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TO THOSE WHO FIND FREEDOM IN BECOMING A MONSTER WHEN DENIED THE SPACE TO BE HUMAN
“The shoe is an extension of your foot.” And the best shoes required a delicate balance—rigid enough to prop you up but beaten into silence and the shape you needed. Firm but still broken. And always beautiful. Just like the perfect ballerina.
Almost everyone who made it into the company also had a legacy name or an inheritance big enough to make you blush, while Joséphine had neither to pave her way. It was rare for a nobody to climb high society’s ladder, and for Joséphine to reach so high so fast … that was terrifying for them. Enough to inspire endless gossip. People always manufactured excuses to deny us our successes.
And that’s what made Joséphine so noteworthy—she was the only new étoile in almost a decade, so special she couldn’t be denied, so commanding she just took it.
Étoiles then premiers, sujets then coryphées, and finally quadrilles, with apprentices in the gutter.
Auger gave a single, almost imperceptible nod that said we shared the same drive, wore the same fierceness. That said she saw me.
“Grandpré has assigned you the role of Giselle. You’ve done a marvelous job this year. Your devotion has paid off, congratulations,” President Auger whispered, with Grandpré’s grunt of approval behind her. Her lips curled in the closest I had ever seen to a smile.
AHHH
I didn’t see a world for me without my art in it, where I didn’t live this beauty and torment every single day.
I smiled and smiled, so rigid and wide my cheeks hurt, but the pain was welcome. It made all of this real.
I didn’t need pats on the head or velvet boxes of bracelets with ballerina charms. Not when I tasted applause.
IM HERE FOR THE APPLAUSE APPLAUSE !!
Rose-Marie’s hawkish interrogation of my body in comparison to her daughter’s, but here it felt predatory. Like I wasn’t a real person but an assortment of parts.
No matter how hard I strained, willing my jaw to loosen, lips to part, vocal cords to stir, I couldn’t find the words. That I wasn’t an orphan, and I wasn’t a receptacle for their charity either—it all lodged in my throat, and instead, I was the one left burning with shame.
His skin was dry and warm, and as I clasped his hand firmly with both of mine, I flicked the gold watch from his wrist. It slid away easily, into my pocket with one hand while I gestured to the door with the other. A seamless movement I learned pilfering wallets from tourists when I started dancing en pointe because specialty shoes didn’t come cheap.
oH…. yes rob them blind!
Giselle was supposed to be my chance to show them that I was ready. For months and all this evening, I’d fantasized and paced, wondering about their impressions of me, but I never imagined this. That my technique wasn’t the problem. It was me.
you’re black in a white mans world ☹️
Classical ballet wasn’t made for your kind. But it was all I had. A ballerina was all I had ever known myself to be. So I’d jump and twirl again and again because it was the only thing I knew to do. The only thing I could control.
Because Joséphine Moreau was extending an invitation to me, as if she and I were alike. Because maybe some of her grace might rub off and give me a fighting chance. Because she of all people could teach me how to conquer the universe too.
Then three days of the power you seek, but the thread that binds it is your will to dance. Let’s see how voracious your appetite is, mortal girl.
Remove my mark, sever the bargain early, and you dance no more.
Let’s see how voracious your appetite is, mortal girl. Because the entire ride over, I couldn’t look away from my palm. My smooth palm. The gash was gone.
It was the same mark as hers, the stencil of a river inked bloodred, impossible to scrub away and stinging like fire.
GIRL STOP
“I guess they’ll just take anyone,” she muttered to herself but loud enough for all of us to hear.
oh we’re so not friends
Because I, Laure Mesny, a nobody with nothing, beat Coralie Baumé, the daughter of titans. My power exceeded hers for once—her name, her face, her legacy. Those judges saw a replica of Rose-Marie and still chose me.
Mouth slack and face empty, she said, “I … apologize, Coralie. Laurence.” Each word was clipped, pulled from her gums like teeth, but she’d apologized.
good
Three months, the dark god decreed, jolting me from my trance, as you worship at my altar.
The few people on the street when night rolled around wore tweed, trench coats, and corduroy, the finest in academic chic. But I learned early that respectable society kept their viciousness hidden inside.
Joséphine Moreau was dead. I spun away. Gasped for air.
OH SHIT
It could have been the blood river itself.
def was
No, I wasn’t its monster. It didn’t control me. And I was better than them in all the ways that mattered.
I wasn’t becoming like Joséphine at all, I was becoming like Andor. A monster.
“It’s possible, but a word of advice? Be mindful of the lengths you go for the sake of ambition and loyalty. Others come and go, but you cannot escape yourself. You wouldn’t want to end up like Joséphine.” And then she was on her way, and I was on mine, wondering what the hell that meant. It sounded like a threat. Or a confession.
Even Chaos has rules. To receive, we must be willing to take. To win, you must be willing to fight. To drink in life itself, you must be willing to bleed. And there will be blood.
