The Dragon

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Dancing was an art.

One was not born knowing how to dance. One does not simply learn dancing by studying it.

Dance was an art that was born in the depths of the soul. It was the ability to do more than simply running around a stage, jumping and twirling. Dancing came with agility, with strength, with the ability to tell stories. For that was what dancing was; a story to tell. It was complex and fulfilling. It was intense and raw, a beautiful display of a tale to be told.

Dancing was emotional.

Dancing was beauty.

It was what I'd poured my heart and soul into for words couldn't explain how I felt most days, but dancing was the perfect outlet for the overflowing emotion in my heart. It was the perfect routine for my anxiety, for my tired soul.

I felt as if my body turned to liquid and moved with the breeze, my legs twisting and turning with each step, each move, muscles contracting and loosening with ease. My hair was coming lose from its bindings so loose strands flew by as I spun and made the landing as I dropped down low on the stage and bowed my head, closing my eyes as I listened to the rush of blood in my ears, my heart pounding.

A second later, the loud crash of applause startled me from my moment and I blinked, lifting my head to look at a sea of faceless people all clapping and cheering, rising to their feet to provide a standing ovation. I stared at them blankly, searching those faces.

I could feel it again.

That tingling sensation on the back of my neck, the little hairs raising with alarm as my natural instincts sensed someone watching me intently. I bounced from face to face, seeking out the eyes that pierced my soul, but there was nothing, but admiration and benevolence. Nothing like the burning intensity I felt creeping along my spine.

Immediately bored and frustrated, I rose to my feet and faced the crowd, bowing down low, holding my arms out, taking in the feedback that came in the whistling and cheering. I rose to my feet and turned, exiting the stage in a breeze. I headed right for my dressing room, with Kodi moving from behind one of the theater curtains to join me at my side. He wasn't paying any attention, though; he was playing some sort of handheld gaming system where I could hear the clash of swords and battle cries.

"Must you play that so loud?" I asked, annoyed. Kodi snorted, turning down the volume.

"Must you be so pretentious?" He asked in a horrible mockery version of my voice. I turned my head to glare at him and he looked up, looked back down, then back up and then awkwardly averted his eyes. I continued to my dressing room with Kodi in tow, the door closing shut behind us as I went straight to my vanity in the corner.

I plopped down and faced the mirror, annoyed with my own reflection as well. Not that I was unhappy with my appearance; I was beautiful just like my parents, just like their parents. Long silky black hair that I endeavored to care for, skin softened by a routine I kept in place every morning and night, eyes an eerie shade of blue that was unmatched by even my own family members, save my grandfather, Hades. I was often compared to my grandfather, told my beauty was only matched by his. Some days I decided... perhaps I was more attractive than even he, and mostly because I went out of my way to ensure my beauty.

My grandfather didn't even shower every day, so.

Still, I found my reflection annoying because everything was annoying me in that moment. From Kodi's video game noises to the seams of my outfit digging into my skin to the way my ballet slippers fit my feet far too tightly because they were now swollen from the dance.