Page 1 of Sweet Nightmares
Prologue
Age 29.
Jane was born to die horrifically—just like her parents. So, she wasn’t surprised to be looking death in the face. Whatdidsurprise her was whose face it was—and how much it destroyed her, knowing she had been so cruelly betrayed.
Part One
If Brokenness Had A Name
Chapter One
Age 21.
Jane Whitfield-Klein powdered her face, frantically trying to fix the smears in her makeup that herhusbandhad placed there just moments before.
Only five minutes remained until Jane would debut as the prima ballerina of the Queen’s Royalle Ballet. The show wasLover’s Lost, in which she played the maiden, Isadora, who would eventually fall in love with Death.
Death…
Jane often wished she had married Death. Sure, he was a villain, but he’d do anything for the Maiden: protect her, kill for her, and most importantly, truly love her.
All things Jane’s husband would never do. No, he’d rather slap her across the face, ruining her makeup just moments before the biggest performance of her life. Leaving her to fix his mess.
And that was Jane’s current task: making beauty from brokenness.
It felt impossible. Her eyes were sunken and purpled from extreme exhaustion and stress, her arms were littered with scratches and discoloration, and her face was hollow. But at the very least—this time—she didn’t have black eyes. She hated it when she had to cover black eyes. Because the only thing that could do it successfully was Mirror Cosmetics—cursed makeup that could erase any blemish, at a cost. The wretched stuff came from mirror deals, and everyone knew even the smallest bargain with a Mirror God—also known as Bargainers—was dangerous.
But if cursed makeup would get her on the stage, then so be it.
Jane would accept the consequences, because her dreams were more important than her rotten husband, cursed objects, or gilded, wicked mirrors.
The dressing room door creaked open, and the stage manager peeked his head in. “Five minutes.”
“Five minutes,” Jane said, trying to keep her voice steady. The hardest part of having an abusive husband, besides the physical and emotional toll, was hiding it from everyone. It was one thing to be a victim. It was another thing entirely for the world to know about it, and Jane would never let the world know. No, she was the perfect, beautiful ballerina, for the world to place on a pedestal and admire.
A puppet on a string for the rich and powerful to prop up and maneuver the way they wanted.
Jane rubbed her face, her elbows on the vanity. Gulping in a large breath of air, she tried to calm herself and salvage the night, which in a matter of moments had gone from a beautiful dream to a decaying nightmare, worse than any Looking Glass nightmare from the most powerful and dangerous Mirror God in the city. This performance was supposed to be the greatest moment of her career, but it was completely soured by her circumstances. Honestly, Jane shouldn’t have been surprised.Her life was one tragedy after another and yet, foolishly, she’d believed this night would be different.
It was the night of her dreams. Finally, her life would get better. She’d have the career she’d always wanted, the respect she deserved, the prestige and money that she’d use to file for divorce.
But Jane was a fool.
Her life never went to plan—not a single moment of it. When her parents died, she was forced to move into an orphanage. Then, at sixteen, said orphanage married her off to a “wealthy” merchant thirty years her senior.
It was supposed to make her life better.
Butshouldsandsupposed-toswere dangerous, and they never quite panned out.
Jane sighed, pushing her middle fingers against the pressure points where her nose met her eyes, then rubbing underneath them and finishing her path by circling her temples. She found this helped calm her anxiety, especially before a show.
With another deep breath, Jane stood up, placed a resolved smile on her face, and cracked her neck before leaving her dressing room and walking to the stage.
The lights dimmed, and a chorus of strings poured out from the orchestra pit, painting the room with sweet enchantment. Jane let the music wash over her as she waited for her cue. The Maiden didn’t start off the ballet, so she had some time to acclimate, stretching her feet and getting ready to do her job. But more importantly, she had time to restore her love of dance.
Jane closed her eyes. The music swelled, lighting her core with excitement. Her circumstances didn’t matter when the music hit. Nothing mattered. Only dance. Only peace. Only joy. Only the magic of storytelling through movement.
The music reached its crescendo and, like lightning, Jane opened her eyes and hit the stage with a volley of fast bourréesteps to the center. The stage was hers to fill with grace, elegance, and charm. As a ballerina, she was known for her soft, captivating lines and intense artistry. No other dancer in the company could match her acting skills—none could compare to the truth she brought in every movement. When people watched her dance, they lived a little, experiencing every emotion as the character did. They escaped into the story world and lived lives they could only imagine.
