Huge thanks to LRW, Dirtkid123, AlienGhostWizard14, and TheMichiganWriter for the reviews + prompts!

Okay, as noted in the revised summary, this entry makes allusion to abortion and hints towards a few dark elements. Please beware of these trigger warnings if you choose to read on.

Also, as has always been and will always be with these entries, there will be grammatical, punctuation, and flow disaster spots in this (at least I think so). I'll try to make revisions at a later date, when I'm not in a hurry.

Onto day three.


/day three/

Prompt: ballerina

Featured LR character: none [OC as main, Douglas as minor]


"The Ballerina"


Pre-Lab Rats. She hopes her daughter could find it in her heart to forgive her someday.


"Just so we're clear, you understood everything that was written on here."

She stares back at the Scientist as he looks at her with those cold, calculating green eyes. She shifts uncomfortably in her chair and then nods. "Yes," she says.

He doesn't acknowledge her answer. Instead, he turns his attention back on the signed contract she had handed him. She let her eyes wander around his office, as she usually does whenever he drifts off into an analysis of either a plan or some legal matters. His walls are still decorated with various awards and certificates, superabundantly so, if she may add, as if he's trying to compete against an unknown opponent. His desk, meanwhile, is cluttered with various blueprints and plans that she knows she will never understand.

She has gotten quite used to it, sadly, the unfortunate mess of order and chaos.

Honestly, she'll be happy once this is over. She doesn't want to see it – and him – again.

Nastasja knows that this wouldn't have been necessary if she hadn't had been so stupid. Her life has been carefully planned ever since she was seven. It's always going to revolve around dance. Dancing has been her motive for almost everything.

She doesn't know exactly what it is that made her fall in love with it. She guesses it was the freedom it afforded her, every gentle flourish of her hand and every perfect pirouette expressing what she can't say through words. She guesses it was the absence of gravity whenever she performed, either for others or just for herself. She'd like to think that it's also because of how it turns her into something of a masterpiece, a canvass for the music that unfurls into an amazing artwork as the song goes along.

Admittedly, she considers the importance and confidence performing gives her as reasons, too. When the spotlight shines on her, she feels a rush of euphoria somewhere within her, as if she's where she needed to be.

Her heart flips every time at that feeling, and she's come to be very fond of that.

Before the end of high school, she had determined to become a prima ballerina. She disciplined herself in every aspect she could, just so she wouldn't stray from that. A few facets of her school life suffered, but she didn't mind; they were not what was important anyway.

She's after something bigger, and she wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that.

Her father had been very supportive. After all, her mother, before she died of cancer, had been a ballerina, too. He was more than happy to see her take on her mother's legacy, and rediscovering the main reason of why she was working hard for her dreams caused her to exert more effort and to do so happily. It seemed to pay off as she went to college. She was assigned good roles in performances, placed in spots which increased in prominence every time she was chosen, and even regularly congratulated and praised by instructors and a few of her peers. It encouraged her to aim higher, because these told her that maybe, just maybe, her dreams were not too far out of reach as it sometimes seemed.

Then, one mistake caused what she had built to crumble down. All it took was one misstep, one poorly thought decision to go to that after party, to destroy everything.

A friend had introduced her to a guy named Steven. He was nice. At first, it actually seemed like he was a bit intimidated by her, which he explained was because he was a fan of hers. She enjoyed his coyness and how thoughtful he seemed to be. He was easy to be with.

The destruction was gradual. Through the time they spent talking to each other, he made her feel free and light, as if she was floating somewhere wonderful. He made her seem important, as if she was way above and beyond any precious thing there could ever be in this earth. He treated her like a princess. He made her head spin, and her heart hammered so much that from it that it took her breath away.

He had fooled her into thinking that he was worth the risk, that he was worth more than her dream.

She should have known better.

She never saw him after that night. Her heart was broken, but she knew it was better this way anyways. She didn't need a distraction.

Then, two months after that party, she had discovered she was pregnant.

Stupid. How could she be so stupid?

She didn't know what to do when she first learned about it. She was only twenty-one years old, with a goal she had yet to reach. Motherhood was not in her plans. She also didn't want to remember the mistake she made, and she knew that with this child, she will only have a constant reminder of it.

But, at the same time, she didn't want to make brash decisions. Termination is a choice that would disappoint her father. Plus, she didn't want to go through the pain that comes from it. What if she got complications from the procedure? What if that permanently prevented her from ever achieving her desire of becoming what she wanted to become?

Months rolled along, and choosing did not get easier. She missed many performances, and her heart was sick because of it. Through this, she began to favor not keeping her child. Still, her conscience prevented her from doing it.

Then, a friend who worked on an up and coming company, Davenport Industries, told her of a project that one of the CEOs was secretly conducting. He was looking for few participants, preferably parents or mothers who may have children who were either sickly or whom they may not wish to keep.

She hesitated at first, but after a three-day long inner debate, she decided to go.

That was when she first met the Scientist. Douglas Davenport, the sign on his door said. He had a wolfish glint in his eyes, and there was not a hint of warmth in him. He made her wonder if her coming had been a good move. He was so distant that she was left fearing her child's future in the hands of this man. However, the Scientist explained everything to her – about future technology, something he called bionics, and how he will ensure that she and her baby would be safe during the process.

He also mentioned that she will be hugely compensated for her participation.

"Compensated?" she had asked.

"I'll take care of everything. Check-ups. Prenatal," he said, looking through her medical history then. He looked at her. "I understand you also have some goals you wanted to reach, and I think our…'thank you' gift of half a million dollars can help."

She didn't believe him then, but, months later – today – she sees him fulfilling his word.

She did her best to remain as detached to the child inside of her as possible throughout. It was admittedly hard. During her many, many appointments with the Scientist where he performed tests and little surgeries, she began to feel worry for the baby. Whenever she would see mothers with their child, she would start wondering how it would be like to hold her own one day. What made it extremely difficult was when the Scientist did a sonogram during one of the earlier tests, and they found out that the child would be a girl.

She cried many nights, especially when she realized that there was an inkling of a desire in her to raise a little girl, to raise someone who may also develop a love for tutus and ballet shoes. She also felt horrible when she remembered her mother, how this decision would have hurt her.

But, in the end, she acknowledged that this was her chance to correct her mistake. She needs to choose her dream above her desire this time.

As a wave of sadness hits her, Nastasja places her hands on her fully developed belly.

She hopes her daughter could find it in her heart to forgive her one day.

"Okay, Ms. Vogel. I think we're good here," the Scientist says. He stands up, and this tells her she needs to stand up, too. "Once she's out and in my possession, I'll complete the money transfer; you have my word. You know where to call me if something comes up."

Nastasja nods. "Alright."

The Scientist walks to the door.

Before he can open it for her, she asks, "Can I, uh…can I ask you one thing?"

"Sure."

"Her name. What will she be called?"

"Not an information for you to know," he says.

She nods. "Oh. Okay." She looks at him one last time when he opens the door.

However, for some reason, he takes pity on her. "She's called Subject B for now," he says.

She stares at him. Subject B. "Okay."

He nods at her. "Goodbye, Ms. Vogel." He doesn't wait for a response and closes the door.

She stands there and takes a breath.

Her daughter moves inside of her, as if begging her not to give her up one last time.

She feels nothing.

It's better this way.


Reviews are appreciated. :)