Masquerade Ballet

One

A/N: Hey guys! Welcome to Masquerade Ballet, my second Miraculous fic. If you want to read the other one, check out my profile; it's called The Princess and Her Cat. I feel like I'm forgetting something, but I'm going to say that I'm not??? Anyway, without further ado, here is chapter one of Masquerade Ballet!

Dancing is not easy.

Dancing on the tops of your toes is definitely not easy.

Making someone believe that dancing on the tops of your toes is effortless is as easy as eating soup off a plate with chopsticks.

But unfortunately for me, my role in the upcoming ballet, "The Masked Muses," depended on me making dance look easy, effortless, and graceful, which, I might add, does not come easily to me.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng?" A woman asked, peeking out from behind the door to the audition room. Checking to make sure my ribbons were tucked in securely for the umpteenth time, I stood, then walked into the room stiffly. The girl who auditioned before me, an enchanting wisp of a girl whose name was Rose (I think that's what the woman called her,) had left the audition room close to fifteen minutes ago meaning she was spectacular, or she failed miserably.

I couldn't decide which one I preferred.

Standing in a tight fifth position, I waited for the music to start, my heart feeling like it was going to shatter my sternum. Suddenly my leotard felt too tight, my shoes felt foreign on my feet, and the pins that secured my hair in a bun felt like they were digging into my brain.

Then the pianist began to play.

All of my doubts melted away as I swept across the floor, feeling the wood beneath my feet and my arms float in choreography that I didn't even need to think about; it just happened. When I finished my routine I was breathless. I curtsied to the panel of five judges, daring to take a quick look at the him. They all looked stunned.

I hurried from the room, quick to sit down and untie my shoes, flexing my toes as I tucked one pointe shoe inside the other. Shoving my shoes on my dance bag, slipped on a pair of flip flops and made my way outside the theatre, looking for my mom. Seeing as she wasn't here yet, I sat on the bench outside to wait.

As I sat I considered my audition and how good (or bad) it had been. The judges seemed shocked, but that didn't really mean anything, it simply could have been that they couldn't believe that my shoes were tied a certain way or something miniscule like that. It didn't mean that I would get the part of Ladybug.

Ladybug was the coveted role in this ballet, the lead female muse. In the story, Ladybug could create anything she desired, making her one of the most powerful people in the world. Meanwhile, Chat Noir, the lead male muse, could destroy anything he pleased, making the two equally as powerful but as different as the day is from the night. Despite their differences, the two muses fall in love with each other, only to be held back by the fear that the other would hate their true selves. The last scene of the ballet is when they revel themselves to each other and share a beautiful pas de duex.

Honestly, I didn't think I would get the role of Ladybug, for I had just started at the theatre a year ago. That was not to say that I wasn't good, but typically in theatres like this one, the had precast their ballets a season before, and auditions were really only for show. But maybe, just maybe, I proved myself in the audition today, and would get the part.

"Hey," someone greeted, jerking me from my thoughts. Jumping, I quickly looked over at the person, and I registered a pair of bright green eyes and a mop of blond hair.

"Hello?" I trailed, watching as the stranger sat down.

"Hi," he greeted, shooting a blinding smile my way.

"What brings you to my bench?" I asked, patting the concrete with my hand.

"Just waiting for my driver to pick me up."

"Your... driver?" I repeated.

"Yeah. My dad is too busy in meetings to pick me up, so here I am."

"Wow... What does your dad do?"

"He's a fashion designer," he answered casually. As he stared out at the empty parking lot, I glanced over at him, scanning his features. "What do your parents do?"

"They're both bakers. We own a bakery about a block away from the school."

"Do you to the high school?"

"Nope. I don't have time. I'm either here or at home."

"What about an education?" he questioned.

"I'm homeschooled."

"Me too!" he exclaimed, looking over at me.

"What about dance?" I asked. "I haven't seen you around here before."

"My dad made me take private lessons up until now, my teacher, Mme. Gertrude, finally convinced him."

"You've got quite the story," I noted, winding my fingers in my lap.

"Yeah, I guess I do. Now what's yours?"

"Well, I started dancing when I was three, and I haven't been able to stop since. My story isn't nearly as exciting as yours."

"I imagine that something that isn't exciting to you is amazing for me. I've never had a normal life. My only friends are Chloé, you probably know her, and the lights manager, Nino. I didn't have a normal childhood. When other kids were on the playground, I was learning Mandrin. Your life seems fascinating to me."

"Really?" I queried, looking up as a limousine pulled into the parking lot.

"Definitely," he confirmed, standing up and grabbing his duffel bag.

"Wait!" I called, stopping him as he swung into the backseat. "I never learned your name."

"Adrien," he grinned.

"My name's Marinette!" I half-shouted as he closed the door.

My mom soon pulled in the parking lot, her small, pink convertible seeming miniscule and insignificant in comparison to Adrien's limo. He may think my life is pretty exciting, but sometimes I beg to differ.

When I got home, I immediately went back to my room, sitting down on the chase and hitting the refresh button on my email every three seconds. According to Mme. Gertrude, we would receive a personalized email if we got a call back telling us the time, studio, and what role we would be dancing for. Earlier in the week we were all taught a solo from the ballet, I just hoped I memorized it correctly... If I got a call back at all.