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The students that had been released from hospital, back to their families, those who had a place to return to, were suggested upon that something normal and stablizing might help them get their obviously traumatised lives back on track.

So Mrs Froust, remembering that her daughter loved to dance, had sent Abeline for auditions for a small performance of sleeping beauty held after school hours, rehearsal every Tuesday. Abeline had gone along because her father had promised to come and watch the final performance with her mother. And for Abe, that was all it took. She had been considering hanging up her tights and skirts, turning her back on shoes that bleed her toes and diets that made her faint.

Well, okay, the diet was down the drain. But no, a few words from her parents, and Miss Froust was in the production after a few turns and displays of her talent, she was cast. As Carabosse, the evil fairy.

But if Abeline was irritated, it didn't show about her role. Her main irritation was in the scenes she shared with the girl who was, barely 13, in the place of the Princess. She was too stiff and kept stuffing up her scenes.

They had an amateur (albeit good) orchestra from around the place, and many were still failing to find the right pitch and harmony in their music, which in turn was throwing off some of the dancers. Abeline had snapped at more than a few younger girls, until the master had stepped in and told her to back off.

But as the other recitalists were packing up, Abeline had begged a chance to start on her solo with the maestro, and since most of them were still fresh, he'd obliged. She knew she had to get it in now, before the recitals proceeded much, drawing closer to the night of production, people's schedules tended to seize up.

So there she was, lost in the magic of the stage. Her practice shoes, a simple, light leotard and skirt a pale blue. A few of the girls had stayed to watch her, impressed by Froust's dedication. As the music began to take off, Abeline focused on one of the violins. He was playing smoothly, strong, sure strokes that she could use to balance herself. It wasn't long before the rest of the world had faded and it seemed as though the dancer was being strung to the sound of the violin. To that sound alone, she pirouetted, twirled. Her face and gestures completely serene. She could have been Aurora the princess, her movements were gentle precise. She'd never played this role before. But such was Abeline's gift. She was very talented a dancer. But this violin...

He was very good. He had trapped her, and while she danced calmly and serenely, Abeline began to worry she would not stop unless he did; a silly part of her worried that this sound might continue on forever!

Abeline twisted in place, her toes lifting from the floor in an upward arc as her upper body fell back in a movement that seemed almost to imitate something that she should have needed a partner to be holding her waist for. She practically glowed with sweat, her skin glistening in the practice-stage's light, her arms widened like a flower shedding its petals and Froust folded back up, her spine practically elastic. She was forced to the violin. They were playing further in the piece than was her role, but now she was making movements as she went.

The girls watching had started to disperse as their parents came to pick them up, leaving only a few of the crew, even some of the orchestra were packing up. Abeline's eyes were glued shut, she'd closed them to concentrate on that one decent violin amidst the discord and.... and now he'd really trapped her.

The playing had slowed, Carabosse' main scene was a louder, more chaotic one, and now the violin had slowed to a graceful, delicate pace. She felt like a dreamer, trapped under this spell, every stroke of that violin drove her feet; twisting.

They reached a sharper short burst of sound and she was twirling... twirling, faster, faster. And with her eyes closed she couldn't see the edge of the stage. She was right over the orchestra pit, almost on top of Cygny; lost in the sound of his violin. This close, with him watching her, he could probably see that she was flying blind, about to hit the safety net (which hurt a helluva a lot to fall into- almost moreso than to just drop a few feet to the orchestra pit) if it had of been up. But one of the techies had decided to reel it back in at the end of the practice, meaning that Abeline was at the edge of a painful drop. Her thighs and legs burned, just as the rest of the orchestra who had given up due to fatigue, Abeline was running on steam alone, she just couldn't stop until the music stopped, and as the master violia continued his solo, she danced like a butterfly caught in a web.

Her fatigue certainly didn't show; her hair wisped around her face, creating an almost black halo that gave her pale features an icy intensity to it. The blue ribbon in her hair glinted in the spotlight, a flash of color to her dark strands. She looked magnificent; strong, sure and certain. and about to fall off the stage.

This was the sort of moment in which a voice-over should have announced the actors for a tragic play. Once upon a time, the voice over would say, there was a demon with the music of an angel and an angel in thrall to dance of the devil who fell from her cloud into his embrace.

But if such a voice over existed, the angel would surely call it a long-winded sea-otter. Because, well, to be honest, Abeline Froust was not an angel. She was well suited to the evil fairy role. She was also capable of falling-- with style.

The music stopped so abruptly that confusion worked its way up Froust's face, followed by surprise; her dark blue eyes opening. She had enough time to register someone speaking to her (well who else was there to speak two? they were the last ones here!) before her upright leg came down, her toe resting on a whole lot of nothing.

Abeline stepped forward gracefully; right off the freakin' stage.

