Thank you everyone for reading! And thank you to BabyNake, garasu-no-kamen, SloaneDestler, Pip and CO, lindaweng, TheTenthMuseSappho, Pensez-a-Erik, His Midnight Music, peanutpup, Phantomgirl24, BehindTheMask31, and Mominator124 for the lovely reviews!

Good news - I can update more frequently than once a week now :) Can't wait for you all to see where I take this story.

Chapter 12

Meg

"Again!"

I was breathless, but as per my mother's demand, I had to ready my exhausted body to start from the top of the number. Dress rehearsal was this afternoon, but she had Christine and me early at the theatre to perfect our forms. To the untrained eye, our dancing could have seemed flawless. To a dancer and a dance instructor, it needed sharpening - a straighter leg here or a wider flourish of the arms there. And I was almost at the top of perfection's peak.

Almost.

I looked at Christine as we too our placed next to one another. She offered me an encouraging smile, and I found myself smiling back. Mother clapped her hands twice, and we began.

Perfectly, Meg. Don't make a mess of this. You know what to do. So do it.

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two...

Every minute or so, I would find that I was losing myself in the motion. But I quickly snapped myself out of it. When I lost myself in music was when I made mistakes. When I stayed focused, precise, I was the dancer I expected myself to be. Staying alert meant staying worthy of my title.

But it also meant that dancing no longer brought me the joy it once had - before my mother made a career out of it for me. I'd once loved it, back when she was allowing me to play, to be comfortable in my own body's abilities, before stepping in and whetting it into something useful.

I snapped back into attention, realizing I'd started to wander.

We finished the routine, and the moment it ended, the moment I realized it done it with absolute perfection, I beamed. I glanced at Christine. She wasn't looking at me, but rather straight ahead, chin high, as she was supposed to. I did the same.

The corners of my mother's lips tugged upwards - the closest we'd ever get to approval. She nodded. "Excellent work, girls. Excellent." She gave me a pointed look - she was talking, really, to me.

At that, Christine did turn in my direction. Her eyes smiled along with her mouth - a rare thing. But where my mother lacked in showing pride, Christine made up for it tenfold. Always. A giggle escaped me, which I quickly stifled.

I had to repeat it tonight. Tomorrow night - especially tomorrow night - if I wanted to celebrate.

My mother brought her hands together. "Now. Go change. We will go to lunch, rest for a bit, then come back here. And tomorrow-" She smiled.

Christine finished her words. "Tomorrow we share our gifts with Paris."

Mother nodded once, eyes glinting. Those were the words she said to us, to all of the ballet girls, at every dress rehearsal. We'd hear those words again tonight.

"There is a bistro a few streets from here - perhaps Maman will take us there."

Christine nodded, pulling her street shoes onto her feet as she sat on the backless cushioned chair. Her hair was still up, as mine was; it would be until the end of the rehearsal tonight.

"I'm glad," she said, fastening her shoe. "I'm starving."

"Me too." I was finished dressing. "I want to eat an entire steak. A whole load of bread. Maybe a potato."

She grinned. She was now working on her other shoe as she looked at me. "Your mother would kill you for filling up like that. And trying to dance on such a full stomach? - you'd regret it."

I nodded, trying not to let the truth of it curl in my core - she cared what we ate at all times, not just before performances. It was bothersome - often made me angry. It was a small thing, and I knew she was right to make sure we were slim and strong. But the lack of agency-

The door to the dressing room creaked open.

Neither of us looked up right away, expecting to see my mother. But when Christine's eyes went up to the visitor, when she let out a gasp of surprise, I whirled to see who it was.

Joseph Buquet. Red-faced and round, with a black goatee and shoulder-length hair matching it in color, he looked every bit the drunkard he was. Hard-working, a skilled chief stagehand, but a drunkard nonetheless.

I blinked as he smiled at us. That leering smile that made my stomach knot.

"A shame," he drawled, his voice like a wet gravel road.

Christine stood. "Pardon?" She glanced at me, then brought her eyes back to Buquet. She liked the man as little as I.

"Yes," he said. "A shame. You're done dressing. I missed it."

Christine scoffed, disgust lining her features. "There is no show here, pig."

He grinned. "A pig?" He leaned against the door jamb, crossing his large arms. His eyes glittered. "Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment." Christine's voice was cool - cool as Buquet's black eyes.

"Regardless." He made the R trill, then stood straight and gave a little bow. "I'll take it as such. Pigs are intelligent, you know."

"A worm, then. Brainless and blind."

"Oh," he responded, bringing his eyes down and up both of our forms. "I can see perfectly fine."

Christine made another noise of disgust, then went directly in front of him. She crossed her arms. "Are you going to trap us in here then, Buquet, or can we now leave? Madame Giry is expecting us - and I don't believe she likes you enough to forgive you."

"Forgive me?"

"For making her wait for us. Move."

I tried to hide my smile. Christine was constantly fearless. I wished I could emulate that.

Buquet stared at her for a few seconds more, mouth twisted and bushy brows raised in amusement, before stepping back and holding his hands up then bringing them together in faux supplication.

We walked past him, neither of us looking back, though we could feel his eyes on us. It was all I could do to keep from shuddering. So...unsettling, he was. And he was like this with all of the ballet girls. All of them-

A thought sent an alarm bell ringing in my head. I gave a small gasp - and when we were out of earshot, out of sight, I stopped Christine, putting a hand on her arm.

She scanned my wide eyes, and brought her own hand on mine. "What, Meg?"

"Isabelle," I whispered. I glanced back in the direction of where we'd come. "Do you think...?"

Her mouth parted slightly as her mind churned at my words. She blinked. Once. Twice. "I don't know." She bit her lip, seeming deep in thought, then pulled me along to meet my mother.

I hoped my stomach would settle by the time it was met with food.