"Moving," Nina thought to herself glumly, "Is always a great idea….until you move." The last forty eight hours had been spent in a flurry of frenetic activity, purchasing, assembling, and installing the bare essentials needed to make the place livable. Thankfully, there hadn't been much to take from her former home on the Upper West Side; just a few boxes of clothing. She had, however, followed through on her idea of converting the spare bedroom into a dance studio, and installed two floor-to-ceiling mirrors on adjacent walls and a barre on the wall opposite the smaller of the two. Her shoes were neatly lined up on a rack in the room's small closet, extra ribbons and a sewing kit stored in plastic bins. Tonight would be the first night she would dance here, the first night she would make this place hers.
Tomorrow would also be Nina's first day back at work since her performance in Swan Lake five weeks previously. Her injury was very nearly healed. The stitches had been removed, and the scar had faded from a vivid, angry pink to a thin, translucent white line. The pain had, for the most part subsided, and she had been off of the codeine for just over a week. Physically, she knew that apart from some muscle atrophy she was healthy and strong.
Which did nothing to change the fact that, if she was being honest with herself, the prospect of returning to ballet daunted her.
Nina had always been high strung. The extremely competitive world of ballet had a way of transforming previously good-natured people into neurotic wrecks, and Nina herself had been no exception. With the pressure of a leading role and her mother's constant scrutiny added onto her already over-stressed psyche, the strain of holding herself together had eaten at her nerves like acid.
And in the end, she hadn't held herself together very well had she? Not well at all…..her hand came down, lightly brushing her abdomen, and she fingered the thin ridge of scar tissue there that she could just barely feel through the leotard she wore.
Well, this time would be different, she decided firmly, it had to be. She yanked a pair of shoes out of the closet and strapped them on. She'd start with the Coda, she decided. It was the most difficult sequence of the ballet to perform. Many seasoned dancers had trouble with it, and therefore, it seemed the logical place to begin working. She allowed her body to spin into the series of fouettes, the turns coming in quick, snapping succession. Unbidden, Thomas's voice broke into her mind, screaming at her. "Attack it! Attack it! Attack it! Come on!" Hadn't that been what he had wanted? Well then, attack it she would. Once again, Nina dug deep inside herself, trying to find that place, that somethingthat had seemed to take up residence in her body that night at Lincoln Center and sweep the fragile, innocent girl away. The fouettes were more aggressive now, more sensual, and Nina gave herself over to them, gave in once more to the movement until she caught a flash of something in the mirror out of the corner of her eye that made her breath catch in her throat. She spun to a stop, her breath coming in short, staccato bursts. What she saw standing before her in the mirror was the reflection of a tall, long limbed dancer dressed in a pale pink leotard and grey sweatpants. Her hair was coiled into a tight ballerina bun at the back of her head, and her skin slicked with a thin sheen of sweat. Nothing unusual there. But just for a moment, she could have sworn she saw a different reflection, one dressed in black feathers and tulle netting, possessing a menacing orange eyed stare.
The next morning Nina climbed the steps at Lincoln Center and crossed the broad courtyard to the stage door entrance. She had barely walked through the door when she heard a high pitched shriek.
"Nina!" Lily squealed, and practically threw herself at Nina, flinging her arms around her neck. "Lily," Nina muttered weakly, clumsily returning the embrace of her one time rival. Had Lily ever been out to sabotage her? She still wasn't entirely sure, but somehow, she was now inclined to doubt it. "Jesus, Nina, you scared the shit out of us!" Lily exclaimed in her characteristically irreverent manner. Nina couldn't help the rare laugh that bubbled up. "Listen! A laugh! An actual laugh!" Lily exclaimed, as though she had just spotted the holy grail, eliciting more laughter from Nina. She was, after all, notoriously uptight. "Are you alright? Jeez, we thought you'd never come back!"
"Well, here I am," Nina said, smiling shyly. "Never better."
"Good, because we have a little surprise for you," Lily said. "Come on."
And the next thing she knew, Lily's hands were at the small of her back, propelling her down the corridor. "Wait-Lily-What-" Nina spluttered, her heels trying to dig into the cement, but finding no purchase.
"Come on!"
Dread coiled in the pit of Nina's stomach; the last time she'd seen Lily this excited she'd slipped Ecstasy into her drink. But the relentless pressure forcing her forward prevented her from doing anything, and so, resigned, Nina allowed herself to be steered into the community studio. The blast of noise that met her nearly knocked her backwards, and almost instantly she was accosted by a swarm of dancers, all chattering excitedly, hugging her, patting her on the back. She glanced towards the mirror, where a large banner had been artfully draped, proclaiming "Welcome Back, Nina!" in bold red lettering. Nina was stunned; she had received several cards and bouquets throughout her convalescence, but she had never expected this sort of reception, particularly not from a troupe of cutthroat ballerinas. And while she was very flattered, she was more than a little overwhelmed. Still, she had to push herself, didn't she? So for the first time in her life she dove into the fray, and once she had relaxed, she actually caught herself enjoying the laughter of her fellow dancers. They may have been rivals, but at the end of the day, they were all there for a shared love of their art.
The crowd disbursed about a half-hour later and headed towards their respective dressing rooms. Nina followed the corridors towards her own, the room once belonging to Beth MacIntire. It was Nina's first time in the room since the night of the performance. The full-body length mirror had been replaced, the fragments of broken glass that had littered the floor long since swept up by the maintenance crews. That was good; in some small way it helped to drive out the memories of the horror she had endured in this room. There was nothing left of her personal effects, but Thomas had assured her that they had been stowed in the safe in the closet. Not that there was anything particularly valuable or worth stealing. She wouldn't bother hanging up the leotards she had packed in a duffel bag; she'd get to that later, she decided. Conspicuously absent were the shrugs she had worn at her mother's insistence. Thankfully, the high doses of antidepressants she was currently taking had done wonders for curbing her habit of scratching at her shoulder blade.
Even if they had done absolutely nothing in the way of calming her frazzled nerves.
The memories of the last time she had been in this room were hovering just at the edge of her consciousness, threatening to wrap icy tentacles of fear around her heart. It was almost as though the demons that slept so close to her heart had deserted her body and taken up residence in this all-too-familiar chamber. Nina's skin prickled at the thought and a shiver slithered its' way down her spine.
"Quit being ridiculous, she mentally chided herself. It was a simple dressing room, and though it held its' share of painful memories, she could certainly use this room for its' intended purpose without drowning in them. Nina rapidly changed into her leotard and tights, not allowing herself to further dwell on the night of the performance. She was a dancer; she was here to dance, and by god, she would. She turned to leave.
Sweet girl…
Nina whipped around at the sound of the voice and staggered back, terror closing its' fingers around her throat. For there in the full-length mirror she saw her own reflection clad in the feathered black tutu, eyes the color of a blood orange flashing ice-cold venom, mouth contorted into a cruel, malicious smile.