Emily stared at her reflection. Her mirror was framed with lightbulbs, some shown brightly, while others flickered, casting strange shadows across her reflection. Even though she was looking in a mirror, Emily hardly recognized the girl staring back at her. She had dark blue eyes, and despite the heavy makeup and the fake lashes that adorned them, they sparkled like two sapphires. Her eyes were Emily's favorite part about herself. No matter how many costumes she wore, no matter how many wigs she put on, her eyes were constant and unchanging.
Emily tilted her head to the side so that her heart-shaped face rested on one of her delicate shoulders. She studied the smudged glass of her vanity mirror. She thought her skin was too pale, and she often compared herself to the humans she saw walking down the Vegas strip at night. They came in all shapes and sizes – some were dark, some were light, some were curvy, and others were short. Emily felt incredibly plane compared to them. When Emily was on stage at The Witching Hour, the casino where she performed, she knew that she looked like every other girl in her company.
Unlike most Moroi, Emily had grown up among the humans. Her classmates had taunted her and made fun of her gangly limbs and her unnatural height. She hadn't had many friends, but that didn't bother her. Her ballet slippers were the only companion she needed. She spent most of her nights in the studio, eventually forcing her instructor to bestow an extra set of keys upon her. Emily had always imagined a particular future for herself, one that involved her signing with a ballet company, and leaving her hometown and the people who had never noticed her in the dust. She would return a few years later, when she was famous of course, and they would all be sorry.
Unfortunately, Emily's future had turned out a little differently. She hadn't had the money to pay for schooling beyond high school, and she had been forced to wait tables for a few months while teaching part-time at her old studio. During those months, Emily had transformed. Her mother often joked and called her the ugly duckling. Emily hated being compared to a bedtime story, but she knew that there was some truth to what her mother said. Emily had started out as an awkward adolescent who wore her hair in braids, and ended up a graceful 20-something with shining eyes and big dreams.
She bided her time, and eventually landed an audition with an all-Moroi dance company. It was only after she had earned a spot that she learned the company performed exclusively at a Las Vegas casino. It was hardly the future she had imagined for herself, but Emily decided to take a chance, telling herself that everyone had to start somewhere. The Witching Hour would be temporary.
Emily had been at The Witching Hour for two years now, and the massive feathered headpieces and her cramped dressing room didn't feel temporary any more. The sequins and the lights and the dances were all familiar, she knew them like the back of her hand. Las Vegas had become Emily's home, and that notion made her both happy and sad, and she was still trying to figure out how that could be.
A Moroi woman poked her head into Emily's dressing room and smiled. The sight was comical when one considered the gigantic feathered plume that adorned the top of her head. She looked like some kind of exotic bird, one that had fangs.
"What are you doing?" The woman exclaimed. "You're supposed to be in the wing, the overture is starting soon!"
Emily turned and offered her a meek smile, "I'm having some trouble with the headpiece." She said, giving a made-up excuse for her absence.
The woman stepped the rest of the way into the room. She wore an outfit identical to Emily's. It was a tight, sequined number, and it fit more like a second skin than like a dress. She glided over to Emily and snatched her matching headpiece off of the mannequin head that sat on the vanity. The woman began helping Emily to fasten it over the curling red wig that she wore.
"Vivian," said Emily through gritted teeth. "That's too tight."
Emily felt like her circulation was being caught off but Vivian didn't seem to care. "There's no such thing," she said as Emily felt a bobby pin scrape against the nape of her neck. "Not with these things."
Emily knew that Vivian had a point. Most of their headpieces weighed upwards of twenty pounds, and it was every showgirl's nightmare to have it fall off mid-performance, and so Emily endured the pain.
"There!" Said Vivian triumphantly. Emily looked at her through the mirror and saw that she was beaming.
Vivian was always smiling, she loved her job. She loved the glamour and the admiring fans, and she loved Emily. Vivian had been her first real friend, and Emily would be forever grateful to her for her kindness and generosity.
"Now come on," said Vivian as she pulled on Emily's hand. "There are a few royals in the audience tonight."
Emily rolled her eyes, Vivian was a sucker for titles. Vivian grinned mischievously at her, and Emily knew that she would probably be forced to mingle with the patrons after the performance.
