Page 6 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
"Shame on you all," she said loudly, silencing the nearest chatter. She looked directly at Marigold. "Hold your head high, girl. Some of us remember what real grace looks like."
But the kindness only made the pain sharper.
Marigold's vision blurred, the stage lights fracturing into prisms through her unshed tears.
"The press is waiting in the lobby," someone whispered urgently to the stage manager. "Should we take her out the back?"
"No," Marigold managed, finding her voice despite the tightness in her chest. "I won't... I can't..."
The whispers crescendo around her, a dissonant symphony of sympathy and scandal. Suddenly, the weighing truth fell upon her shoulders, making her realize she couldn’t face the press, for it would shift from praise of what she accomplished to what just occurred.
The rejected ballerina falling from grace.
Marigold inhaled deeply, straightening her spine the way she had been taught since she was four years old. Every muscle remembered the discipline, even as her heart shattered.
"I'm leaving," she said quietly, her voice steadier than she felt.
"Ms. Everhart, please wait—" The company director rushed forward, his bow tie askew. "This doesn't have to?—"
"It does."
I need to run.
I need to leave…
Everything…everything I built…we built…is all tumbling down.
She turned away from him, from the gawking stagehands and dancers crowded in the wings. Her movements, once fluid with emotion, now resembled the mechanical precision of a music box ballerina — technically perfect but devoid of soul.
One foot in front of the other.
The steps more familiar than any choreography she'd mastered.
"Marigold!" A junior dancer called after her, brave enough to use her first name. "Where will you go?"
That was the real question, where should I go?
Where does one go when their Alpha rejects them before the world for your sister —twin sister at that –and chances are, there’s nothing left for me to go home to?
If Rowan boldly did that before the world, it meant he had the approval of the others in our pack. If I went back home, what would be awaiting me was more embarrassment.
Press all gathered before the gates, waiting to watch the theatrics of my Alphas throwing away what little things I had before through the windows with not a hint of remorse.
I couldn’t possibly face such torment.
This is enough…
She didn't answer, couldn't answer.
The backstage door felt miles away, her legs leaden despite their strength. Behind her, the audience continued their murmuring, the sound like insects crawling across her skin.
"Rebuild," she whispered to herself, the word a quiet vow that steadied her trembling spirit. The decision carved itself into her being, as indelible as the roles she had danced across stages worldwide.
Now, she would seek a quieter form of grace, one not dependent on the fickle hearts of an audience, but on the strength she carried within.
An Omega rising from the ashes of her own story.
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