Post by Riley Sorsa on Feb 12, 2021 15:13:31 GMT -8
One, two, three, four, one, two-
The rhythm repeated, again and again. Its simplistic drumming, repeated by their hand against the side of their hip. They were lucky to have found the studio space. Normally unavailable at this time of night, But Archie had a way of solving those dilemmas. The cold wooden floors were refreshing, the mirrored walls were familiar, a time from before. The space was dark however, they had not turned on the lights, and the only illumination was the one they provided. The moth's soft glow reflected, refracted through the silver of the glass, returning the illumination in a haunting pale light.
With the contract signed, Riley had to focus. Floating through was no longer enough. Progress was needed.
Long days and longer nights followed. Calls for old favors, and promises of new ones were made. They needed a venue, for a few days at least. Footage for their reel.
Footage of what?
Their routines felt old and stale. Like a carapace too small for the form beneath. It needed to be removed, shed, Ecdysis.
The moth breathed in through their nose and hot through their mouth. Their calves and thighs had begun to burn with the practice again. Their hand held the barre, as they squatted into a grand plie.
One, two, three, four, One-
They could hear Ms. Sorsa’s voice, cold and firm like a crystalline whip. Each word of the count echoed in her powerful voice.
They needed new material. New inspiration. So they returned to their roots, to the fundamentals. Like rehashing their steps on a trail to find a better path, a more interesting one. On the ground laid open a journal, its pages strewn open and riddled with hand written scratches. Rambling ideas of routines, concepts that could be given form. None of them were right.
They were burning up. Their mind had lost focus, their attention pulled to a Fire locked in their mind. Their muscles strained under the weight of their expectations and their routine.
One, two -
A tinge of pain, like rubberband snapping within, a misstep. They had stopped paying attention. The rhythm stopped and the Moth stumbled forward bracing both hands against the barre. A hiss of pain before they looked into the mirror. Their black eyes met their blotched pale face, and alabaster hair. Their reflection was wrong.
Once this had been easy.
Once their body was made for this. They weren't right. They lacked balance and focus, they lacked the beauty.
To be beautiful again, required change. Sacrifice.
It was under there, beneath the prison of flesh. The beauty of before, the grace, the purpose. The dim light was a ghostly reminder of it, a teasing unattainable echo.
The flesh was tight, restrictive to the movements needed for growth. Each muscle felt pulled and pressed. Their bones bound and bent in the wrong ways. They had been beautiful once, they had been more than this.
Their thin fingers stretched their way up towards the black orbs, that protruded subtly from their skull. Like delicate needles their fingers pressed back the lids of their eyes, stretching them to show the curvature of the orbs, the gleaming hint of light beneath. Like a night light from behind a locked door. Their nail trailed the subtle wet tissue of the eye, like a key scraping the lips of a lock. One swift moment is all they needed. Sacrifice.
Riley let out a hiss and stepped back from the mirror throwing their arms into the air. A moment of silence followed by a long frustrated howl, before they sunk to the floor. They had forgotten, dancing was about balance.
They rolled over and reached out. That blue light almost blinding in the darkness. A few taps and it began to rang.
The familiar voice on the other side answered.
“It’s past three am...what-”
The bright ones' soft sob silenced Claire’s words.
“Riley? What's wrong?”
A silence before the Darkling found the strength to speak.
“Do you...do you wanna grab pancakes?”
“Sure. Yeah, let me get dressed. Are you okay?”
“Yeah...I’m. I. I just could use some pancakes right now”
The rhythm repeated, again and again. Its simplistic drumming, repeated by their hand against the side of their hip. They were lucky to have found the studio space. Normally unavailable at this time of night, But Archie had a way of solving those dilemmas. The cold wooden floors were refreshing, the mirrored walls were familiar, a time from before. The space was dark however, they had not turned on the lights, and the only illumination was the one they provided. The moth's soft glow reflected, refracted through the silver of the glass, returning the illumination in a haunting pale light.
First position.
Their heels pressed against one another firmly. Their core balanced like a rod. A fragile balance that required focus.
With the contract signed, Riley had to focus. Floating through was no longer enough. Progress was needed.
Long days and longer nights followed. Calls for old favors, and promises of new ones were made. They needed a venue, for a few days at least. Footage for their reel.
Footage of what?
Their routines felt old and stale. Like a carapace too small for the form beneath. It needed to be removed, shed, Ecdysis.
Second position.
Feet stepped part, heels in. A shift of weight. A shift of understanding.
The moth breathed in through their nose and hot through their mouth. Their calves and thighs had begun to burn with the practice again. Their hand held the barre, as they squatted into a grand plie.
One, two, three, four, One-
They could hear Ms. Sorsa’s voice, cold and firm like a crystalline whip. Each word of the count echoed in her powerful voice.
They needed new material. New inspiration. So they returned to their roots, to the fundamentals. Like rehashing their steps on a trail to find a better path, a more interesting one. On the ground laid open a journal, its pages strewn open and riddled with hand written scratches. Rambling ideas of routines, concepts that could be given form. None of them were right.
Third Position.
Toe to heel, a delta. Motion in stillness.
They were burning up. Their mind had lost focus, their attention pulled to a Fire locked in their mind. Their muscles strained under the weight of their expectations and their routine.
One, two -
A tinge of pain, like rubberband snapping within, a misstep. They had stopped paying attention. The rhythm stopped and the Moth stumbled forward bracing both hands against the barre. A hiss of pain before they looked into the mirror. Their black eyes met their blotched pale face, and alabaster hair. Their reflection was wrong.
Once this had been easy.
Once their body was made for this. They weren't right. They lacked balance and focus, they lacked the beauty.
To be beautiful again, required change. Sacrifice.
It was under there, beneath the prison of flesh. The beauty of before, the grace, the purpose. The dim light was a ghostly reminder of it, a teasing unattainable echo.
The flesh was tight, restrictive to the movements needed for growth. Each muscle felt pulled and pressed. Their bones bound and bent in the wrong ways. They had been beautiful once, they had been more than this.
Their thin fingers stretched their way up towards the black orbs, that protruded subtly from their skull. Like delicate needles their fingers pressed back the lids of their eyes, stretching them to show the curvature of the orbs, the gleaming hint of light beneath. Like a night light from behind a locked door. Their nail trailed the subtle wet tissue of the eye, like a key scraping the lips of a lock. One swift moment is all they needed. Sacrifice.
Riley let out a hiss and stepped back from the mirror throwing their arms into the air. A moment of silence followed by a long frustrated howl, before they sunk to the floor. They had forgotten, dancing was about balance.
They rolled over and reached out. That blue light almost blinding in the darkness. A few taps and it began to rang.
The familiar voice on the other side answered.
“It’s past three am...what-”
The bright ones' soft sob silenced Claire’s words.
“Riley? What's wrong?”
A silence before the Darkling found the strength to speak.
“Do you...do you wanna grab pancakes?”
“Sure. Yeah, let me get dressed. Are you okay?”
“Yeah...I’m. I. I just could use some pancakes right now”