Page 61 of Threads Of Madly Whispers

She is a fox in the hunt, fast and brilliant, yet there is fragility in her precision, like glass balanced on the edge of a blade. She leaps, her body carving arcs into the air, her every motion a defiance of mortality. Each turn is a prayer, each step a hymn, each breath a sacrament. She dances as though her soul is unraveling, a mosaic of light and shadow, her movements woven with a grace that tears through me.

She pirouettes like a daisy caught in a gale, bending to an unseen wind, swaying with reckless abandon yet never faltering. I do not indulge in poisons of the flesh, but when I watch Odessa dance, I am intoxicated. Her movements are a drug that surges through my veins, an elixir that makes the world blur. The delirium grips me, a vice of fire and ice, choking the breath from my lungs. I am undone, helpless against this fevered obsession.

She has bewitched me, body and soul, and I am her willing prisoner. Each step she takes on that stage tightens the chain around my heart, dragging me further into this abyss. I am enthralled, enraptured, ensnared. And so help me, God, for I am hopelessly, irrevocably addicted to this woman, this creature of light and darkness who holds my very being in her hands.

I would kill for her and die in the same beat.

She balletomanes wickedly in trance with the chasm that stares back at her, as her changement ripples in nothing but poise and divine serenity.She is the brush, and the floor is her canvas.

Every time our eyes cross paths, I’m inclined to believe in Shakespear’s fairy tales and Hoziers’ muse. She feels so familiar that l must have loved her in more than onelifetime. Whatever our souls are made of, her and mine are the same.

“I crave the side of you that you do not show to anyone else” she told me once.

Her magical piece comes to an end, heaving with tears that have stained her flushed face as the room breaks into cheers and ovations. Beauty and grace will forever follow her past death, and so shall the demons that haunt me, yet dance with her.

Chapter 38

Wild Rose

Flesh and Ink

It is nearly midnight and the night sky is a quiet masterpiece, a design of a million stars scattered in the vastness. Their faint silver glow twinkles softly, distant yet intimate, like sparks igniting in the dark. Above, the moon hangs as a pearly birthstone, radiant and pure, casting its soft light across the heavens. In all its glory, it looms large, glowing with an ethereal aura against the navy backdrop of the sky, a sentinel in the night.

Tonight has been nothing short of magnificent, a blend of joy and sorrow, of laughter and silent tears. The stage was my sanctuary, the music a river that flowed through me. I danced as though my very soul was in motion, and he, with his skillful hands, played as though each note was a confession, each chord a heartbeat. My emotions soared to peaks I had forgotten existed, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, I felthappy. A feeling I hadn’t touched in so long, it almost frightened me.

And when the applause rang out, I wished, with a desperate longing, that my parents could have been there in the crowd, their faces glowing with happiness and their smiles reaching their eyes. The kind of smiles that would hurt and heal all at once, like a bittersweet memory that both stings and soothes. How I longed for their presence, their pride, their love.

We stand now on the edge of the cliff, the ocean stretching before us. It is a watery Eden, untamed and wild, where the sea howls as though it, too, has a story to tell, a secret buried in its depths.

I stand in my white gown—having changed. Its fabric cascades down like a waterfall of elegance. The intricately beaded bodice sparkles in the moonlight, catching the light of a thousand different stars. From my fitted waist, delicate chiffon flows outward, catching the breeze with each step I take, creating a silken trail in the air. The stygian hue of the gown contrasts with my porcelain skin, giving me the air of regal sophistication, of a queen without a crown. The lace that graces the neckline is a whisper of dirty romance, a soft invitation, while the plunging back reveals a hint of bare skin, a tantalizing reminder of something forbidden.

Mother nature is cross tonight. The sea hisses with every rumble of thunder, of anger that roars across the cliffs. The waves lash at the shore, their white foam spitting with each violent crash. The sapphire madness of the sea stretches endlessly, its edges curling over rocks, stirring with a growl that shakes bones. It is a primal rhythm, a heartbeat that matches my own.

We sway to it, to the chaos, to the storm. Naseria holds my hands, and together, we move with the laughter that surrounds us. It’s a tradition for all ballets, a final caper before dawn, overlooking the royal sea. To have one lasthurrah. The hypnotic waves, the wind, the music—it swells in my chest, filling me with something that feels like goodbye. Thedanseursanddanseusesof Haven, we share our talents one final time on the soil that has borne witness to our steps. This is our last bow, our last dance.

The orchestra plays, my bare feet digging into the ground as my dress collects dirt. Yet I feel so free, with each zephyr that whisks my hair up.

Sebastian held me in his hands after my dance and to my ears alone, he spoke of how divine I looked, and as I close my eyes, I chant his words to myself silently.

You’re incandescently beautiful.

You’re painted poetry.

You’re mine.

The ocean howls like a beast awakened, its wrath hammering against the cliffs with merciless wrath. Waves rise like shadowed giants, with a primal rhythm that speaks of warnings long sung by the ages—warnings we, foolish and deaf, refuse to heed. The salty spray ascends, a ghostly mist clinging to the air, tasting of despair and doom.

I open my eyes, but the world is veiled. White sheets drift across my vision, shrouds of fabric twisting and writhing as if alive, hiding everything from me. They hang like spirits, obscuring what lies beyond, separating us, pulling us apart. I strain to see through the pallor, but Naseria’s is shoved away from me. Her gaze flits to mine, fear darkening her eyes. She turns, her head snapping toward the chaos unraveling around us. Concern etches onto her face, carving it into an expression that chills me to my core.

And then I’m shoved. Her face vanishes, swallowed by the fabric, and I stumble, my feet scraping against the uneven ground as I fight to stay upright. A scream pierces the air, loud and shattering, and the music—the hauntingmelody that had been our backdrop—dies. Silence claws at my ears for a heartbeat, but it is short-lived. Another push, harder this time, sends me careening backward. The sheets, once ghostly and pristine, are now streaked with red, an ever-growing cascade of blood soaking into the white, flowing like rivers of pain.

My mind reels. More sheets flutter into view, more crimson streaks spreading, held aloft by hands—no, not hands, but arms belonging to naked women. They move through the carnage-like phantoms, their bare forms illuminated by the eerie glow of a fire blazing somewhere at the center of this madness. Their faces are blank, their eyes glassy, yet their lips move in unison, mouthing a prayer, a chant that coils through the air like smoke, suffocating and hypnotic.

Screams rise around me, louder, more guttural, the sound of desperation twisted into agony. My heart lurches, then stills, the fear settling deep, winding through me like a serpent around my soul. My pulse pounds in my ears, but my body feels cold, frozen in a moment that feels stretched to eternity.

What is happening?

“Odessa!” Her voice tears through the chaos, a single note of terror and pain that cuts through the cacophony.

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