The two girls made their way down a narrow corridor and eventually joined a gaggle of dancers waiting behind the heavy velvet curtains. A few moments later, the orchestra began to play. Under the cover of the overture, Emily and the other dancers moved into their positions and waited for the curtain to rise. Emily felt the familiar surge of adrenaline that accompanied the start of the performances. Despite any misgivings she might have about being a Vegas showgirl, dancing on the stage of The Witching Hour always thrilled her.
The next hour and a half was a whirlwind of paddle turns and costume changes. At the end of the performance, Emily was covered with a light sheen of sweat. Her and Vivian returned to her dressing room, each of them glowing from the exertion.
"Did you see them?" Vivian asked excitedly as she peeled the finale costume off of her slim frame.
Emily stood in front of the mirror, trying to locate all of the pins in her wig. Sometimes she felt like she needed a metal detector. "See who?" She asked, pulling out what she hoped was the last pin.
"Those guys in the VIP section," she said as she shimmied out of her transitional tights. "They were gorgeous, I bet those are the royals Mathias was talking about."
Emily pulled off her wig and set it on top of the mannequin head. "I don't know how you can see anything from up there." Emily slipped off her wig cap, and a mass of jet black hair cascaded down her shoulders.
Vivian was pulling on a navy blue dress with a sparkling neckline, but paused to look up at Emily, "I snuck a peak at them during the tap number."
"I see," said Emily as she dug through her clothing rack and selected a plane black cocktail dress. She held it up to herself and heard Vivian snort from behind her.
"No way," she said shaking her head. "Here, you should wear this." Vivian slipped out of the dress and tossed it to Emily.
The fabric was silky and felt expensive. "Are you sure?"
"Deadly," she told Emily as she pulled another dress off of the rack. "We have to look the part tonight. If we play our cards right, we could end up princesses by the end of the night."
Emily pulled on the dress, it fit like a glove, doing the most for her slender frame. The dress made her eyes shine even more than they usually did.
"Emily, you look beautiful," gushed Vivian.
Emily took one last fleeting look in the mirror and then turned to offer Vivian a mischievous smile of her own, "Those royals can eat their hearts out."
…
The two girls wove their way in and out of the crowd, each familiar with the way the patrons clumped together at the bar and on the dance floor. Vivian led Emily over to the VIP booths, all of them ringed with Dhampir guardians. Vivian knew better than to approach the booths, and instead she pulled Emily toward her. They began dancing, synching their bodies with the music pouring through the speakers. It wasn't long before they had the attention of a number of the bar patrons. Emily spun around with her hands raised above her head and closed her eyes. She no longer cared who was watching, she wanted to lose herself. The only time she felt confident was when she was dancing, she felt like a goddess or a temptress, able to bring men to their knees with the sway of her hips.
She opened her eyes and noticed that Vivian was no longer dancing beside her. Emily scanned the room and saw her being led away by the hand toward one of the booths. She tossed her head over her shoulder, her long blonde hair swinging around as she did, and smiled at Emily. Emily continued to dance, knowing that Vivian would eventually mention to her new romance that she had a friend. It was common knowledge that the only thing men found more intriguing than a beautiful woman, was two beautiful women.
"Excuse me," a voice from somewhere behind her said.
Emily ignored it and continued to move, not wanting to be disturbed. She was used to dealing with drunk Moroi men.
"I'm sorry," said the voice. "I don't usually do this but –"
Emily whirled on him, ready to tell him off, but froze at the sight of him. Emily was sure she had never seen a more beautiful man in her life. He had blonde hair and deeply green eyes. Emily's breath quickened as she stared into them. The lights in the casino flashed across his face, illuminating his features. His face looked like someone had carved it out of marble. Most men looked at her like she was a piece of meat, but not this man. There was something disarming about him.
"I'm sorry," he said again, "but I saw you and, I needed to know your name."
Emily was stunned, but she eventually found her voice. "Emily," she said, holding out her hand to him.
He brought it up to his lips, and then spoke, "Eric."
I've been wanting to write this story for what feels like forever. I just wanted to get some feedback on it, let me know what you think and if you would read past this first chapter!