My feet froze when I passed by the open door of one of the rooms, eyes drawn to the lone figure in the center of the glossy, wooden floors, her back facing me. Hair as dark as the night sky in a tight bun atop her head enhanced her creamy white skin, body clad in a scrap of black material that offered as little coverage as a bathing suit. That must be what they wore, even when there weren’t many people around so late at night. Business must be good if the place continued to stay open almost twenty-four seven. I didn’t get the need for it, really.
My attention snapped back as she gracefully raised her arms, completely in her own world, before balancing on her tiptoes and spinning around the room endlessly, making me dizzy. My eyes stayed glued to her performance, her legs drawing me in like a moth to a flame. While she was petite, her legs seemed to go on for miles, and were powerful and lean as she twirled across the floor, changing quickly into step after step.
I was mesmerized.
She moved fluidly, legs kicking in every which direction, perfectly in sync with the soft music playing in the background. I could barely make out the song as I focused solely on the ballerina, her body making a tempo of its own, creating a rhythm as she glided effortlessly. Back and forth, forward and backward, round and round.
My whole body hummed as I shifted, pressing closer as I continued to observe, unnoticed. I didn’t want her to stop my private show, but it all came to an end too soon as someone walked past me in the hallway, pulling me out of my trance. I looked down to see that almost an hour had passed, cursing myself for letting the dancer distract me, and when I glanced back in the studio, she was gone.
It was for the best, really.
I walked back out to the front, gathering my tools, resigned to the fact that I’d have to come back to complete the job another time. It wasn’t happening that night.
My little midnight ballerina made sure of that.
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