They all said Grace’s name was prophetic; she was a long limbed, beautiful young woman who carried herself with all the poise you might expect from someone with her name. She was also the best dancer in the company, and she would soon be named principal, maybe even prima ballerina, a title no one had held in the past five years.
She was the first to arrive at least an hour or two before anyone else, the last to leave sometimes four hours after everyone had left the building. She danced as if she were living through the movements. It was difficult even for other dancers to describe what they felt when they saw her dance. She was the ballerina whose technique, whose passion every single one of them wanted to emulate. She breathed happiness when she danced; even when the role demanded drama, sorrow, something about her showed how much she loved what she did. Grace created magic on the stage. Her interpretation of Giselle had generated rave reviews and people demanded to see more of the young genius.
Imagine their surprise when one day, they arrived and she was packing her bag, her pointe shoes on the bench. She was in jeans, something no one ever saw. Not with the hours Grace kept. Her hair was down and she looked to be in a rage, another thing no one had ever seen: she might have breathed fire.
“Grace?” One of the girls asked. She whipped around.
“Whoever wants the role is welcome to it.”
What? She was giving up the role of Odette and Odile in Swan Lake. Who in their right mind would do that? They never knew who asked the question but the answer was precise, cold and final.
“I’m done working with that dragon. She’s breathed fire down my neck for too long. She’s taken all the pleasure away. I quit.”
She was quitting the company run by her mother. What the hell!
In response to the Daily Post writing prompt Pleasure and to the Flash Fiction Month challenge July 1 from DeviantArt