The House of Hades is coming out soon, and I have all of these feels that I need to get out. Anyone else? I'm a dancer, and after facing an injury last year I had to quit Pointe so that I could heal my ankle. But now, I've started Pointe again, and I've always wanted to write a dance story.

*There's a dance dictionary at the bottom for anyone who doesn't understand the terms* Lets hope nothing like what happens in this story happen in the House of Hades. Warning: Fast paced, AU, AH, Rated T. Hope you like!

"It has been more profitable for us to bind together in the wrong direction than to be alone in the right one."
― Nassim Nicholas Taleb, The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable

The man she loved watched from the crowd, and the murderer watched with ill intentions.

She leapt into a Grande jeté, her legs stretching out on either side of her, before landing on the balls of her feet and quickly going into Pointe, extending an arm and leg into arabesque, before doing a tour jeté and landing in fourth position, gracefully arching her back with stunning flexibility.

In front of her, the crowd clapped politely, and it took every ounce of self control for her to not smile with pride and stay in character; she wondered what her instructor thought.

It was a great feeling to be dancing once more, in front of so many appreciative people. After all this time of sitting at home, nursing her leg back to health after a horrific injury, she was back and better than ever. And Percy was out in the crowd, watching her. She wasn't supposed to look at any particular person, but her eyes danced over the members of the crowd, searching for him.

Even with the dim lighting she could spot him. Yes, that had to be him. Percy was in the front row, his eyes twinkling and black hair messed up in the cutest way. They'd been best friends for years before finally dating, and he came to every performance.

He was wearing a tux, which was so unlike him that she couldn't help but crack a small smile, but she was supposed to be gracefully yet fierce. She was the Black Swan.

Her hair was done up in a tight bun on the top of her head, with a feathered hair piece holding it up. Her face, she imagined, looked severe, especially with the heavy eyeliner and dark lipstick. She felt as if she'd come out of a nightmare, which scared and amused her.

The White Swan ran out from the curtains, looking frightened and confused, eyes widening as she saw the Black Swan. Piper was the perfect White Swan, with her big, innocent kaleidoscope eyes. No doubt her boyfriend Jason was in the crowd, watching her too.

And yet, as her eyes still darted over the crowd and she held her pose, she found another person that she knew, but he was unwelcomed. Oh no, what was he doing here? Why would he be here? She wanted to scream all of a sudden, yell and stomp with fury and whatnot.

Luke. Her ex-boyfriend. She didn't want to see him.

Flashbacks of that one night from long ago came back. A slap on her face. Tears. His yelling at her. The hospital. A snapped leg. More tears. And Percy there to comfort her.

She shut the unwelcome thoughts out. No, she didn't care about Luke, and he wasn't going to ruin the night for her. She did a quick ballet run to center stage, right beside Annabeth, and they prepped into fourth position again and pushed off into a petit fouetté. They spun simultaneously, heads whipping around as they started to pirouette before their feet slid into coupe.

The claps continued to bathe her in glory. Not once did either of the girls falter from their turns, and as they landed and posed for a quick moment, she felt the adrenaline pulsing through her veins. She felt so alive, as she turned across the stage traveling to a far off corner, while Piper had her shining moment as the beautiful White Swan.

The rest of the dance was a blur, as were the applause and final bow. She remembered Percy's cheers the loudest, the amazing look on his face that made her heart flutter in her chest.

But Luke was there too, and whenever she thought of him, she was reminded of the months she sat on her couch, stretching but not dancing. He was to blame for those injuries and that long time of nothing. He made her blood boil. He remembered his screaming, the strong stench of alcohol in his breath, the stinging in her cheeks.

Please, Luke, please stop, she'd begged.

He hadn't listened.

After her clearance from the hospital, Percy had found Luke and punched him in the face, breaking his nose. And he'd deserved it, the bastard.

As she walked off stage, twirling and chatting with Piper, she saw someone moving closer to her. There was a flash of black hair, and it had to be Percy. He stopped, watching her from a short distance away, smiling at her like he was the proudest guy in the world. People were trying to talk to her but she blocked them out, and it was only the two of them.

She gestured for him to come a little closer. She held out her hand.

But behind her, she didn't notice the strange, shadowy silhouette, waiting for the right moment to strike. She only noticed Percy, and vaguely Piper, Jason, her instructor Chiron and the lazy stage director Mr. D. She even saw people like her friend Rachel and half-brother Malcolm, and her father talking with the set designer Leo.

