She had underestimated how much dancing hurt.
Every twist of her spine sent a bolt of agony shooting down her toes. There was a constant low-level ache settled nicely in her lower back. Her muscles were twitching, cramping and relaxing in knots that made tears prick at the corners of her eyes.
Oh my god. Quinn hissed, her knees nearly bucking as she twirled along with the choreography. Shitshitshitshishit- she bit her lip so hard it bled, red blood mixing with her red lipstain. There was nothing for it but to keep smiling, keep smiling as the audience roared with approval for New Directions (Rachel's) performance.
She was glad that her solo had been in the beginning of the number; Quinn wasn't sure that the judges would look kindly on her voice cracking from pain in the middle of a note.
She could feel the concerned looks Santana, Britanny, and Tina were giving her out of the corners of their eyes, even as they belted out the chorus and quickstepped up the riser stairs. She immediately straightened and sang louder, ignoring the way her spine immediately began to pulse, from tailbone to the back of her skull.
She hoped her shoulders weren't sagging as much as she felt they were. God, it hurt. so. much.
And then they were done. Que the roaring crowd, the standing ovation. Quinn was first off the stage and if anyone asked (they didn't, but she was used to that) she was crying because she was happy.