for hannah. also for dez, lisa, leesh, ericka, darling, dani (come back, please?), and everyone else on ff i'm too lazy to list.

this is the brainchild spawn derived from my hatred of pointe shoes and current obsession with phobias. brainchild, say hello to reader. reader, wave back.

now that introductions are out of the way, (or you could've just skimmed over this whole an, because let's face it, it's pretty much all crap anyways, right?) we can get on with the story.

[disclaimed.]

of butterflies and b r o k e n bones

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The start of every story is triggered by something. All the fairytales start at some point or another, either by some twist of fate or some stupid wish or whispered secret some passing mortal-immortal just so happens to overhear.

Cinderella's started when she met her fairy godmother and rode to a ball in a pumpkin.

Ariel's started the day she decided she didn't want to be a mermaid anymore.

Hercules's started when his parents had sex.

("Don't have sex, because you will get pregnant and die!" Someone should notify Coach Carr that he is wrong on that point. Zeus and Hera are very much alive, thanks.)

Hers started the day she broke her leg.

Chorophobia- the fear of dancing.

"Skyler! Fix your posture and pour le Dieu, get that turnout right!"

You'd think that after having me as a student for the past seven years, the old hag would've warmed up to me.

Obviously not.

Madame Mimi throws her skinny dancer arms up in the air in exasperation, a steely glint entering her eyes. At the other end of the room, Nina Callas snickers.

I narrow my eyes at her, and tell myself that there's enough hate in the world without me adding to it. But with her tapered almond eyes, her pointed ears, and her impish grin, the chica looks more like a dark angel than a ballerina.

Mimi claps her hands together, her always-reproving expression a few degrees lighter as she appraises us. "Take a break, everyone."

I lean against the bar, taking a sip from my water bottle, letting the cold liquid cool down my throat. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My electric blue eyes are wild, a couple of strands of blonde hair that had escaped from my bun plastered to my forehead with sweat.

Nina's high-pitched laugh rings out into the silence, followed by a few titters. I turn around and six pairs of curious eyes met mine. They all glanced away furtively, like they'd just been caught stealing from the cookie jar, but Nina holds my gaze, a cat-like smirk curling her lips.

Layne walks past, and Nina turns her attention from me to hiss "freak" while sticking out a perfectly toned leg to block her path, earning another set of giggles from her posse.

"Okay, that's enough." Mimi says, walking back through the glass-paned French doors. "Repeat the routine, and Skyler, do try to put some passion into it this time, please?"

I roll my eyes as everyone else makes their way to the centre of the circular room, stashing my bottle back into my bag and pulling off my navy knitted crochet.

"She does like you, you know."

I glance around, surprised, and find myself staring into Layne Abeley's scornful face. My surprise doubles, and then some.

The thing about Layne, though, was she was sort of, well, a—

The word freak is at the tip of my tongue, but I dispel the thought, disgusted at how close I was to sounding like Nina and her cronies. Sure, she had a red streak in her hair and liked to paint her nails vivid colours, played the drums and listened to heavy metal bands no one else had ever heard of, but that didn't make her a bad person. It just meant that she was her own person, and didn't want to blend in, be identical to everyone else, like a flock of sheep incapable of thinking for themselves.

And I couldn't really blame her for that.

"She just thinks you need the motivation. If she treated you like a princess," Her lips curl in disgust at the word, "Then you'd become as spoilt as the rest of them." She shrugs. "You've got spunk. She likes that."

I bite my lip. "How do you know that?"

Some emotion flashes in her eyes, but it passes too quickly for me to distinguish it. "My mom treats me the same way, and she says it's 'cause her mom brought them up that way. And I guess she thought it worked." She shrugs, her nose wrinkling slightly, like she thought it was stupid. "Character building and all that shit."

The realisation hits me like a bulldozer. Her mom brought them up that way.

"She's your—" I frown. "Mimi's your aunt?"

Layne purses her lips. I take that as a confirmation.

"But she acts like she—"

"Hates me?" She interrupts. "I know. She's not supposed to show nepotism or favouritism or whatever. It was the only condition I could join the class." Her shoulders curve a little as she shrugs again. "She's actually pretty cool when she's away from all this," she says, gesturing around the studio.

"Oh." I'm still struggling to take it all in. "But then why dance here, if—"

Mimi's condescending voice breaks off my sentence.

"Skyler! Layne! As you must be well aware of by now, we do not have all day to wait around while you gossip!"

I slip into my space quickly as the first notes of music sound, catching onto the rhythm, transitioning smoothly into the different spins and twirls as she counts the beats, chanting them like a mantra, raising her voice over the low buzz of the piano music.

"Ah five, six, seven, eight! Arrière, développé, fouetté jeté, pas de chat, plié!"

And again.

One. Two. Three. Four. Piqué. Five. Six. Seven. Elevé. Croisé. Eight.

"Jump!" Madame Mimi shouts, her voice bouncing off the walls, her face morphing into an expression better fitting in a cheesy Disney comedy than a classy old-school New York ballet studio.

And so I do.

"Higher!"

Two heartbeats later, I lose my balance and crash through the floor, pain slamming into me, ten times stronger than an avalanche. The world spins, terror clutches at my stomach, and then my knees buckle and everything goes black.

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okay, so this was originally a one-shot, then morphed into a 4000+ word hideousness until I decided to make it a multi-chap. i'm fully aware of how short and artfully crap this chapter is, and i'm sorry about that. hopefully i'll update soon.

so, like it, hate it, concrit it?