I sat quietly on the floor of the girl's backstage dressing room. It had been nearly two months since the ordeal with the Monster Raven. Two months since Drosselmeyer disappeared, two months since Ahiru became a duck for good. Two months since I became the princess I thought I could never be.

Sighing, I swept my curly black hair into a bun. Fakir, Mythos, and I had returned to school last week, and the semblance of normality was sometimes almost too much to bear. Fakir carried Ahiru everywhere, like he was afraid if she was left alone she would fly away. Mythos and I continued doing what we've always when things were overbearing. Dance.

While on the floor, I slipped into my battered, well-worn pointe shoes. The red satin had long since worn off the tip, and the luster of the fabric had dulled after hours of abuse. It was time for a new pair, but I couldn't bring myself to part with these shoes- not yet. Today the ballet school was holding auditions for Swan Lake, and I needed familiarity to take on this task. After all, my own life was so much like those of the characters in Swan Lake— myself in the role of Odile. But I was tired of the path fate had put before me. I was no longer the pitiful girl raised in darkness, wanting to bring down the world for a chance at a twisted love. My prince had changed me from a raven to a swan. I wanted the role of Odette.

However, there was a new teacher after Mr. Cat returned to being— well, a cat. The new teacher, Signore Alvise, was a sour old man who was obsessed with aesthetics and technique. Portrayal of emotion didn't factor into his judgment. Steps, position, and appearance were the only things that mattered. It is that final item that will cause me problems. With dark hair and garnet eyes, I knew I wasn't the ideal candidate for the white swan. But there is more to a girl than appearances... so much more. And even though the parts of Odette and Odile were often played by the same ballerina, Signore Alvise insisted each dancer would only undertake one role.

I got to my feet, wiggling my toes to make sure the shoes were on properly. With a quick plié, I sprung up en pointe, taking some steps to test my balance. Thus satisfied, I reviewed my choreography, marking the steps while I waited. My nervousness increased each time I heard the Signore's dry voice rebuke and embarrass the dancers ahead of me. Finally, the aide came to get me and I walked into the darkened wings of the stage.

I stepped onto the stage, blinded by the hot lights overhead. Moving to the center of the platform, I curtsied to Signore Alvise. Stepping back a few paces, I held my position until the music started—a sad smile on my face. Suddenly, out of the darkness of the auditorium, Bach's Toccata filled the air. I leapt into action, quite literally. The song was made for jumps; it was a powerful and rapid, designed for the illusion of weightlessness and effortless strength. And weightless was how every ballerina strained to appear. My strong legs propelled me upward, then touched down for an instant before launching upward again. As the music's tempo increased, I whipped into a series of piques across the stage. From there I continued my ascending dance. Before long, my muscles burned and my hair was dampened by sweat. However, my expression never wavered, despite the pain in my feet and legs. At one point, I made eye contact with the Signore. The expression on his face could only be described as vacant resignation. My heart fluttered against my ribs. He had already made up his mind about my part. My fate would be to play the part of Odile once more, and that was more than I could bear.

Throwing caution to the wind, I abandoned rigid technique. I would dance from my heart; prove I was no longer Odile, no longer Kraehe. If not to the audience— then at least to myself.