All she's ever wanted is to dance.
All he's ever wanted is to paint.
The one thing they share in common is a favorite painting: Degas' Ballet Rehearsal.
To her, it is the artistry and grace and freedom expounded in the delicate yet rough brushstrokes.
To him, it is the beauty and exquisite technique.
When she is eighteen, she travels to Paris. The first thing she does there, of course, is go to the Musée de Orsay to see Ballet Rehearsal. She enters the room and, instead of seeing the painting first, she sees him.
"Lysander?" she whispers, her voice breathy and disbelieving. "Is it –"
"Luce?" he murmurs, hardly daring it to be true.
They meet, of course, in front of Ballet Rehearsal, linking hands, two innocent blue eyes and two knowing-all-too-much grey eyes staring intently at the dancers' graceful shapes.
Two pale, pale, hands, one freckled, one decorated by thousands of tiny white scars, intertwine, two pairs of fragile lips meet, and maybe, just maybe, this one time the world has found balance, even if it isn't perfect.
Seven years later, when their tiny child is brought into the world, already gone, they are helpless, waiting for a miracle.
But none comes.
A year later, he can almost understand when she leaves him for his brother. Lorcan is everything that Lysander is not – happy, successful. And he knows, deep, deep down, that Lucy deserves someone like that.
But the pain breaks through the love, and he thinks now it's better to be gone from this world of despair and heartbreak. And he hopes, after he is gone, that she will understand why and forgive him for the years of silence and anguish. After all, she's been through the grueling hours of rehearsal and life isn't much different.
And maybe a miracle has occurred, because for the second time in his life, he feels hope.