Page 26 of Sweet Nightmares
No. Never.
The words must have played on Jane’s face because Kordelia said, “I didn’t think so.” Then, she turned back to her lover and business partner. “I think I did brilliantly, don’t you?”
Constance shook her head but smiled. “You didn’t do terribly. Jane, there is a position available teaching at theRoyalle Ballet School if you’re interested. I know it might be hard considering your… injury, but it might help give you a purpose.”
No one actually believed Jane was injured. Not after the Cobra Lilies kidnapped her and forced her to make a mirror deal. Apparently, the Mirror Mafia loved to spread rumors. And the ongoing rumor was that she had lost her dancing ability because she had made a bad deal with a mirror, and this was her unintended consequence.
In a way, they weren’t wrong.
Five days later, Jane stood at the front of the juniors’ ballet class. The class was for advanced dancers ages fourteen and up—the dancers who would go on to audition for the Royalle Ballet’s apprenticeships.
Jane arrived at the Royalle Ballet Dance School thirty minutes early to meet with the Artistic Assistant Director and prepare for the class. She’d never taught anyone anything before, and she had no idea what she was doing, but she wasn’t going to be late on her first day.
So she was there when all of the dancers arrived. They came in pairs and groups, and as they walked in, the Artistic Assistant Director introduced her to them. Upon the arrival of the third group, Jane saw a glimmer of crimson hair, and immediately, all of the breath left her body.
Jane was not prepared; she probably never could have been. Pain blossomed in her chest, and every muscle in her body grew as tight as a harp string.
Quinnevere.
The redheaded girl, who must have been about seventeen years old, was Jane’s little sister. She was shorter than Jane by about four inches, and her hair was slightly darker—more cinnamon than Jane’s ginger—but Jane would have known her anywhere.
She wore a soft pink flowing ballet dress, and with her footfalls, a blood-red necklace bounced around her neck. Jane sucked in a breath. The necklace hummed a smooth tune that only Jane seemed to hear. She cocked her head; it emitted a similar frequency as the invisible mirror in the Royalle Ballet.
Strange.
Jane’s gaze slid back to her sister’s face, and their eyes caught. It was too much. Jane mumbled something unintelligible to the Artistic Assistant and rushed to the powder room. It was too much. Jane had only seen glimpses of her sister for the past thirteen years. It was part of her promise to her uncle that she would stay away. And for the safety and well-being of her sister, she had.
A harsh sob rocked Jane’s shoulders, and she smashed a hand over her lips to try to cover her mouth. The pain was a hoarse echo rattling through her bones. A pounding war drum. A rotting bouquet of roses.
A clock ticked somewhere in the distance, and Jane knew she had to pull herself together. She had to get up and act like nothing was wrong. It was her duty to the Ballet Director. But she also needed to patch herself together, because this was her chance to see her sister, and maybe even get to know her, too.
Jane pinched her eyes shut for one moment, and she let the tears ricochet down her face and tinkle to the marble floors. Then she stood up, turned on the faucet, and threw water on her face before returning to the room and making her apologies, saying she was nauseous.
People might assume she was pregnant, which may be why, in their minds, she quit ballet and began teaching.
The entire class was now present, and as soon as she was introduced, they started warming up and going through their positions. Once they ended their warm-ups with the grand battement, Jane and the Artistic Assistant began teaching them the choreography to “Winter’s Eve” and the corps parts.
It was an advanced class, so the corrections were minor. There were slight redirections to positions, postures, and the lines of their arms. Jane tried to keep her eyes off her sister, but they found her anyways. Over and over and over again. She was surprisingly talented, but she also had a lot of work to do if she were going to make the Royalle Ballet.
The first class was tough, much harder than Jane had ever imagined. Still, she got through it, and would get through it again and again until teaching became easy. Although, she suspected that teaching her little sister, who had no idea they were even related, would never get easier.
Months passed as Jane taught at the Ballet School. During that time, she still had to split her time between her husband, Nightmare, and her week at the Viridian, but Constance was right: Teaching gave her purpose and small hints of happiness.
But she was still grieving the loss of her dancing.
So much so that Jane hadn’t spoken to Nightmare in months. Not even her curiosity about her dormant magic could bulldoze through her anger. She hated him now. So they ate in silence. When he gave her commands, she merely nodded her head and did as he wanted. During the time she spent with him eachmonth, she’d sleep in his bed and never say a word. She was punishing him, but he didn’t even seem to notice.
He never mentioned the silence, nor did he compel her to speak to him. He was simply okay with it, which made her all the angrier. She wanted to punish him for stealing dance from her, but the god had no feelings. He didn’t care about anything or anyone. So how could she punish someone like that?
It wasn’t possible.
It was like trying to weave with invisible thread or paint a portrait with a blindfold. One could do it, but it wouldn’t turn out very well.
So, instead of focusing on her hatred for him, she turned her eyes to her sister. It took Jane six months to build a meaningful relationship with Quinnevere. At first, it was too hard to talk to her for any period without wanting to break down completely. But slowly, Jane let her sister in—let her sister see pieces of her that others didn’t. They started by chatting after classes, but when Constance decided to join the ballet class, they would grab lunch and dinner together and slowly began building a friendship.
Constance was different outside of the Viridian. Almost more… free? As if away from Kordelia, the girl was more alive, bubbly, and energetic. Almost like Kordelia sucked the energy out of Constance. It wasn’t Jane’s place to judge—after all, her husband was abusive, and her soul belonged to a mirror—but something was off about the girl’s relationship with the Viridian and its owner.
Jane enjoyed both versions of the girl, but it was rather interesting to see how different she could be when away from her responsibilities. It made Jane wonder if she was the same. Probably, considering she felt like two different people when she was with her husband and when she was around everyone else.
