Merci mille fois to my reviewers. Your encouragement is helping this story zip right along from my brain to my fingers to the screen.
A brief explanation of the summary - I have not decided if this will be an EC or EOW ending. I will keep playing to both possibilities until I receive a consensus from my reviewers of which pairing they would like to see in the end. How's that for an improvement on Choose Your Own Ending?
Thanks again!
-Kate
The violin was throaty and plaintive as the first strains of the gypsy dance solo floated out into the auditorium. The silky coo of the cello joined it in the background, harmonizing on the melody.
Rose stood silent, her head bowed, her shoulders rising and falling with her anxious breaths. He watched, a faintly cynical smile curving his lips.
The sound of the violins swelled and filled the air, surrounding everyone in a thick, sweet, circular melody. Suddenly, Rose's shoulders relaxed, and she lifted her head. Meg Giry gasped, shocked as anyone would be at such a transformation.
The girl's face was electrified, alive, full of sudden dreams and passion. Her slim form began to move, slowly at first, sliding with the gentle laughter of the violins. Her footwork was unorthodox, and he leaned forward to watch more closely, interested to see what Madame Giry had given herself to work with.
The tempo picked up, and the melody blossomed into a demanding, seductive reel. The young dancer's body barely seemed to touch the floor, so light and full of energy was her movement. Though obviously not formally trained, she instinctively worked in arabesques, toe-work and elaborate spins and leaps, bringing new life to the well-known movements with her naïve, unconstrained energy and passion.
She flung herself into the dance, her eyes closing in ecstasy as she seemed to forget her corporeal self. Passionate abandon seemed to emanate from her in undulating, unrelenting waves. There was no inhibition, no sense of right or wrong in her movements – only life…throbbing, aching, energizing life.
He watched, stunned. He felt his own body tense and relax in time with her movements, as if she pulled the spirits of everyone around her into her private delirium. There was no shyness, no doubt, no fear on the smooth young face.
When the dance finally came to a magnificent, soaring end, she stood proudly, breathless with shining eyes. The jaded choristers and stagehands erupted into spontaneous applause.
He felt himself grudgingly nod in approval. She was raw. It would take all of Madame Giry's skill to shape her, but…he had to admit that the girl was good. Better than good. She was the passion of primeval dance itself, the pulse of life expressed through movement. He watched in a kind of neutral, suspended judgment as Madame Giry went over to the girl. He frowned, watching as she seemed to shrink back into some small, quiet, insignificant creature.
Madame Giry wasted no time and immediately began critiquing Rose's performance, making small asides about the various areas that she would have to work on with her. He withdrew further back into the shadows again.
As he moved, he saw a most unwelcome sight. The mottled, flushed face of Joseph Buquet peering into the darkness. His jaw tightened in anger. The man was a nuisance of the first order. And he had the potential to be worse…much worse.
Only the soft syllables spilling from his angel's lips distracted him from snapping that man's neck and being done with him. His rage subsided like white foam slipping back into the sea as he bent his ear to catch every nuance of her sweetness, like dew beads on a rose.
"You were wonderful!" Christine exclaimed, smiling shyly at the quiet girl who once again stood small and quiet among the sisterhood of dancers.
"Thank you," Rose replied softly, unable to keep two pink spots of pleasure from burning in her thin cheeks.
"Where did you learn to dance?" Christine asked, making an effort to reach out to the girl for the sake of kind Madame Giry and Meg.
Rose's face softened with a shade of sadness – a wistfulness that Christine instinctively felt she understood.
"I danced all my life in Ireland," Rose said. "We would dance with the fiddlers and pipers playing. You would just feel it and have to dance. I mean you feel it move your stomach."
Christine and Meg exchanged puzzled glances, then Meg suddenly burst into giggles.
"Oh!" she said, "you mean you feel it in your gut!"
Rose laughed at herself, a soft alto laugh in a heavenly trio with Christine's soprano and Meg's trill.
And he had to admit to himself that dancers could make music sometimes.
