Chapter Text
Early October found Caitlyn Kiramman standing tall beneath the warm studio lights. The familiar hush of the dancers waiting outside of the studio settled as her background noise. - She had never been afraid of moments like this – never feared auditions – fear was for people who expected to fail.
But her heartbeat always betrayed her, always quickened and started tapping against her ribs like it wanted to dance ahead of her – an incessant metronome stuck in her chest. That stupid frantic beat that never stopped no matter how many times she had done this before, that didn’t care if she had trained for this her whole life.
Then the music started playing. - She lifted her chin, breathed in, and let the music rise.
Everything else fell away as her legs started carving clean lines through the space, raising her arms that moved soft and controlled in the air. Every movement folded into the music like she’d stitched herself into its seams; every step followed a plan she’d practiced a hundred times.
She hit every extension, every turn and every line with the perfection she didn’t chase but instead expected and demanded from herself in the same way she had been taught when she was small enough to stand at the barre on tiptoes. Her muscles burned the way they always did – bright, sharp, almost sweet as they were pulled to its limit. - The kind of pain she had learned to crave, the kind that reminded her that she was pushing, reaching, trying.
By the time she finished, she felt that quiet sparkling hope. It was fragile; she never said it out loud. Her heart still raced, not with nerves, but with the quiet certainty that she had done everything right, maybe even better than right. Maybe enough to take the step she had been aiming at for years.
October slipped away welcoming November, and with it; the cast list.
Winter Ballet: The Nutcracker
Cast – Principal Solo Roles
Clara: Liz Walsh
The Snow Queen: Caitlyn Kiramman
The Sugar Plum Fairy: Eleanor O’Reilly
She traced the names of the papers with a single finger; she could feel the ink printed on that thin, elegant Conservatoire paper that made triumph feel official – And disappointment feel humiliating.
She counted the papers, skipped reading them until she got to her name – Her stomach twisted. She read it once, then twice, then again slower this time, as if the words might rearrange themselves again out of pity. Around her, dancers whispered and celebrated, compared themselves. The hallway buzzed with excitement that fell deaf on Caitlyn’s ears, instead she felt that tiny drop in her chest anyway. - Because she had aimed for more, because she wanted Sugar Plum, the solo that mattered, the role that would seal her future in companies she had dreamed of.
The jewel that would seal her crown as a professional.
Because Sugar Plum was the role that simmered with possibilities, the one that would have shown the world – and herself – that she was ready.
But instead, another girl’s name sat where hers should’ve been. The taste in her mouth went metallic, bitter. - Like failure disguised in satin and frost that filtered through the windows now.
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“Come on, we’re going to be late for dinner. Again.” - A voice echoed through the halls of the Conservatoire, sharp, scolding as the heel of her used boots echoed down the hall, fast, irritated – the baby car seat bumping slightly against her knee with every step. A younger blue haired girl followed her – Jinx – Who was half-bent, trying to tie her Converse without losing pace.
“Okay, rude.” - Jinx shot back as she tried not to try over her own steps. - “Not my fault that Morkie keeps the class until the literal last milisecond.” - Her eyes barely looked up from the knot on her shoe she had been fighting for the past steps, when she heard a snort from her sister, Vi. “Fair point. Pow.”
Jinx finally finished tying her Converse shoes, lifting her gaze to look at Vi while she bounced on her heels a little to steady her steps once again, while a grin spread through her face. - “Oh- By the way?” - She said again without hiding her smug grin and then spinning on her toes as if she couldn’t help it. - “Queen of the mice, baby, I’m gonna absolutely destroy that stage.” - Jinx announced, while her gaze trailed off for a moment to the sleepy little baby girl in her car seat, a baby that was a little over 11 months old.
