The Deadly Curse

2.1 | The Great Bloom Festival

//the great bloom festival | part 01//

Selra produced a string from thin air and whipped my thigh with it. When I yelped and protested, she spoke over me. "Glissade, good. Assemblé, not. Do again."

          Since agreeing to dance at the Great Bloom Festival, I'd gotten swept up in the whirlwind of preparations. If Prince Rune was subjected to even half of this, then no wonder I rarely saw him.

          However, it hadn't escaped my attention that we'd barely had a conversation. He'd answered one of my questions, but we hadn't addressed any of my concerns. As soon as I decided to partake in the festival, Eika handed me over to Selra.

          "I wanted to talk to him about how he's been excluding me and avoiding me," I'd ranted.

          "And now he's including you."

          "At your insistence."

          Eika had placed her hands on my shoulders. "Belline Paris, please have patience. These are busy times. Once the festival is over, you'll have your prince all to yourself. There's no need to rush."

          But with Selra, there was a definite need to rush. The festival was in two days, and I had to perfect my routine by then. And Selra meant perfection. Any misstep, wobble, or hesitation was met with the scathing command to do it again. God forbid I was offbeat.

          The training was exhausting. Selra would burst into my room, yanking me from sleep. She hounded me until breakfast. Once the plates emptied, the drills started up again. They continued like that until bedtime. I'd collapse in bed, limbs weak and thrumming from the exertion.

          It made me miss Michelle, my ballet instructor in Portland, Oregon. I'd trained under her for fourteen years. While some days she was insufferable and pushed too hard, it was only for the sake of my improvement. It never caused my love of dance to waver, and I still loved her.

          This was not the case with Selra.

          I fell flat-footed again with a huff. "Is this how it's going to be?"

          "Dance must be perfect, Zonje."

          "I know I have to improve in some places, but don't you think what you're asking of me is too much?"

          Her nostrils flared. "This iz first dance in bloomz at za festival. They expect perfection. Breathtaking. Awe."

          Finally at a standstill, I could truly look at her. Concern pinched the corners of her eyes, and worry drew her mouth into a frown. My stress about performing was nothing compared to hers.

          A gentle sigh passed. "Do you think I can do breathtaking and awe?"

          "Of course, Zonje," she answered with a shake of her head. She rested against a pillar, rubbing at the wrinkles on her forehead. "Last festival with dance, I did it. It dazzled. But – wuz not enough. Not perfect. There was applause and praise, po, but I – I did not light their lives. No . . . No hope in my dance."

          My heart lurched. When I had first arrived in Eternity, darkness and despair had blanketed this beautiful planet. The disparaging sentiments lent to the evolution of the deadly trials. Eternity and her citizens had lost hope.

          Selra must have danced to bring just a bit of light and joy to the darkening climate. But it hadn't worked. It hadn't stuck, anyway. Even now, as Eternity brightened and hope flickered, shadows seemed to cling to the periphery.