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From the floor, Duchess watched Justine lift the needle off of the phonograph through the wall to wall floor length mirrors of the dance studio. She already knew exactly what went wrong that time but she let her girlfriend speak anyway.
“Daring, when you lift Duchess you need to make sure your hands are higher up her torso or she’ll have to work twice as hard to stay balanced. And Duchess babe, you’re looking good.”
Duchess was up and pacing the circumference of the room to keep her blood flowing and to hide her blush from the compliment.
“I’m drifting forward during the turn and you know it.”
“Did you hear that Lizzie?” Lizzie glanced up from her sketchbook at the sound of Daring’s voice, “It’s not my fault I dropped Duchess this time!”
She rolled her eyes at his antics and continued sketching in her corner.
“From where we started last time.” Justine put the needle back in place, Tchaikovsky’s composition once again filled the studio. Justine’s bandaged foot idly moving in time with the music.
It’s good, Duchess thinks to herself, that Daring doesn’t need to learn all of Prince Siegfried's parts, because even a simple step forward lacks grace. Getting him to do a decent coupé jeté en tournant would be a nightmare.
At the queue of the harps the two joined hands, a double pirouette, Daring’s hands trying to position on her waist, and lift. Despite his grip slipping, he was able to execute the lift without dropping Duchess for a fifth time.
“You did so well!” Lizzie cheered from her bench. It took Duchess a split second to realize the compliment wasn’t directed toward her.
“I’ve never met a sport I couldn’t master you know.” He gloated.
Duchess looked to Justine for praise but she was already praising Daring for his ‘hard work.’
“My handsome prince, so talented and graceful.”
“I think this calls for a celebration” said Justine.
“Ooh Ginger was baking some sweets earlier Amber she has some extra?” Lizzie said as she headed toward the door.
“I'll go with you! You two keep practicing.”
The two girls practically skipped out of the studio down the corridor toward the kitchens.
An awkward silence filled the studio momentarily before Duchess walked over to the phonograph. She moved to reset the needle but instead found herself flipping over the record to the second act of her ballet. The beginning of the black swan pas de deux crinkled out through the speaker.
“So you can lift a girl through the air, I'm sooo impressed.” Duchess sneered, “Real ballet is more than big muscles,” she squeezed his biceps for emphasis, “It’s drama, passion, intimacy.”
Duchess abruptly pushed off of Daring with a swell in the music. It was incredible to see how she moved on the floor, leaping higher than Daring had ever seen anyone jump, bending and stretching in a way that seemed almost inhuman. There was an edge to her movements and expression that Daring had never noticed before.
“I might be a fast learner but I doubt even I would be able to lift my leg that high…” Daring said in an attempt to break the awkward tension.
“You don't need to. When I'm on stage I'm the one people are supposed to watch.” She maneuvered back over to Daring, placing her hands on his chest. “Including the prince.”
“Ummm…”
“For this part of the duet you place your hand on my stomach here,” She turned to press her back up against him, guiding his hands, “and here.” She slowly stretched one hand up to his face, “and we stare into each other's eyes for but a moment.”
Daring thought he saw something dark in those eyes before they were closed and her grip on his neck switched from delicate to vice-like. She forced her mouth to his, aggressively trying to part his lips with her own. Daring struggled against her but she didn't break her grip until the sound of a glass plate shattering broke her trance.
Lizzie and Justine stood in the doorway to the studio, glass and pastries strewn at their feet. Tears were already streaming down Lizzie's face before she even turned to run back down the hall with Daring in hot pursuit. Justine couldn't do anything but stare. Heartbreak, anger, shock, and even fear were plain on her face. Her mouth hung open but nothing came out.
“WHAT?” Duchess shot across the room.
“I…” Justine turned and ran out of the studio as well.
Duchess stood, alone with her music, for almost an hour. Thoughts and questions raced through her mind. Why would she have done that do Daring? To Lizzie? To Justine? To herself? Three of the four people in her life that still tolerated her. Despite her awful behavior throughout highschool, they’d befriended her. Finding the strength to move again she started packing her gear when she noticed Lizzie had left her sketchbook on the bench. Doodles of swans and water surrounded a detailed sketch of a black dress, angular and dangerous, adorned with feathers and black pearl appliques. She threw the book across the room and stormed out. The phonograph playing the last bars of Swan Lake without her.
~~~~
It seemed like ages since she’d gotten her reply text. ‘OMW.’ Moonlight was reflecting off of the pond, her pond, coloring everything with a gentle cool light but doing nothing to calm her nerves.
“What’s taking so long?” she muttered.
“What’s taking me? I’ve been waiting for you.” Sparrow spoke from next to her on the bench, where he definitely hadn’t been just moments before.
Sparrow had changed his look drastically this year. He rarely wore green, he’d ditched the guitar back in junior year along with the merry men and anything to do with his family destiny. He spent more time working on his general villainy classes, more time in the forest, and less time in the sun.
“What’s ruffled your feathers?” He teased.
Duchess explained the events of that evening, how she’d ruined everything with her friends and girlfriend.
Sparrow was unusually serious. “Did you ever notice, Duchess, that you’re the only one from your story at school? Where’s your prince? Where’s the corps de ballet? The jester? Rothbart?” Sparrow faced Duchess directly now. “How can you have a ballet with only one ballerina?”
“I don’t, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying something’s not right with your story, but I have an idea.” He pulled her hands out of her lap. “You know I’m not cut out for my dad’s destiny, but I think I’d be a good fit for yours. Just like how you play two parts, I could as well. I can be your Rothbart and your prince.”
~~~~
The mist from the falls drifted up to Duchess on the icy winter wind slowly soaking her tights and tutu, stealing it of rigidity. Four more beats before she needs to turn and start the rest of the final scene. Her calves and arms burn despite the wet chill.
She can’t make out Poppy’s body at the bottom, but she knows she’s down there. Her last chance at happiness thrown off a cliff by her own best friend. And two and one and turn.
Sparrow stood on the surface of the river, no longer bound to land. He was barely recognizable shrowded in a fur cloak and a whirlwind of feathers and rotting leaves. Dark magic had taken it’s toll on his body, drawing his skin taught, stealing it’s pigment, and distorting his spine. Two more measures for her to decide her fate.
Stay forever with the man who once called her friend, and who took everything she had left from her. Or take one final grand jeté to end her wretched story. One more measure.
“This is what we had planned all along my swan. Our own happily ever after.”
The answer was obvious really. It was clear to her that hers would be the last performance from the company.
She turned again and leapt.