The news were met by a roll of Vi’s eyes, as she lifted the car seat slightly with ease and adjusted Isha’s blanket. - “Yeah, yeah, terrorize them like you terrorize me every morning.” - Vi said though her lips curved in a proud smile to the news. - “Also, where’s Ekko? I thought he was picking you up today.” - Vi asked as she turned to meet eyes with her sister for a moment. - “I don’t know, I do not have a GPS on him.” - The reply came almost as a groan when Jinx swung closer to the baby seat, leaning down just enough to tap Isha’s nose and smile. - “See? Auntie Vi is being dramatic again.” -
Isha squealed, kicking her feet under the pink blanket with bear prints that kept her tucked in and warm. - “Uh-huh.” - Vi muttered as she looked at her sister, though the corners of her mouth softened. - “You’re lucky she likes you.” - She added with a more playful tone, earning herself the look of her sister again, with that smug smile that she always had before retorting something. - “Everyone likes me.” - She started confidently, and for a moment she glowed, proud, bright, and messy – The eyebags that both sisters carried has started to fade on Jinx since Isha started to sleep through the night, while Vi’s only seemed to darken the same way the bruises on her skin did.
They turned the corner – And almost collided with someone stepping out of a studio. Caitlyn Kiramman looked up, startled for a beat as her eyes barely took the sight of the people she just ran into. Then simply stepped aside with a stiff but polite, her every step crisp and cold, like she walked in counts of eight. - “You’re not allowed in the student halls if you’re not enrolled.” - She told Vi as she brushed past her, not a hint of heat in her voice. Something seemed to ache under her cool expression - she kept walking.
Jinx stared after her, watching the taller woman walk down the hall. Her lips parted in an exaggerated gasp while her eyes drifted again to her sister. - “Wow. Someone’s audition didn’t go well.” - Jinx commented.
Vi huffed a laugh. - “Pow, stop instigating.” - The words were followed by a small soft, sleepy whine and a yawn. Both sisters froze.
- “Oh no, no, no-” - Vi muttered. - “If she sleeps now, we’re screwed.” - Vi stated just to meet the gaze of her sister – those eyes that made it clear that screwed was an understatement to their situation. - “Move, move, move, I am not pulling another all-nighter this week.” - Jinx protested, flapping her hands and starting to walk faster to the car.
They practically jogged out the door and into the car, while Jinx talked loudly about mice and bright lights, clapping or making loud noises every once and then in order to keep the little girl awake.
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It had been ten days since the cast list went up, enough time for the sting to turn into something cold and dull that settled within Caitlyn’s mind. She had already memorized every correction that every Snow Queen had ever received.
Her steps were firm, gaze straight ahead as she pushed the door and stepped into Studio 9 – It was empty – Just the way Caitlyn liked, the quiet reassurance to be the first to arrive. She set her bag aside and adjusted the know on the skirt she was wearing.
The studio filled with the sunlight of the morning, while Caitlyn was lowering herself into a split. While she took a deep breath and leaned forward until she could feel a sting in her muscles, the familiar burn that had long become familiar and even comforting. - Another breath, she held it and counted the seconds, then shifted to stretch the other leg.
She stared at her reflection for a second, watched the way her legs were stretched like two parallel arrows. She reached up, touched her hair, and felt the hairpins that kept her perfect bun she had secured before dawn, as if any loose strand might say something bad from her.
Just a minute after, the studio started filling with the other ballerinas, the floor soon became a mess of leg warmers and pointe shoes – some ballerinas were sewing the lace on them, while Caitlyn had already done that last night, her icy blue eyes roamed around the room with a confidence that many ballerinas admired.
The rustle of leg warmers and the snap of elastics quieted when Caitlyn rose en pointe, effortlessly as ever – her balance steadied easily, while a few dancers slowed their own activities to watch how she settled into her alignment.
She could overhear some first-year ballerinas complaining about sore calves, some others compared their bruises after the rehearsal to the snowflake waltz – Caitlyn ignored them, instead she took another breath and pressed the point of her shoe on resin, taking in the sweet crack of it shattering, she lifted herself into passé, then lowered again with the same precision.
And even when she overheard ballerinas chatter about how she fit the role of The Snow Queen perfectly – The Snow Queen wasn’t hers, not yet. But the role had already settled on her bones; every movement stung like a frostbite that she couldn’t hide.
The moment was quieted by the click of the door opening, followed by the steps of the teacher, Mr. Keene stepped into the studio with firm steps and a perfect posture. He clapped his hands once. - “Today we’ll rehearse the final of the first act and the Snowflake Waltz.” - He announced and settled to watch.
Caitlyn took a deep breath, then walked to her spot. She could feel the floor against her pointe shoes, the hush before the music could start – She had rehearsed on her own a million times, but the gaze of the teacher on her always ignited a sense of nervousness in her chest.
