Firefly

Lucciola practically stumbled up the stairs. Her body felt heavy, her head fuzzy. Her feet dragged against the metal steps, her fingers clutching the garlic wrapped around the banisters for support.
She didn't look down to see if Aries was still there.

When she reached her door, she pulled her key out of her jacket pocket. She was lucky she hadn't lost it when the man had knocked her to the ground. As usual, the key jammed in the lock. The landlady had apparently seen it fit to polish the crucifix above the door, but not fix the faulty security. God forbid vampires ever get to them and drain them in their sleep, but humans, now that would never happen. Lucciola popped the door knob with her knee, and it spit the key out without any further protest.
She flipped on the light switch and threw her keys in the bowl by the door. It was times like these when she was glad she had forgotten her dance bag at the studio. She felt dead, tired, and hurt. All she wanted to do was sleep.

There wasn't much to the apartment: a couch, a chair, a coffee pot, a set of tea cups, a bed, and two mirrors. She stood in front of the little one now, examining her face. There were four ugly, red marks where the man's fingernails had dug into her cheek, the dried blood smeared across her chin. There was a bruise already blooming a deep purple across her cheek bone and wrapping around her eye. Not to mention the dirt, the scratches, the scrapes on the palms of her hands and her knees.

She winced as she took the bobby pins out of her hair, slowly working her bun out. Her hair was matted to the back of her head. The pins pressed down on the sore spot where she'd hit her head. She ran her fingers over it, craned her neck around to look at it in the mirror, but it didn't look like she'd broken the skin.

“Baby, you had a close call,” she whispered to her reflection. “Time to sleep.” She dropped her jacket on the chair, threw her shirt over her head, kicked off her shoes in the corner. She looked down to see another bruise working its way up her hip, fat and wide like a hand print.

She didn't want to deal with it now. She flopped down on the couch and fell asleep.

A pair of yellow eyes watched her through the window.

***

“Good morning, Lucy!”

“Lucy!”

“Lucciola!” A wave of girls turned to greet her as she opened the door. They sat in clusters around the walls, dressed in mismatched leotards, ripped tights, leg warmers, their hair already pulled back and sprayed.

“Morning girls,” Lucciola replied. She waved tiredly.

“Oh my god, Lucy! What happened?” Tiana gasped, running over to her. The rest of the gaggle followed behind her, crowding around Lucciola and taking turns collectively gasping and covering their hands with their mouths.

“Jesus,” Angela breathed.

“Does it hurt?” Scarlet asked.

“I'm fine,” Lucciola stressed. “Really. It's just some cuts and bruises.” She grabbed her dance bag out of her locker, where she'd accidentally left it last night, pulled out her pointe shoes, and nearly fell to the floor. The girls crowded over her, their eyes shifting to one another.

“MOVE ASIDE! BEST FRIEND COMING THROUGH! MOVE ASIDE HUSSIES!” The girls faces soured, but they moved out of the way before Harper could push them. “BALLERINA!” she shrieked, and she was standing in front of Lucciola in a halo of fury. “Why the hell wasn't I the first to know?”

“I just walked in, I swear. What the hell do you think you're doing?” Harper had grabbed her by the chin, thrusting Lucciola's face up to examine the bruises.

“Did you get mauled by a tiger? What the hell are these?”

“He dug his hand into my face like butter.”

“It's cause you're too soft and sweet,” Harper muttered disapprovingly, and thrust Lucciola's head in the other direction. She felt her neck pop. “Please tell me you put some stuff on this.”

“I didn't.”

“Clutz. Tell me you gave him a run for his money?”

“Something like that.” Harper paused, and when she pulled Lucciola's face back to look at hers, she was uncharacteristically gentle.

“Tell me he didn't hurt you,” she whispered. Lucciola paused for a second, Aries's face flashing in her head.

“Some guy saved me,” she said. “He just appeared and...saved me.” Harper pursed her lips.

“That's...lucky,” she said after a second. “Was he cute?”

“Harper!” And now they were both laughing, the hostile moment passed. It was time to move on. Harper threw her arm around Lucciola's shoulders.

“Come on, you need some makeup to cover up those spots.”

“This is with makeup.” Harper winced.

“Ouch, ballerina. Okay, but Loony Lucille is going to get you.” Lucciola made a show of wincing.

“I'm sure I'll be okay. Let me put on my shoes and I'll be ready to face her evilness.”

“And old. You forgot old.”

“Don't let her catch you saying that.”

“SHE'S OLD!” Harper shrieked, and ran off. “OOOOOOOOOOLD!”

***

“Alright girls, step away from the barre! I want to start from Odile's coda! Ms. Evant!” Madame Lucille snapped her fingers, and all the girls stepped away from the barre in unison. Lucciola stepped into the center of the room.