If she was alarmed, scared or terrified it didn't show. Her eyes blinked closed a moment as she fell in the quietness of the stage. She dropped and twisted as she did so, and then, like a princesses from a tower, she was caught. Two arms, belonging to a white haired musician who played the same way that Abeline danced; a cut above the rest, like someone blessed with talents not belonging to those so young.

Now, Abe weighed about as much as much ballet dancers did- ******** all- but she'd just fallen a few feet, and momentum had time to build up; she landed in his arms heavily.

The prima-dona had a few seconds to catch her breath. She exhaled slowly in a practiced manner, not moving from Cygny's arms, like she expected him to just decide when to gently ease her back onto the ground. Because, Abe could sit there all day, and then, with the voice of someone who thought nothing of falling off the ******** stage into the orchestra pit, and accepted that OF COURSE Cygny would catch her (what other reason did anyone live for but to serve Abe's needs) she replied to his earlier comment. Her tone was suited for a young girl who worked hard to stave off the kilograms and survived on light and water for the better part of some months. Who dieted, and tried to be pretty and likable and and----

"Did you just call me fat?" Because Abeline understood that she was a bright shinning light that made the space around her seem small, and that she was a brilliant dancer and that he was probably complimenting her; but she wasn't the quickest hamster on the treadmill.

And then she actually looked at the boy who had caught her, realizing that they were alone in the orchestra pit, and that-- ohmigawd he had glorious, long white hair. Like some sort of prince-charming; white soft looking hair. And all thought left her brain, all thought (which for Abeline, let's face it, wasn't /that/ hard) simply vanished. He was so hot. Abeline didn't have a fetish, no... certainly not. She had a /need/ -totally different to a fetish- and this, this creature--- wait, he was the only one here, so he must have been the one playing the violin!

She folded her hands into her lap so that he wouldn't see them twitch toward his hair-- his handsome, wonderous face, framed by all that--- wow it was longer than her hair! And so clean-- perhaps she would need to ask him for tips? But no, no, no! Abe, control your hormones. And glanced at Cygny properly. Which was odd, because she was still in his arms, and didn't seem to be moving any time soon. She should say something witty and ice-breaking-like that would make him tell her his name and ask for her phone-number and-- and--- her heartbeat was frantic, but that was mostly addrenaline. Honest.

"You--- you stopped playing!" She accused. Yes, one day what she was thinking would actually come out of her mouth, and hell would ******** freeze over, and people's brains would explode. Nevermind that if he /hadn't/ stopped playing, Abeline would have stepped off the stage to a sprained ankle or... something. And that she was grateful to have been caught and--- yeah, Abeline really communicated well.

And then she was released from his warm embrace, Abeline swept her hair over her shoulder as she straightened and her feet touched ground, she shifted and took a step back from him, giving an odd little bowing motion before she simply sat down and started to take her shoes off.

"Thank you. For... stopping I mean." And then, because even for Abeline that sounded rude. "And... catching me. I was absorbed in the music. You're very good." Which was like saying that she was 'ok' at dancing. So Abeline frowned and tried to put her compliment in better terms. "Like a swan floating in a lake of charading walrus' totting their horns in a blubbery mess of flailing flippers and noise." Okay, s**t, that wasn't right!!! "But you're the swan." Nice save.

She dusted her shoes off as she untied the ribbons, answering his question. "Of course I'm fine. You caught me, didn't you?" Like Prince Charming! Oh, her heart was a-flutter with emotions. But no, she wasn't some sort of easy girl who just threw herself at men (although in this instance, she had literally fallen into his outstretched arms) and besides, she would have landed on her feet just fine. Probably. Oh, okay, so she felt embarrassed that she'd fallen off the stage. It wasn't the first time, and she was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last. Just usually no one else noticed or saw her do such tremendous stuff-ups. She'd been pretty focused and calm. And now, with the music stopped and the rehearsal having wound to a close a while ago, the mask that comforted her whilst on the stage was gone. And Abe was alone again, in her own head.

Froust glanced down at her feet and tut'ed. Her right foot was bleeding a little. She was out of practice. The left was bruised to purple, but nothing had burst. Froust glanced inside her practice shoe and noted that the bloodstaining was minimal. But to be honest, it was probably her own fault; she had been totally bespelled by Cygny's violin, unable to break free, and thus; she'd danced too long on feet that hadn't been ready for it. Then, she stood and her feet planted normally on the ground. "I'm a little out of practice. I don't normally fall off the stage like some sort of six half-legged emu. It's not your fault, honestly. The rest of the musicians were so terrible, I was trying to concentrate on someone able to read the goddamn score unlike those half-witted lemmings; evidentially."

And that was as close to a normal conversation that Abe'd had... since... oh, since she'd been a zombie and stuff. The teen showed Cygny another of her rare smiles, this one a little rueful. She didn't smile much at all; ever. And there, she'd given this- this white haired demon of the violla two of them! Well, damnit, that was just disarming of him.