Elise watched the fire cackling, sending tufts of black smoke spiraling upwards. Rain rapped against the windows, sending shivers through the house. Cold air swirled in, swallowing warmth. Yao sat behind her, playing with the ends of his hair. He was dressed in a red dance uniform. Long ribbons trailed from his wrists, like blood spilling from wounds. Elizaveta adjusted his hair, pinning it up.
Yao bent his neck forwards, as though ready for a blade to slash. He didn't like being dressed as a woman. He felt as though his identity had been robbed. However, it provided a roof over his head and food for his belly.
Five years had passed. Yao would be leaving for Moscow very soon to perform. The idea of seeing his old friends was beyond him, a hope sinking at the very bottom of the well, in the darkest corners. Elizaveta was gentle. He closed his eyes.
A woman was sinking. She's sinking. She was standing before him, watching him play with the butterflies in the garden. Her eyes were soft, like stones in water, and her gait perfect. A scar was on her back, deep, long, and the past was distant and drifting too far away. Yao tried to pull it back, to bring back his culture. The rope slipped from his hands, sand through his fingers.
He opened his eyes again to find Elise was now standing. She held the skirts of her dress up. The blue fabric turned gray in the light. Her long hair glistened. The gauzy fabric of her shawl slid off her bodice. Yao frowned. Elizaveta's hands stopped working.
Elise's hands crawled up to her neck, unbuttoning her dress. The top slipped, exposing her bare, milky shoulders. Yao noticed wet patches under her eyes. The straps of her undergarments she adjusted. The rest of her dress fell away, crumpling on the floor.
"What are you doing?" Elizaveta's strong voice resounded from behind him.
Yao's teacher only responded with a forlorn glance. She stepped out of her dress, the white silk beneath still on, and she picked up the pile. She turned so her back faced them. Yao's head swam. There was a scar on her back.
No, not a scar, a burned stretch of skin was before him. An image of his mother flashed. He bit his lip gently, reminding himself not to express too much emotion. It was as if a claw had been dragged through her skin, seeping red dye into the surrounding flesh and turning it hideous. Elise shivered with a sob. She held the dress before her.
"What are you doing?" Elizaveta repeated.
"I can't anymore." Elise's face turned to them, haggard and destroyed. Yao winced at the sight, leaning back into Elizaveta. His back met briefly with her chest. She touched his shoulders, trying to steady him. His legs burned, sore from dancing.
"What can't you do anymore?"
"I can't…" Elise said and crumpled her dress, lashing it into the flames. The flames eagerly gobbled it up, turning it black and sending heavier smoke into the air. White and red tongues of flame licked it up, cackling dangerously. Elise stood before it, her legs spread and her back arched forwards. One hand stretched before her, quaking not trembling now.
Elizaveta stood, about to approach her. "Elise, what's gotten into you? What happened? You can talk to us. You aren't mute!" Yao grabbed her wrist and pulled her back out of sheer instinct. She struggled, finding his grip strong.
"You're burning!" Elizaveta gasped. Then, louder; "FIRE!"
Elise didn't notice that one of the embers had leapt to her shawl, erupting into flame. The flame crawled to her foot and up her body. She lashed out at Elizaveta, screaming in a foreign, mad language. The silk of her dress were enraptured in flame, chewing her skin. The strange tongue snapped and became a hysteric scream of pain and, was it, joy? Yao knew it was joy. He heard it once, long ago.
"Don't move closer." Yao said, rising to his feet.
Elizaveta had ceased yelling and stared in fear. She wouldn't cry. She stood stiffly by Yao, pushing him behind her. Elise dropped to the floor, which was now scorched. Elise covered her face. Her hair caught fire and began to smell foul. The body charred and withered and Yao could watch no more. He ran into the hall, finding little Feliciano meandering through the halls. Now he made a face.
"What's that smell?"
"Don't move closer." Yao said, unknowingly repeating himself. He took Feliciano and moved him away.
In the room Elizaveta lounged at the window, throwing it open. A gust of rain lashed into the room, landing on Elise, trying to stifle the flame. But it burned and burned and burned…
A short chapter, I'm sorry.
I'd like to see something different from my lovely reviewers. Why not explore the symbolism and allegories in the story? It'd be nice to see what you think certain scenes represent. I do work hard to make a lot of different spots for readers to explore and enjoy the story more.