The emerald light that fell through the tree lined avenues was cool on fair skin. Echoing from the near distance, the faint voice of the choir could be heard, mingling and bouncing off several pianos' tunes as the music school became visible in Tally's line of sight. Once again, she lifted her finger to tackle a stray lock of sapphire from her eyes, feeling for a hair tie to manipulate the soft, fine hair into a neat bun at the base of her neck. A feline smile crept across the angles of her face as she closed her eyes and felt the green light bathe her face, allowing the beat of the music to wash over her.

Tally was lost in a world without loss. She was dancing again.

The soft moleskin soles of her black ballet shoes pressed against the warm blackness of the tarmac, as she approached an open glass door and entered a fairly large, modern building. Twigs crunched underfoot like old cocoons as she put pressure on the ground, climbing up the few worn steps that led into the light white corridor of the music block. She padded down the clinical cuboid in silence, ears alert to any notes that crept out from the practise rooms. Turning down through the small and compact maze of corridors, she paused and pushed open a large wooden door that led into a room whose sides were mirrored, a floor to ceiling studio window on the fourth. Leaning on this sheet of glass, a view of the manmade lake and willows, was a petite blonde russian, cigarette dangling from her lips as she swayed, eyes closed, in time to the music of Pugni.

"Pharoah's daughter?" Tally asked enquiringly as the teacher dropped her cigarette. "Isn't that a bit emotionally traumatic Mademoiselle?"

The teacher's eyes were apathetic as they glanced over her dark uniform, lips curled into their, Tally already noted, accustomed sneer.

<>

Straightening her back the woman drawled, in a strong muscovite accent, "Created for best talian ballerina ever. Now for you. Go change." She gestured at one of the mirrored panels, a handle carved into it so finely that it appeared as would a secret door. Tally padded across the room, swearing in french. Not only had the difficult dances been designed for Carolina Rosati, but she was far too tired to go straight in to choreography.

"and drop ugly mud-cake shoes."

<>

Tally's face crumpled as she rubbed thighs that would be aching soon, and hoped she had any rupping alcohol left for her toes in her dorm. She would need to get the pointe shoes from her pocket, no cheating like Pavlova. "Will do."

<>

The room was small, dark, and filled with costumes. The smell of mothballs, powder and resin hit Tally at once, so powerfully that her own perfume, Penhaligon's bluebell, was knocked out. She shook her haid, wrinkling her nose and bending over as she stripped down to her leotard and tights uncertainly in the dark. Flexing her shoulder back, her elbow connected with the door thus sending it flying open and illuminating the room so that the dazzling pinks and moroccan blues could be seen, fantastic repros of the 1920s and 1890s. In her white tights, the blue leotard catching in the mirror against the vibrant green of legwarmers that had been slung over her right shoulder, she padded over to the general vicinity of the main door to the room, where a try of resin was placed on the springy mahogany floor.

"I expect other pupil in your second class."

"Boy or girl?" Tally murmured as she concentrated on tying ribbons around her fragiley thin legs.

"Not know. I hope boy, you must be girl. You..." the woman paused, smiling, "Could not carry pigeon. Also, I have hear your bourées like... how they say...string of pearls?"

"Merde." Tally muttered.

The teacher caught Tally's eye and, holding her gaze, Tally thought she saw amusement in the steel-spiked stare.

"You have been taught both Vaganova and Ceccheti? This is strange. Not unheard of, strange. Exams here ceccheti. You study for senior dancer now. Me? I have learn Vaganova."

The almond shaped eyes broke away from the gaze as the teacher stood in silence. Thhe break in music came, and the cd clicked into place in the sound system.

"Get on floor. We warm up.... legs crossed, in air, 24 abdominals. Then down, flat, 8 to each side. Down, crosed, 24. Down, knees bent to side, 24. Then we warm up hands, feet, do breathing excercised..."

as the teacher outlined the grueling warm up regime, Tally slipped across the floor and into position. From here, she could see through the window the choir rehearsing. She grinned as she caught sight of a few heads.

About ten minutes before the bell rang for second lesson, as she worked on different entries into the third arrabesque, Tally realised that she needed to feed Pablo. She also realised that she needed a real conversation... perhaps Cassie had or would watch Casablanca. Her back and arms in perfect alignment, she began to hold, when, in one last realisation, she realised that her foot was too low, and she hadn't given the girls the keys to lock the car up again. Whatever. They could take it for a spin. Wasn't like they were gonna crash it now.