This story was inspired by a Black Swan AU that itsmechmech on tumblr came up with centred around Téa. As soon as I saw their fanart I was transfixed by this idea. Hope you enjoy.
Chapter 1
PERFECT PINK
and ruby-dye thy track
Down thy last living reach
Of river, sail the golden light—
Enter the sun's heart—
- from The Dying Swan, by Thomas Sturge Moore
When it is just her, in the dark, like this, when keeping her eyes open and closing them makes no difference, when the world seems ended, with nothing but the abyss left to dance in, and the only tempo that matters is the ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump of her heartbeat – that is when she feels most alive.
Dance may be an art that brings people together but for her it is a solitary pleasure and a lonesome pursuit. A one woman show in which she is the audience, the heroine, and the ballet master all in one. Every sweep and glide is hers. The turns, and the pirrouettes, and the twirl.
And the twirl.
And the twirl.
And the kick.
They are all her decisions to make. And when she finishes with a crash of a cymbal in the wings of her imagination, it is to the applause of adrenaline thundering through her.
Her laboured breathing in the dark makes her sound like a wounded thing, something fragile. The dark swells around her, presses against her, and for a moment she wishes she could succumb wholly to it.
But then the light down the hallway flickers and the illusion of safety is broken. Muffled conversation trickles in peppered with trivial quotidian details. She drops her pose. There really is no point trying to salvage the moment. It has passed like it always does, slipped through her fingers once more, fleeting and mocking. But for a second – for a split second she had felt like she was on the precipice of it. And it had almost been perfect.
She has tried to keep some semblance of her previous life. Yugi comes to visit her now and then but each visit only seems to expose the widening distance between them. Each time she sees him he is coated in different tinges, as if she can only see him through the refractions of the experiences he is living.
For her life only seems to be one shade.
She doesn't regret it. This is the life she chose, this is the life she wants. This is the life that calls her, taunts her, teases her, and fires her every step. Never mind that some days it is as if each step is leading her down a path of an ever-narrowing circle from which she can never turn back. Never mind all that.
Especially now, when she is here with her friend under the lights. When Yugi laughs he does it like it is the only thing he needs to do, with his eyes crinkling shut as if he is lost to the moment and ignoring the rest of the world. It brings some of the old Téa back, and for awhile the weight of her world recedes. For awhile she can pretend that this reserve of happiness is always open to her. The golden light bathes them in its artificial security and for awhile she lets it.
The problem with artificiality is that it recedes just as quickly as it enters her life. She has not yet found a way to make the lies permanent. Her illusions bend and break with each day's beginning. The week makes quick work of her and by the end of it the light is only a faint flicker.
Before she walks out her door she applies the pink lipstick with pained precision. It's called Perfect Pink, and it is the final piece of her mask that she adorns each morning and it allows her, feeble as the shade seems, to hold her back straighter and her head higher.
She will need it today especially. Mai Valentine, the artistic director, will be picking out the dancers and everyone will become strangers and jagged edges once more.
She tries to tell her insides to still. She tries to breathe regularly. But they are doing Swan Lake this year, and she wants the main role more than anything she's ever wanted in her life.
The tension is thick as Valentine walks among them, eyes casually passing over their cascading arms and gliding legs. She reaches out a hand and taps a dancer on the shoulder. Then another. And another. It is hard to tell who has her approval. Téa can feel her breathing becoming louder. She tries not to show any emotion. Tries to project a picture of serenity.
Valentine doesn't come near her.
And she sees her world falling away, sees everything she's worked for disappear, all the work of a moment. She can feel her face begin to crumple but she stops herself, leans into the dips and turns to hide her emotions.
When they finish the piece Valentine walks up to the front of the room.
"Everyone that I tapped on the shoulder – I'm sorry to tell you that you will not be making it to the next round. As for the others, I expect to see you at auditions for the primary roles tomorrow, 7 am sharp."
She leaves without another word.
Téa stretches. Extends her legs, pulls her arms back, arches her spine. Through it all she remains expressionless but a cloud of happiness has burst in her. She takes her time exiting the room, lets the others go in front of her.
She grabs her bag and makes for the bathroom, shutting herself in the cubicle just as the tears leak out. She clutches her phone and texts Yugi.
I made it to the next round!
He will be asleep, but she doesn't care. The joy radiates out from her centre and for the first time that week she feels a real smile on her face.
Please check out the art of Téa on itsmechmech dot tumblr dot com, under #blackswanau. It is gorgeous!
Oh, and do give the whole poem a read if you can, it's quite lovely.
Thank you for reading, and do let me know what you thought.
To be continued!