If you wanted to make it big, you went to Sylvaele. That’s what everyone said, anyway. It was hard to tell where the edge of the night sky met the city, the stars and the lights merging together to form a galaxy of activity. The winding canals through the center of the town reflected the warm beams of light, and the chattering of the residents made the air smell of excitement and potential. Boats glided along the mirrorlike surface of the water, singing sailors calling for lovers who walked the streets to go for a ride. Fairy lights adorned the ivy trellises that bordered the cobblestone pathways of town. Somehow, the air always smelled of chardonnay and rosebud. Legend had it that the theatre on the street corner, L’Olympien, was the birthplace of art in Sylvaele. An initially impromptu busking performance half a century ago turned into an establishment that attracted visitors from miles around. The original owner was a woman named Muriel Houndstooth. Her fiddling skills were renowned across the country. However, she was later imprisoned for mind alteration, and her name and reputation was tarnished. Despite this, L’Olympien remained a pinnacle in the arts community. To perform there was to ensure a successful career. Fleur knew the history of L’Olympien well. After countless performances, the history that was displayed in the green room had become as trained as her routines. This particular night, her headphones were in her ears, pumping upbeat dance music that matched her heartbeat. As she put the last pin in place, the song ended, and she would hear the laughter on the streets below her, the window open to let the warm summer breeze filter in. Her grandmother’s necklace, glimmering brightly in the light of the vanity, delicately nestled on a white, velvet cushion. Hairpins were lined up neatly against the cushion, and her makeup was in a small, cream caddy that was all organized by color and intensity. The show was set to begin in 15 minutes; she was right on time. (@Metro )
Fleur watched herself in the mirror for a moment. She sighed, letting her shoulders relax as she reached and took the necklace, bringing it over her neck and attaching the clasp, as she had done many times before. She got up, taking a moment to stretch before going to the side stage.
Sitting on the edge of the stage, the curtains pulled shut, she would be able to hear the clamor of the audience, each member in eager anticipation of the show. "Fleur, darling," she would hear a familiar voice say, coming from the audio box. An older woman, her smile lines deeply etched in her wrinkled face and her white hair pulled back in a bun, beckoned her over. The woman's name was Pelegrina. She had been at the theater for as long as Fleur had been performing, and probably many decades before that. She gave Fleur an easy smile, pointing at her own collar. "Your tag, Fleur," she said gently. "Your tag is out."
She looked back in surprise, trying to see the tag before reaching back and carefully tucking it away. She turned to the woman with a grateful nod and gentle smile, bow her head slightly. "Thank you, Pelegrina. You always look out for me."
"Hm. There's not much to look after," she replied earnestly, sweeping imaginary crumbs off of the counter. "You handle most things so gracefully. I just get the small things." She tilted her head, glancing around for a moment. "It's a full house out there. Do you hear them?"
Her smile widened, and she looked to the closed curtain with anticipation. "Yes," she said easily. "It's always so exciting. This is no exception."
"Doesn't it get... erm... what's the word... repetitive?" Pelegrina asked, looking at the curtain as well. "You've done this so many times, Fleur. It must get boring after a while?"
She shook her head. "It always feels different," she explained, folding her hands. "The routines require a lot of practice, so finally doing the end result is wonderful. And, well.. I just love dancing."
She laughed, raising an eyebrow as the speaker announced Fleur in a grand tone. The applause began and Pelegrina gestured. "Go on, then. Go dance."
She nodded with a small smile, going onto the stage and and getting into the starting position gracefully as she waited for the curtains.
(Zoop!) The performance was a good one. Smooth and delicate and powerful. Her limbs burned from the work, but as she entered her room afterwards, she felt the warmth that came from a job well done. A shower had already been prepared for her. The workers at the theater didn't do this for everyone, but Fleur had been a frequent performer often enough that they knew what she liked.
She had gone after the performance, carefully getting undressed and sticking her arm out to hang up the dress and shoes. She closed the door again, taking off the necklace and setting it on the counter before stepping in.
The shower was pleasantly warm, the perfect thing to wash away the performance. Towards the end of her shower, she would hear the bathroom door close.
The door to the bathroom was closed. It would take her a moment to see that her necklace was no longer on the counter.
Her eyes widened and she stepped out in a panic, taking the towel and quickly wrapping it around herself before dashing out to look for the perpetrator.
She didn't have to look far. As she got out into the main green room, she would see a boy. He had curly auburn hair, with bright grey eyes that immediately looked at her as she entered. He had one leg out of the window and a devilish smile crossing his lips. He had her necklace in his hands. "Get dressed, don't you think, princess?" he said, his voice rough but playful. "It's a bit improper to be confronting me in a towel." With that, he slung his other leg through the window and disappeared from sight.
He had already gotten down the side of the theater and hurried down the street. Within seconds, he disappeared from sight.
She was silent, her mouth agape as she watched, stunned by what happened. She took a deep breath, trying not to panic, before rushing out of the room for help.
