The Power of Love: A Sequel

Chapter 7

The Power of Love Ch. 7

"I am just so tired of-"

"I know."

"Jumping through all these hoops and-"

"I know."

"Just to prove myself! ME. I mean we both-"

"I know."

"And they're trying to make US out of all people, look well rounded-"

"I know. It's ridiculous," Thomas sighed as he messed with his hair, clearly stressed about what his "project," was.

"So what's yours again?"

"I have to do a speech. About me."

"Oh god."

"Yeah. I don't even like myself that much."

"And we HAVE to do it. That's the worst part."

"Yup," he sighed, popping the p while typing on his laptop at the restaurant while Charlotte was just thinking.

She put her head in her hands, her elbows resting on the small wooden table, "How am I going to even-"

"Ask the dance company."

"I can't just-"

"You can. I asked if we were allowed help. That counts as help."

She stared at him for a moment.

Then she came up with a brilliant idea but then faltered for a moment.

"Will you....uh......"

He looked up from his laptop for a moment, and stared at her uncomfortable face.

"You don't know the dance company?! You literally are in Orchestra with them every day."

She looked down at her fingers.

"Fine," he sighed getting back to work.

"I didn't say anything."

"You don't have to. I'll introduce you to them."

Weeks past and Charlotte rehearsed, Eliza stood by observing.

There was no doubt they looked similar. So when Char asked Eliza to play the coma version of her in her interpretation of the coma, since Char had to actually dance, and Elizabeth had danced in the past, Eliza of course agreed.

"I don't understand," she sighed shaking her head.

"What," Charlotte asked, clearly exhausted.

"You're so graceful when you're on a case yet here....nothing," she explained. Her head suddenly jerked upward and her eyes brightened, "THAT'S IT."

"Hm," she asked drinking some water.

"Char look at me."

She looked at her confused.

"LOOK."

She turned around and stomped her way to her dramatically.

"This," she explained, shaking her shoulders, "is a case. The client? You," she started, "each trick in this involves something similar to what you've done in the past for self defense. This is your case and you are the detective. The mystery is if you survive. Now GO!"

Practice after practice with the dancers and she was somewhat getting it.

Not on Eliza's level but still. She was getting it.

And then the stage was finally set, she was first, since last time she was last for the audition.

She hid under the bed as Eliza pretended to sleep on it.

She slid out as the music played and the two dancers, covered in black body suits and masks, one wearing a scarf while the other an umbrella, looked like they were arguing.

She made a face of confusion and bewilderment as she extended her leg and twirled, careful not to slip.

The dancers in the back then started to stand, lifting her gracefully, as she tried not to fall, and put her down as they pretended to drop her.

They then started arguing through dance over the monitor near the bed.

One button, and she would be dead.

They danced as she conveyed emotion trying to get them to stop, but fully knowing she couldn't.

Then another dancer came.

In the same black body suit and a mask, this one stood out the most simply because he worse shades on top and a red tie.

She stared at him perplexed for a moment as they mirrored each other's movements until finally he pretended to strangle her as she reached for her bed and her, or Eliza's sleeping form.

She then lost her grip, as he held her back, giving him a creepy and eerie vibe.

The recording of the piano became  louder as she let herself go from her attacker and then she went to the bed and woke herself, or Eliza, up.

The audience clapped as the music faded and looked at Elizabeth's face.

This wasn't a competition yet the headmaster couldn't help but make a comment as she went backstage.

"You always do sad things. Sad music, sad dances, sad sad sad."

"Life is sad," she said definitively.

"It was perfect. All of it," he began.

"Thank you."

"It wasn't supposed to be."

She frowned.

"It was supposed to show your flaws. That-"

"Sir you, the public, and I have known my flaws from the very start. Was it really necessary? Besides one of my biggest flaws hit you right in the face."

"What is that?"

"Don't disappoint him, don't disappoint him," she repeated as a young Charlotte was drawing on a piece of paper. It was Sherlock's birthday at the time and since she couldn't leave and buy something herself, she did the next best thing.

She knew that it was highly likely he wouldn't appreciate a drawing but it was all she could think of.

She sighed as she tried to draw the line over and over again until she gave up and figured this was the best she could do.

Time passed once again to when she got a tutor for school, as she did a test.

"Don't disappoint him," she repeated over and over once again, this time older.

But over time, the fear of disappointing him soon became disappointing herself. And she found herself striving to be good at everything that mattered to her.

She sighed once again as she left her mind palace.

"Perfectionism."