A/N: Lokane, if you squeeze your eyes hard enough. I'm seriously considering making this a chapter fic. Let me know if you like the idea. :)
Of course Jane had seen a man dancing ballet before. Mind you, she wasn't living under the rock and was also quite fond of Tchaikovsky. When she was little she even attended some ballet classes in her home town. But she had never seen someone moving so effortlessly and gracefully. If it wasn't completely absurd, she would say the man was actually floating above the floor. The precision and care with which he moved were astonishing and Jane was quite certain she wouldn't complain about watching him dance for the rest of her life.
After few minutes the music stopped and the man turned around to look at someone beyond her line of sight. They exchanged some words and then a new piece of music started. The man began to dance a variation of the Dying Swan and for a moment Jane was unable to breath.
She was aware that was not a part danced by men, but it was heartbreaking all the same. The tragic beauty was somehow even more pronounced. Jane was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness, the one that comes with grief and the feeling of loss, as if the dancer was truly the swan from the story, loosing strength moments before his death.
It didn't matter who he was or that she was probably never going to see him again. She was sure that she was going to remember the exquisite swan with pale face, pained eyes and jet-black hair for the rest of her life, always wondering what story laid behind his truthfully moving performance.