Corrin took her bows with the rest of the cast, determined to keep her eyes trained on the faceless crowd rather than the very handsome and intense light-haired tall man in the audience.
His piercing eyes are running a hole into her head, and the slight scowl on his face would indicate that he is not pleased with the show, hurting her confidence on the rigid rehearsing they underwent before this premiere.
When she performed, she rarely noticed the audience. More often than not she would lose herself in the music and her craft, her body a vessel for the character's story. Tonight, however, she had felt his eyes on her from the beginning.
If not for years of training, she would have faltered instead of ignoring the butterflies. The edginess from his gaze translating into the nervous energy her character needed to pursue her one true love despite the many challenges they faced. Never during the next series of performances had she let it show how much he affected her.
Corrin wondered who he was. Probably a patron, given his seat on the house, and likely a banker or lawyer, or some such profession where his arrogance was an asset, she wagered. A politician? A financier? The CEO of some company or another?
She briefly wondered if he was one of those creeps that thought ballerinas made for a good lay because of their ability to bend their body into a pretzel. If so, he was soon going to learn that no one messed with her. Both of her very jealous older brothers, and one of her sisters too, had taught her enough defensive tactics to fight dirty when needed.
Many a year of experience in the opera circuit would make any woman a bit wary of intentions of dour men, especially patrons, and Corrin had spent good part of her lifetime in it. She began practicing ballet soon after she learnt how to walk, on those dark days when her parents were still together. Dance and art were a spot of beautiful light in what was a too-sad of a childhood.
Later, when her mother divorced her father and subsequently married Sumeragi, and she got four step-siblings with the whole transaction, she still did not quit. While it was re-signified, the time she spent on the studio remained a sort of escape, but now from the tiring energetic bustle that seemed to run around the clock on her home. Ballet became this quiet grace and precision that relaxed her mind and excited her body.
By the time she finished school, with offers from many companies and honourable mentions in countless festivals, her career choice seemed obvious.
Later, the ballerina was back in her dressing room about to cream off the thick stage make-up from her face when there was a knock on her door.
"Come in!" She called out.
She smiles at the reflection in the mirror when Azura popped her head through the door opening. The two lead performers had gotten to know each other well over the last few weeks of rehearsals. The other woman had been a font of knowledge, helping Corrin navigate nerves that came from her first principal dancer role after several years as a soloist, as well as to adapt to life in Cyrkensia, so very different from her hometown.
"You were wonderful tonight!" Said Azura, looking very different now that she was in her street clothes.
"I could say exactly the same." Corrin replied, turning to face her co-star and new friend. "Your performance was so full of emotion; it was absolutely moving. I got to watch from the wings as you launched into that first aria. I got literal goosebumps."
The blue-haired singer smiled at the compliment and showed to the other a bottle of champagne that she managed to snatch from the patron boxes.
"Here's to sold-out performances for the next six weeks." Said Azura after pouring champagne into flutes she had brought with her and handed one to Corrin for a toast.
"Merde!" Responded Corrin.
The implication of the swear word, shit, always made her chuckle like a naughty child. She understands that it was a traditional exclamation that theatre performers would say to each other instead of luck, in reference to the horse manure that would accumulate on the doors of popular plays in the days of old, but still she laughs.
They finished their drinks in companiable silence ignoring the frenetic sounds of the crew outside, packing up for the night. There is something cathartic in these moments, well after the curtain falls and the adrenaline from the applause dies down in memory. The aching joints, the ruined make-up, the melancholy of the end.
"I'm meeting a friend for a few drinks after here." Started Azura. "I would love for you to join us. He's a bit taciturn and, honestly, a stick in the mud at times, but a good man, and one I think you would profit in being acquainted to."
"A friend, you say? Wouldn't this be another name for an admirer or a lover, would it?" Corrin asked with a teasing tone, genuinely intrigued at the strange description.
"God, no. Not a lover." said Azura. "I consider him to be my step-brother, actually, since his father and my mother dated for a while."
The ballerina considered the offer. She was tired after a long day of practice and the opening night performance, but she was also wired and not ready to call it a night. Besides, if she does not go, she might never figure out who this mystery man is, and she is genuinely interested about his identity and why on Earth would Azura say that she would "profit" in getting to know him.
Before Corrin could respond to her assertion, however, there was perfunctory knock on the door before it was pushed open to reveal the man that she had seen staring at her during the performance. Up close, his impact hit her like a bullet train, her heart skipping a beat as she felt the earth shift on its axis.
As their eyes connected across the expanse of the room, she knew that her life would never be the same again.