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The sound of the spotlight stirred Amélie back to life.
Locked in her pose, hands arched high overhead, one leg drawn up to make her look the part, she slowly started through the motions of the dance. She heard the music swell as the conductor followed her cue, but the sound of her own breathing drowned it out, echoing through the dark theater filled with faceless admirers.
She twisted into the first turn, already feeling her feet screaming their objections. The pain was just more noise lost under the tide of her focus on the movements to come. The spotlight felt warm against her skin as it followed her back and forth across the stage.
In the midst of a twirl she stole a glance at the crowd, eager for any familiar faces watching her pour her soul into the performance, but under the harsh glare of the spotlight all she could see were shadows. Was Gérard watching? Was he out there on the edge of his seat, feeling his heart leap every time her feet left the ground? Was Lena, the silly little thing, always clapping too soon and too loudly, never caring much about the looks it earned her?
Her foot slipped on landing and it took all the strength Amélie had to recover, popping into the next position with a bit too much energy. Her wide eyes lingered on the crowd as she listened for the key change to begin the next movement, and for a moment she saw impossibly clear faces in the crowd, but none of the ones she expected.
Gabriel stared back at her over steepled fingers, his gaze hard, yet there was something sympathetic behind his eyes. Beside him sat a woman playing on her phone, paying no attention to the stage. Amélie couldn't recall where she'd seen the familiar purple-haired girl before, but she was achingly familiar. She never once looked up to let Amélie see her face.
The pace of the orchestra picked up, forcing Amélie's full attention back to the dance. Each step now felt like a mile with such a bracing tempo - it made Amélie wonder what she'd done to anger the conductor so.
When they reached the reprise and she was able to catch her breath, Amélie dared another look out into the crowd. The faces from before had vanished and in their place sat Dr. Angela Ziegler, fighting back tears, and another familiar woman wrapped around her arm. Dr. Moira O'Deorain clung to Angela like a hook to a worm, all the while watching Amélie with immense pride.
The sight of the second woman sent a chill down Amélie's spine. She felt an icy grip tighten around her lungs as phantom needles pricked at her skin everywhere. She found it hard to breathe. Her limbs went numb and she missed the landing on her pirouette, scattering to the stage in a sobbing heap. She closed her arms around herself in a vain effort to shield her body from the onslaught, but the pain was already inside her, hollowing her out from within.
"Get up," she heard a voice say in a cold, clear tone. The voice sounded familiar, but like the woman's face in the crowd, she couldn't quite place it. "Tu nous embarrasses."
She squinted against the harsh spotlight as she looked up to see a figure on stage with her, holding out a hand in her direction. As the woman stepped forward, Amélie was shocked to see a mirror image of herself, blue-skinned, tattooed, and dressed as Odile. The doppelganger watched her with a disaffected expression, showing a hint of annoyance and not a scrap more.
"You are vulnerable," the woman said, gesturing for Amélie to take her hand. "Come. I will protect you."
Amélie stared at the hand a moment before looking back out into the crowd. To her horror, all the faces had gone, replaced by a theater full of shadows all applauding without making a sound. She hadn't even noticed the orchestra had stopped playing long ago.
Shaking, she took her reflection's hand, flinching at the cold fingers wrapping around hers. Together, they took a bow, before the woman led Amélie backstage, out of the spotlight, until it was safe to return to the stage.