Hunted

Act 7; Arachne and Athena

The first thing visible were a pair of legs, nice and slender and bare. The body that came with it was small, but he knew she wasn't a kid once he noticed her curves. He rarely ever noticed such small details about performers, not even the near-nubile characters from his fantasy games ever evoked much of his interest, but there was something about the ballerina's aura that made him notice, as though the way she held herself was enough to grab his attention.

She was black, a nice, earthly color, with hair as dark as night. She wore a Greek gown of purple and white, and her hair was adorned with a cluster of flowers on each side, maybe to keep her braid together.

Noah had watched performances in the past: operas, plays, musicals, and one thing he saw in common with each one was the abundant use of make-up, even on children. This girl was different. Her face wasn't bare, but it wasn't powdered like a mask, either, which made her natural beauty stand out. Compared to her, her co-dancer looked overused with add-ons.

The background was that of an ancient Greek home of stone, filled with artistic tapestries, and in the hands of each ballerina was... a needle and thread?

He didn't realize he was on the edge of his seat until Zack pulled him by the collar to have him sit upright. Bad posture from his friends would look bad for his image, Noah remembered, so he straightened up, concealing his excitement, which surprised him.

He was excited to watch a ballet?

The conductor by the stage tapped his baton on the sheet music a few times to signal the audience to quiet down, and maybe even the performers to get ready. He raised his arms...

And the beat dropped.

The live orchestra consisted of string instruments like violins and cellos, a drum set, brass instruments like the trumpet and trombone, and wind instruments like the clarinet and flute. For the final act, the flutes were not used. The music was powerful, fast, matching the tempo and speed of the ballerina's dance.

Noah watched as both performers made their way around the stage, the older woman monopolizing the left size while the girl doing the same to the right, making spins and kicks and bends he thought was painful, yet they managed to do it with such grace and ease.

He should be enjoying the show, appreciating how, with each weave of the needle and thread and snapping sounds coming from the orchestra, that more and more dancers join the stage but stood frozen once they take their place. But he couldn't. For some reason, he ended up too worried to really enjoy anything.

He knew ballet was a hard-core sport on its own, its frills notwithstanding, and he shouldn't judge someone merely by physical appearances, but the girl on stage was so small and frail-looking, he couldn't help but worry!

His breath got caught at the back of his throat with every raise in tempo, ever acceleration on the steps, a bead of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

Unbeknownst to him, this was the same throughout the audience, the Heirs no exception. Even Raphe, the laziest Heir of all, was watching with eyes wide open. The dance reeled everyone in, balletomane or not, like a black hole that everyone unconsciously wanted to dive into, teleporting them to a place the ballerina's set out for them, the world of the recital's libretto.

Amelia spun, needle with the thread on it in hand, and another pair of dancers posed at her wake, but she didn't know if the dancers were getting into place like how they rehearsed, she didn't know if Caesarea was doing the same dance they practiced during practice, she didn't even know where she really was anymore. All that mattered was her keeping up with the music, despite her aching muscles, despite the cold sweat engulfing her body, despite her shortage of breath...