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She was stained with blood, as she twirled, so gracefully, so perfectly.
It was horrific.
Horrific, to see the blankness, to see the blood spin away from her body.
Her body was translucent, her heart was pounding, harder, than ever before, so hard it was silent.
So hard, so fast, in fact, there was never a beat.
The crowd, made wowed noises, as she spun with all the perfection and grace, of a true Angel, of an Angel who had made a deal with the devil.
The devil who stood just past the darkened curtains, counting, counting, each and every step, each and every jump, every breath, every meal, every moment, until this moment, when the deal would come into play.
“Your dreams come true… but all you have to do is do exactly as I say…” A whispering voice, still as silence, had breathed into her ear.
And truly, her dreams, her dreams were the world, her world. If only she hadn’t had to sell angelity to him, in place of mortality, to achieve it.
But now, now she spun.
Spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning.
Blood, blood, blood, blood.
Heart, heart, heart, heart.
Racing, racing, racing, racing.
Mortal, mortal, mortal, mortal.
Death, death, death, death.
As she leaned backwards, it felt like her insides were on display, display to the world, to the audience.
To the universe.
She was upright again. The audience, could no longer see through her.
Until.
She.
Leaped.
Her mind, was on full view.
Don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up.
Leaping, leaping, leaping, leaping.
Blood, blood, blood, blood.
Heart, heart, heart, heart.
Racing, racing, racing, racing.
Mortal, mortal, mortal, mortal.
Death, death, death, death.
Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall.
Don’t fail, don’t fail, don’t fail, don’t fail.
She landed.
He smiled.
She could only hope it was good enough.
Please, please, please, please.
Blood leaked through the shoes, leaving bloody trails where she walked, bloody, beautiful trails, speaking of dreams, and regretful deals.
Blood leaked through her beautiful outfit, draining, her body of her blood, letting it deep into this mess of a dream, that was no longer a dream, no longer a dream, but a nightmare, a hellish reality, a dystopia.
Blood dripped.
It fell to the the floor.
A perfectionist’s perfect drip, a battle.
She threw herself, her body, that was no longer hers, it belonged to him, the devil, the world, the audience, she threw it forward, with all the elegance of a silk gown falling to the floor.
She drew the body back up, trailing her bloodied shoes around her before lifting the arms above her head, in practiced perfection.
And the music stopped.
And so did she.
Covered in the redness of her blood, sweat and dreams, she stopped.
The devil watched from behind the curtain, a smile wide on his face. Whether it was due to her perfections or imperfections she could not tell.
Then the clapping began.
The clapping of cultists, bemused by her, by the devil controlling her body like a puppet.
She forced a smile.
That’s when the curtains were drawn.