She rose en pointe, followed the music by heart. The snowflakes moved around her like gusts of wind. - Her turns are effortless, her movements are almost automatic, the rise of her arms, the position of her hands, her face and expressions – It makes the others look like amateurs.
The teacher’s voice came in, rising over the music effortlessly. - “More charisma, you’re the snow! Lighter, lighter.” - Caitlyn’s cheeks colored with a light pink tone. Another teacher muttered something, Caitlyn corrected the posture of her leg, continued her performance until she finished. - The room filled with clapping from the other dancers; Caitlyn gave a curtsy before she stepped out of the center, she took her hands to her head, her fingers grazed her bun, pretending to check if it was still neatly perfect, to hide the slight tremble in her fingers.
Mr. Keene called her back to the center. Caitlyn’s steps remained calm as she stood in front of Mr. Keene. She grazed the hem of her skirt with her fingers to hide the slight tremble that remained on them.
- “Your piqué is great as well as your pirouettes, you have a good extension and a perfect body alignment,” Mr. Keene paused, running his hand over his chin for a short moment. “But there’s a difference in the acting that takes you to Odette, Kitri and Aurora, and it’s the character and the feelings you put in it, I need to forget who you are, Caitlyn Kiramman, I only need to see the snow queen.” - Then he signaled Caitlyn to retire.
Caitlyn curtsied once more and retreated to the barre of the studio; she offered her back to the rest of the dancers as she steadied her breath and repeated the words in her mind – The feeling she put in her character. - That phrase lingered, while the low thuds of the other dancers rehearsing faded in the background.
The classes and rehearsals finished at 8PM. Caitlyn grabbed her bag again, ignored the familiar weight of her tired legs as she walked out of the studio and into the halls.
Her steps were sharp while she turned to leave the building, taking in the cold air of late autumn and allowing it to fill her lungs and taking away the last traces of the warmth in the studio. The strap of her bag dug into her shoulder; She barely noticed, her mind was still stuck replaying the first rehearsal that day – Every word, her acting, she reminded herself again the way she had to fix the position of her leg, every word stung like a reminder of the role she couldn’t get.
She took a turn by the side of the building and almost collided with a person that she then recognized as the same girl from the other day, the same red hair that had stuck in her mind for a beat.
Caitlyn noticed the way that the red-haired girl’s face twisted with what she assumed was irritation; she could hear the way the boots scrapped against the pavement. - ”Sorry.” - Caitlyn murmured almost automatically, her voice was polite, neutral at best, the way she always kept her voice when her mind was too loud. - Then she stepped aside and continued her way.
Her gaze was up as she started to take distance from the girls, but she wasn’t more than five steps away from them when she heard that annoying voice again. - “Careful, little miss perfect is on warpath today.” - The way that the nickname was tilted upward with mock made Caitlyn’s stomach twist.
She hated the nickname – Maybe because it wasn’t wrong – She reached up and tugged her scarf slightly; her steps echoed in the cold pavement even as always.
If anyone asked, she was bothered by the cold and not because a girl called her “perfect” like it was something she should apologize for.
The rhythm of her steps matched the way the irritation simmered and hummed under her skin, the passing cars, the chatter of people in the street. Suddenly everything felt like too much – Too much noise, too many people, too many reminders. By the time her steps reached the stone steps of the student residence, her shoulders were tight enough to ache.
She let herself in with her keycard. The warm air inside hit her like a wave, brushed past her cold-kissed cheeks and wrapped around her body – It should’ve helped, but it didn’t. She climbed the staircase mechanically, each step muffled softly as she counted the steps towards her bedroom.
Finally. The door clicked shut behind her and she let out a sharp sigh – Silence, finally.
Her dance bag landed next to her desk with a soft thud; she stepped out of her shoes and pushed them aside while she let her coat fall from her shoulders.
The peace of the room was inviting Caitlyn to rest – She should. But she didn’t.
Instead, she paced around the small room for a moment, until her legs felt warm enough. Then sat on the floor, started stretching the same way she had done in the morning, leaned forward and pressed her legs down, forcing her knee straight until her hamstring burnt – Then held the position, one breath, then another.
She leaned forward a little more, pushed the stretch just a little deeper while she counted the seconds on her mind – Just enough to make the pleasant ache drown everything else. To keep control.
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