CREATURE

・chapter 1・

There's a lot an audience doesn't see.

Crooked toes. Protruding ribs. Bruised feet.

If they did, they'd never watch another ballet again.

But there's more they don't see. Things no one ever sees.

Pain. Anger. Struggle. Discipline. Failures. Fear.

But these are words that have been hammered into Asya's bones until she knew them like her own name, until they had sunk into every part of her being and she understood nothing but ambition, had a taste for nothing but perfection.

One other word echoes through her, a distant, soft promise, usually indiscernible, but enticing enough that it lures her deeper into her art every time she hears it calling.

Prima.

Prima, flashed before Asya's vision as she pushed herself off the floor. She pulled her legs into a grand jeté and angled her head over her hand, tightening the muscle in her lower back to execute the powerful jump. Energy surged through her veins as air rushed between her fingers and she felt gravity cut her loose for a few fleeting moments.

With a soft thud of her pointe shoes she landed and stepped cleanly into piqué arabesque to break the jump's momentum, clenching the tendons in her ankle to hold her balance. Spotting to the corner of the stage, she flicked her leg to retiré for her ending triple pirouette, swivelling her head around to keep her spine straight. The turns spilled out of her one after the other, the piano music building up to a staggering crescendo of notes as she ended the solo in a kneeling position.

Near-perfect.

Near.

The pianist played the last few notes of the Lilac Fairy's variation, and Asya smiled out to the empty auditorium as her piece ended.

'Good!' her coach, Debbie, called from the front of the stage. 'But you need pacing, Nastasia. Pacing and control.'

The ballerina nodded, her stage smile dissipating as she relaxed out of her character. She got to her feet and pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face with her palm, trying to steady her ragged breathing with some deep inhales. Despite looking deceptively gracious, that variation always managed to knock the wind out of her.

Debbie was running a final rehearsal with her before that evening's Sleeping Beauty performance to iron out any remaining uncertainties and get her comfortable on stage. As a newly-promoted soloist, Asya was lucky to get the part of the Lilac Fairy on opening night and had been rehearsing the choreography as if her life depended on it.

It was just so important.

The role had been given to her to prove herself, and she knew exactly who would be watching her that evening: the artistic director, photographers, choreographers, the board, the people to impress. Along with over two-thousand audience members, of-course. Her stomach churned at the mere thought of it.

'You're done for today.' Debbie called. 'Grab some water and come back for notes.'

Asya did a quick curtsy and left the main stage, hobbling to the corridor that led to the dressing rooms in the upper levels of the theatre. Once in the safety of the passage she slumped into the carpeted floor and began undoing the ribbons on her pointe shoes.

She pulled her throbbing feet out of the shoes carefully, fingering some nasty-looking welts on her ankle bone. She'd have to ice her feet before the show, and by the looks of things, she'd need some numbing gel too. Not the end of the world, she was used to dancing on battered feet, but not altogether promising either, given that it was only opening night and she had another eight shows to get through.