Page 44 of Threads Of Madly Whispers

Chapter 26

Wild Rose

Sins Wrapped in Silk

The Jewel of the Diadem, the cardinal dancer, a laurel that shakes mountains and threads its way through the fabric of time itself—this title, ancient and precious, speaks of power, grace, and a beauty that both terrifies and captivates. She, who bears this name, is no mere dancer, no fleeting performer on a stage, but a swan. This crown was originated by Anastasia Moretti, the Diamond herself, born of a lineage steeped in legend and untold glory. She was the embodiment of everything that moved, inspired, and broke with a single gesture.

Each year, the Academy crowns one ballerina—chosen from the graduating class—who has earned the right to bear the title bestowed upon her by an assembly of the elite. Their judgment is absolute, their approval as decisive as the lifting of a sword before battle. Before the night ends, we shall all step through the iron-clad gates that guard the grounds beneath a sky stitched with a thousand stars. At thepromontory’s edge, we shall gather, cloaked in jewel-beaded ensembles that shimmer like forgotten constellations, catching the eye of the moon and holding its gaze, as we bid our last hurrah.

It is there, in the stillness of the night, that the Angle Dance unfolds, an ephemeral rite that marks the end of one journey, and the beginning of another. Those who are fortunate enough to witness it know they are seeing something that cannot be replicated, something rare and magical. The Jewel, crowned in her glory, is said to shed Oscar-winning tears, to embody a sorrow and a joy so deeply intertwined that it stains the air with the gravity of history itself. A portrait of gilded opulence will soon be added to the lineage of dancers, their legacy immortalized in the hallowed hall of mirrors, where time stands still and their names echo on.

Swans are said to be revered mythological creatures, their feathers representing grace and unyielding strength within the walls of Haven Academy. They are the living epitome of the art, their wings sweeping through the air as effortlessly as a pirouette, and their song as flawless as the dancers they honor. They are the untouchable ideal, the unreachable pinnacle.

A similar reverence resides in Sebastian’s gaze as he looks at me. He sees me through the lens of something far greater than myself, a title that stretches beyond time, beyond the physical world, into something more ethereal, more immortal. It lifts me and leaves me hollow all at once, as though being seen through such eyes is to be known in a way that escapes reason, a truth that cannot be spoken, yet exists all the same. And still, I crave it. I long to be seen in that way, to be his.

Birds of a feather

A bride dressed in silk

Chains bridle reins

Graceful harmony

A poetic piece inscribed onto my flesh, a needle dipped in ink and cursively written on my thigh. It’s outlandish to take another woman’s words and make them my own. But how can l not, when the old journal preaches a poet’s grave heart. Between the pages of it are such deeply rooted devotions and devastations.

I feel solemnly staunch to Anastasia’s thoughts and prayers. The way she talks about her son and husband is a tearsmith tale. She employs words like a weapon. I found the dusty aged thing in my room, which l came to know was once hers. Under one of the floorboards were not only her tears dried on paper but pictures and letters that paint the past.

Since then, when stars sprinkle the sky and nightfall clouds the Earth, l open one letter and read it like a lullaby. Her and Zakaria’s love story unfolds between the tips of my fingers like wild flames. I should not be reading their most vulnerable moments to one another, yet I cannot help but thrust myself into their history.

Zane

My Sweet Anastasia,

How blissful, how profound, this life we’ve woven together.

And how deep the promises we etched into the fabric of our souls, promises bound not by the frailty of time, but by the eternal beating of our hearts.

I asked to know love, and without hesitation, you gave it to me, unblemished, unremorseful, fierce in its purity.

In your arms, you carry the child you once dreamed of, a small, perfect dream come to life.

Under still waters, I breathe without fear,

like a blind star, unknowingly drawn to the shimmering blue beyond.

And when I stand in your presence, I am never lost.

Not when your gaze is my compass, your touch my steady guide.

My feet, muddied and worn, tread across paths that only we know,

while in my hands, I carry the daisies I plucked from our garden, the simple, fragile things that bear witness to the eternity we are crafting.

I watch you twirl our little one, the joy of his laughter filling the air like music, the kind of song that only the heart can hear, but one that vibrates across the universe in a melody all its own.

I long to give you the world, the stars, the endless moon,

for you have shown me a galaxy, vast and endless, within the depths of your love.

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