Satin is Not Silk

3 | LE DANSEUR

The art of taking risks has never been an area that Alex did exceptionally well in. Whether it be painting his mind on a blank canvas without a sketch or writing his life in ink instead of pencil, Alex never did anything that couldn't be undone within a matter of minutes. Coward, some teased. Wise, he believed. As he stood before his wardrobe of hand sewn gowns and wigs, all he could think was: not so wise.

Today was the day he was going to accept the job to work as a costume designer for a ballet. It was a decision he made on a whim, he'll admit, and although he tried to act cool in front of his step-sister when he made it, the inside of him felt like throwing up.

No one will recognize you, he told himself, you'll be fine, so relax.

His outfit of the day was a simple crème colored dress that fell no longer than his fists when they were at his side. He took a look at himself in the mirror and gasped. Dear me! Something must be wrong with my head today because I'm feeling quite scandalous.

He examined himself at various angles. Adrenaline started to pump through his veins against his will. For, although he wouldn't dare admit it, something about how much skin he revealed was exhilarating, even if he felt shy looking at his reflection.

Just then Anastasia opened his door, and he nearly lost his wig. "Father's finally out. I suggest you use this opportunity to escape while you can."

Alex gulped. "Alright."

So he made his way out into the world.

Odd as it seems, Alex couldn't think of a better way to describe his exit other than comparing it to the act of giving birth. He was a man who gave birth! Birth to a new human being which he could decide a new personality for, a name, an entire identity really, for he was no longer Alexander Han once he stepped out in his current attire. Oh dear lord he was not prepared for parenthood at such a young age.

The ballet studio was a decent walk away from his home. In fact, it was a walk so similar to his grieving walk from the previous day that he soon became overwhelmed by a feeling of déjà vu. Perhaps even subconsciously he was drawn to this job. Perhaps it was fate.

The only thing that would truly freak him out would be if he was suddenly run over by the Prince of Ferrum...

Alex whipped his head back around for the third time once he reached the street where the event happened in order to make sure no one was out to get him. He quickly made his way to the studio from here, too paranoid to remain on this road any longer. He moved so fast that he didn't realize how familiar the corner he turned into was.

Lady Arabella's Ballet Studio was certainly something. And that was coming from a boy who grew up in a disaster of a royal palace. He was born and raised in a home that couldn't decide between an all out rococo inspired design or more tame classical design, and the result was a weak and cowardly fusion between the two. Nothing groundbreaking. Nothing spectacular. A perfect home for a two faced liar. The perfect home for Alex.

Unlike his home, however, Lady Arabella's was something in a good way. The designers put passion into the shiny and gold baroque interior, resulting in something outlandish and beautiful. This place had confidence in every wall, chair and tile. Alex did not belong here.

Yet here he was.

It was then a woman, who looked to be in her mid to late thirties, came walking toward him, a bright beam on her amazingly unwrinkled face. "Welcome! My name is Minerva and I'm assuming you are to be a future designer here..."