She broke.
That was the end, really.
They bore the girl away on a stretcher.
She wasn't dead.
Just broken.
When she woke up the next morning, she didn't remember what had happened.
She didn't remember the reason why she couldn't walk.
She never danced again.
She could only watch as others took her place.
Her dream.
Her shattered dream.
They ripped it from her fingers, from her broken legs and threw it to someone else.
To Rosalie.
To Rosalie, who was beginning to dance too well.
And you see...
People get jealous.
The dancer who danced the best. All she wanted was a dream that could turn into reality.
Rosalie. All she wanted was to be the best, to stop being so very tired.
To actually impress her mother for once.
Who is to blame?
Jealousy.