The crowd of dancers closed in, obscuring her vision from Percy, but she would be able to find him. They had all night together.

But then a hand closed around her waist and pulled her away from the crowd in a flash, closing her into a dressing room and locking the door with a deafening click. She whirled around, pushing the arm away from her and getting ready to laugh. Percy was such a Seaweed Brain, doing things like this, always surprising her. It was one of the reasons she loved him.

Laughter died on her lips. It was Luke, staring down at her with murderous rage.

She stopped breathing. She stopped thinking. She opened her mouth to scream but her throat refused to produce any sort of sound. She was still wearing her Pointe shoes, which she couldn't run in. Her black and white tutu felt huge on her, and the door was locked, and Luke was standing in front of it. There was no way for her to escape. Why was Luke here?

What did he want?

"Black Swan," he mused, arching a brow, letting the word roll across his lips. "You always seemed like more of the White Swan."

As he approached her, she took a step back, holding her hands up in defense. He just grabbed her wrists and twisted them. She cried out in sudden pain and found herself unable to move. Luke laughed at her. "Really, Annie, is that all you got? Aren't you going to fight me?"

She said nothing but silently willed Percy to come find her. But Luke wouldn't do anything too crazy.

Right?

Best not to take chances. Rearing back, she kicked her leg straight up, hoping to catch him somewhere, but he was too fast. In a second, he had her against the wall, her legs and arms pinned, with her head thrashing back and forth. Percy was still outside, probably looking for her so that he could sweep her into his arms and kiss her, just as she wanted right then.

"You think you can escape?" Luke demanded. "You think I give a damn about your dancing? You ruined me. This is your entire fault. You've caused my hand. There's no need for the formalness. I need this to be quick."

Oh no, what was he going to do? Sick thoughts formed in her head.

"You bitch," he hissed. "You just ran away from me, huh? With Jackson? You left me. You are a Black Swan. You have no heart. You care for no one but yourself. I should've done this when I had the chance." She still smelled alcohol on his breath, just as before.

No heart? Black Swan? He was the one that had hurt her. He needed some serious help. The Black Swan was nothing more than a role and a character that meant nothing.

But what did he mean?

"Please, Luke, please stop," she whispered, repeating the same words from that one night without even realizing it.

The humanity inside of him seemed to click off.

A sharp pain in her stomach singled his intentions. The fiery feeling spread throughout her nerves, and once again she tried to scream, but only a faint gurgle came out. A sick grin lit up Luke's face, as if he had accomplished his life's goal. He was so messed up, more than she ever would have guessed, but everything now was happening so slow yet so fast at the same time.

Luke then backhanded her across the face, but she barely registered it. She ended up on the ground, her hand clasped against her stomach, as Luke stood over her with a bloody knife, still looking so joyful.

"You deserve this, Black Swan, never doubt that."

For what reason though? All she had wanted to do today was dance, feel loved, and be loved.

But she wasn't looking at him any longer. Her eyes were glued to the door as blood stained her shoes and she began to bleed out, and she heard a yelling, sweet choice, calling from outside of the door. "Annabeth, where are you?" Percy was searching for her, joking around, and she reached out her arm, but it was miles away from him. She wanted him by her side, but he didn't even know that this was happening. And there was a chance he would never find out.

There was an all too familiar wetness on her face that she ached to brush away.

The Black swan folded her wings and waited for the whiteness, because there was nothing else to do.

The fluttering feeling stopped.

The laughter stopped.

The black feather fell down in front of her face and was stained with blood. Percy still called her name. The murderer laughed.

But the Black Swan was silent.

Dance dictionary:

Grande jeté: Big leap
Pointe: Dancing on your toes, not the balls of your feet
Arabesque: An extension on one foot where one legs comes off the ground and the opposite arm in extended at an angle
Tour jeté: A high turning leap that you land in an arabesque position
Fourth position: in which your feet go in separate directions and remain away from each other
Petit fouetté: A turn on one leg where your leg whips around you before going back into passé (which is when your legs is turned out and your toe touches your knee)
Pirouette: A turn on one leg where one leg stays in passé
Coupe: in which you are standing on one leg, and the other leg is turned out and your toe touches your ankle-area.

. . .