Donkeyskin - ON HOLD

Of Fables

*Of Fables*

 Elodie leaned back against the tile rim of the bathing pool, the scalding bath water soaking her aching muscles. The water, foamy with scented bubbles, came up to her chin, and she sat on a tile bench at the rim of the pool, her unless legs dangling off it. Manon paddled lazily around at the center of the pool, her eyes half-closed, enjoying the steam.

After the disaster of the performance, M. Beaufort had paid for baths scented with roses and vanilla oil for Elodie, Manon, Noah and himself. At the public bath house on the main street, he and Noah had left the women in the women's section of the building. That late at night, Manon and Elodie were the only ones in the bath chamber, except for a dozing servant.

Elodie closed her eyes. She was so tired, exhaustion had seeped into her bones. Everything ached with weariness. Her thoughts raged, like a pot of water boiling over. Once more, she stood, frozen, onstage as people stormed towards her. Once more, she felt the gaze of the prince upon her, holding her in a spell of dance and music and unawareness.

"You did well tonight," Manon remarked wearily, jarring Elodie back to reality. The older dancer looked just as weary as Elodie. Her hair hung in a tangled mess, far from its usual neat perfection.

Startled, Elodie replied, "Thank you." It was the first time Manon had given any indication that she approved of the work Elodie was doing.

They sat in silence for awhile, Elodie trying to think of something nice to say in return. She was too tired to marshal her thoughts, and her poor brain felt as if it was being cudgeled into submission, every thought she tried to hold onto painful.

So it was Manon who again broke the silence. "I never planned to stop dancing," she said sadly, her voice heavy. "Whenever I saw you, I couldn't help but think it should have been me. I should still have been a dancer." She laughed bitterly. "But of course, stupidity ended my career for me. It was an accident, an accident."

Elodie watched her warily. An accident? So it was an injury that had removed Manon from her position as the crown jewel of the ballet. Knowing what Manon wanted her to ask, Elodie inquired, "What happened?"

Manon smiled ruefully, and Elodie saw that her eyes sparkled with tears. "I fell in love," the red-head admitted. "Head over heels, foolishly in love with a man twice my age." Manon rung out her wet hair with an angry gesture. "I lay with him, one night, and now we'll be having a child. "Lune, promise me, never throw away a career for a night of passion. You're too good a dancer to risk it. Best to remain a maiden, if you can."

"But I'm not a maiden," Elodie admitted. "Turn your story on its head, remove the love, and you have mine."

Manon leaned forward, her face full of hope. "So you're not perfect, either. That does make me feel better. I always thought you were, and it made me jealous."

Elodie smiled, her eyes narrowed, catlike, against the steam. "No, I'm not perfect. Do you like stories? I do–I think they're comforting, sometimes." Manon was intent on her words, latching onto the possibility they offered.

"Let me tell you a story," Elodie said, feeling that she could, perhaps, trust this woman. She closed her eyes. She couldn't bear to see the look of Manon's face, not if it contained pity or hatred or disgust, while she told.

This is the story of a little girl who was born in the shadow of her parents. She was a princess by birth, though no one seemed to remember it. She was raised in quiet solitude, and knew not the chaos and political games of the court. Even her parents had forgotten her.

She was drawn to dance in a strange, unexpected way. Once she'd found it, she treated it as her life-blood, something irreversibly part of her, as much as her own beating heart. Her teacher was a former dancer of some renown, a good man, and a good teacher. To a little girl who rarely saw her parents, he was like a father.