slight squeeze of strength, then deposited her in the center of the ring. She scurried off-stage, disappearing into the deep shadows toward the musician's pit.

Sora readied herself, heart pounding, poised in the starting position, left foot in front of the right, waiting for the music.

A hollow drum began to beat a slow, meditative rhythm. It echoed around the ballroom, thudding deeply against the walls. Then a low flute joined in, weaving its way up through the drum beats, like a sleepy serpent.

The chimes struck a third time.

Sora stepped forward and back in measured intervals, swinging her hips slowly, rolling her body, twisting her arms into the air in snake-like patterns. It was a dance of the Goddess, of the Wind, of fertility and light, of midnight fields and deep forests. She followed the twisting melody.

Her dress was specially designed for the ceremony. It was supposed to be peeled apart, layer by layer, as the dance progressed. The dance itself was called “The Blooming,” like a flower opening for the first time.

As the rhythm increased, she snagged one of the cloth layers with her fingers, slowly pulling upward, unraveling the length from her body. She bunched the strip of sheer silk in her hands and tossed it to one of the onlookers, a particularly well-dressed man standing in the front row. She hadn't truly aimed, but she was surprised to see him catch it. He was tall and broad-chested, and stared at her with a strange light in his eyes, magnetic.

She turned away, her heart in her throat. The wind instruments escalated and Sora's movements followed the tempo. She spun, smooth in the giant shoes, and glided to the opposite side of the stage. She allowed the music to direct her steps, moving forward, backward, side to side, turn, arms out, in, up.... The bells chimed again, and she whirled, pulling off another layer, the dress clasping her body like a tight glove. She tossed it to the crowd, not caring if someone caught it or who they might be.

Now the wind was twisting into a cyclone, picking up ferocity, passion. She rolled her head, twisted her arms to the left, to the front, shoulders back, look up.... Her eyes landed on the skylight, the gorgeous expanse of clear glass that encased the ballroom, her father's crowning jewel. A net of stars sparkled back at her, winking, twirling.