“Ms Evant, what happened to your face?” Lucciola could feel all eyes shift to her again, as they had this morning. The air seemed too thick.

“An accident, ma'am.” She shifted uncomfortably, pulled her leotard down where it had bunched up above her butt.

“Then I suggest you be more careful, Ms. Evant. I'm not sure I could pass off a swan with-” She paused for a second like she was considering her next words, but it was only for the dramatic effect. She raised her eyebrows, narrowed her eyes, and stuck her pointed nose in the air. “Scars?” Lucciola looked away from her, training her eyes on the ground. She closed them for long second, waiting for the anger to go away. She couldn't dance angry, not with the hot blood making her legs shaky and her movements jerky. The black swan could never been angry.

“Ms. Evant?”

“Yes, ma'am. Understood.”

“Now that we've come to an understanding.” Madam Lucille pursed her lips. “Abigail, come here.” Abigail stepped forward, a 5' 7'' ball of hate made of dish water blonde hair and self interest. Harper was always paired with her during corps dances, and spent a good portion of her free time describing why Abigail couldn't possibly be human.

“Yes, Madame Lucille?” She had a voice like a diabetic coma. She fluttered her eyelashes as she stepped forward, looking innocent and charming, but she held her head a little too high. Lucciola caught the smirk she shot to the other girls.

“Abigail, you stay here. Girls, I want you all in your respective studios. I want the soloists from act three to be perfect by afternoon run through. Dismissed!” The girls all filed out. Harper gave Lucciola a passing glance before following them.

“Madame Lucille,” Lucciola said. “I don't think-”

“Now don't fret, Ms. Evant. I have chosen Abigail as your understudy. In case your...accident?” She raised her eyebrow, pursing her lips at Lucciola again to show she didn't believe her. “Yes, accident. In case the stress that is obvious to follow is too much for you.” Abigail smirked.

“Madame Lucille, I promise you I'm fine. I will be in perfect shape for the performance.” Lucciola was horrified. This was her first lead in a performance, the debut of her career, and Madame Lucille was destroying its promise. It wasn't an understudy that bothered her-all leads had understudies. But Abigail's ego had never been quiet. She was selfish and needy, and she would do anything to have Lucciola's spot. The title Prima Ballerina was not something to be held over any dancer's head. Abigail played dirtier than most.

“Nevertheless, Abigail will be your understudy. Understood, Ms. Evant?”

“Yes, Madame,” Lucciola conceded. She ignored the gleam in Abigail's eyes. She turned to address the pianist in the corner.

“From the beginning, Lucy? Or do you want to practice the coda?” Kim Su asked. Lucciola threw him a smile. They'd worked together for so long it was like he read her mind.

“You know me best, Kim,” she replied. It was cute, the way his turned up eyes almost disappeared in the crinkles of his cheeks when he smiled so wide. It put her a little at ease. She took her place at the corner, where her entrance would be, and bowed to her invisible prince, bourreeing backwards towards the center of the room, her arms extending not in the same graceful, sad movements of the white swan but seductive, full of charm and deceit. She could see him, her prince dressed all in black, stepping from the shadows to watch her dance, falling more in love with her with every step. He turned to look at her, awestruck, in her control, his yellow eyes burning with flecks of red and blue flame from behind his white hair.

Aries watched her in total fascination.

Lucciola stepped wrong. Her front foot caught on the back and she tripped, stumbling over. Her eyes snapped away from Aries face, her head falling to the floor. Time stood still for a long second. Too long.

“Stop the music!” Madame Lucille screeched, and the melody halted suddenly, leaving the studio too quiet. Lucciola stared where she had just seen Aries, stunned. It had been too real, the smirk that had played across his face, the way his hands had reached out for her and then pulled away, afraid to touch her.

“Ms. Evant, would you care to explain what you think you're doing?” Madame Lucille hissed. “They call it stumbling around like a baboon, not a swan!”

“I'm sorry, Madame,” Lucciola replied absently. She straightened herself up, facing center stage again. “I'll try again. Kim?” Kim Su nodded, his mouth set in the pursed expression he made when he was nervous. His hands fluttered over the first few notes.

“No, that will not be necessary, Mr. Su,” Madame Lucille ordered, never taking her eyes off Lucciola. “A ballerina should be able to dance on a point the size of a penny. Abigail, show her.” Abigail's face looked too smug as she walked up to Lucciola, her pointed, knife like shoulder brushing against hers. She turned her face up so her lips were close to Lucciola's ear.

“Poor little fly,” she whispered. “They don't let bugs be ballerinas.” She didn't push Lucciola, but between her threatening stance and Madame Lucille's piercing gaze, she knew she had to move.

“Ms. Evant, would you mind stepping aside?”

“I'm going to smash you,” Abigail snarled as the music began to play.