Fists over Feelings

I don't need anything to make me satisfied

In a sunlit ballet studio, a girl stood poised at the center, her focus intent, preparing to practice. Her hair was neatly gathered into a bun, and her white practice tutu flutters as she breathes deeply. The soft piano begins, echoing the opening melody. 

She steps into first position, her toes turned out gracefully, arms gently curved as she awaits the moment to begin. As the music swells, she takes her first light step, a floating glissade, her feet barely brushing the floor as she glides effortlessly to the side. 

Her arms extend delicately into a third arabesque, fingertips reaching out as though touching an invisible thread of the music itself.

The next phrase demands precision and lightness. She performs a quick series of petits jetés, her body springing into the air, weightless and delicate as a breath. Each jump is soft, yet precise, her landings perfectly controlled. 

 The girl's feet move with agile speed, alternating between tendus and quick, sharp sautés. As the variation reaches its lyrical center, the girl transitions into an ethereal balancé, swaying side to side with a subtle rise and fall. 

 Her arms sweep softly from side to side, mimicking the soft, fluttering nature of the music. The choreography intensifies as she prepares for a sequence of pirouettes.

The girl rises into relevé, her foot pulling into a tight passé as she turns, her torso held tall and poised. Her eyes stay locked on her spotting point, helping her maintain balance through the multiple rotations. In the final moments of the variation, she performs a series of ballottés, her legs flicking out, light and airy, as if she is dancing on air. 

Her feet point and flex in perfect timing with the lilting notes of the music, while her arms extend in delicate curves, framing her face in an expression of pure joy. The dance finishes with a final, soft assemblé, her feet coming together as she lands in a perfect fifth position. Breathless but composed, the girl pauses, holding her final pose with grace, her arms extended softly into an open, welcoming gesture.

She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling before she jumps from the loud clatter of the door. "Practicing again, sugarplum fairy?" A male voice behind her asked with amusement.

"Hi, Trick." Trixie waved, walking over to get a drink of water as she wiped the sweat off of her forehead with a slight smile, "Aren't you supposed to be at work by now?"

"Not yet. Why're you practicing so early?" Her brother asked curiously, "It's six in the morning!"

"Well I just thought it'd be good to practice for a few before heading off to go to school." Trixie smiled and her brother shook her head.

"School's in an hour, just thought you want to know." He said. Trixie nodded before brushing past him to go get ready for school, water bottle in hand.

As Trixie exited the basement, she kissed her baby sister, Camille, on her head as the baby giggled. She set her water bottle on the kitchen counter before going upstairs to her room.

Unlike her old room in Hamilton, it was a lot more spacious and definitely more homey. Her bed was elevated, creating space beneath it. Underneath the bed, there was a set of drawers for clothes, along with a laundry basket that Trixie had been putting off doing for two day's. 

Adjacent to the bed was a tall bookshelf filled with books and storage boxes, a small plant and a bottle full of seashells and rocks she collected with Camille was sat on top of the shelf.

Trixie untied her hair from the bun, scratching her scalp with a content sigh before unlacing her ballet shoes. She slid off her leotard and tights before changing into a pair of jeans, white tank top, and sliding a gray knitted cardigan over.