As the curtains rose, Arya's heart accelerated. Center-stage, she stood with her back arched and her hands stretched to the sky, as if in submission. The lights on the stage turned bright and the rhythm started to pulse into her. Her foot tapped to the steady beat. Back and forth, she swayed as the beat picked up pace.
The curtains were swiftly rising now, and her eyes scanned the mass of onlookers.
Scrutinisers.
Appraisers.
Critics.
And, five six seven eight. She breaks free. Her eyes close as she lifts her feet off the ground and dives head first onto the stage, as a mermaid would tear the water surface. Her hands gently caress the platform for only a moment, as she comes back, having rotated a full circle.
Back on her feet now, she jiggles and shimmies. She electrifies the air with her rage and a hundred thousand fireflies ignite the atmosphere. She bursts into flames with every bob of her head, every jiggle of her shoulders, with every gyration of her hips.
She sparkled on the stage tonight.
It was only afterwards that she felt any sort of fear. any sort of loss of nerves. It wasn't the stage that scared her, it was the aftermath of facing the director. The scrutiny of everything, every little thing she had done wrong. The uneasiness that came with the fans, the blinding flashes of light.
When she could finally relax, it was outside the theatre. On a bench, eyes closed, she could ignore it all.
