The Seventh Swan

Although he would remember clearest Veronica's performance as Odette/Odile, her wonderful debut into the world of a true ballerina-not to mention their reconciliation and engagement- it was not the first time Sebastian had seen her in a production of Lac des Cygnes.

That had been one rainy Thursday afternoon in the middle of October, when the students of the Wells were rehearsing for the ballet- a small production, for the students of the Wells were not considered part of the full company- but with, naturally, all the costumes and props and opulence that was needed to tell this most magical, most spellbinding of tales.

But that was not present today, for opening night was still several weeks away. Sebastian sat unnoticed in the shadowy tiers of the upper circle, on the pretence of studying the score, and watched as Gilbert wrung his hands in exasperation at the unsteadiness of a pirouette, or someone's "line" being nearly broken by some careless movement. "No, no, no!" he yelled, brandishing his stick with the air of a man demented. "You wait until after Belinda has entered! Yes? You enter in a line, girls, like beau-ti-ful swans! Not this…this…rabble! And you must listen to the music, for then, and only then, would you believe it, will you be able to know when to come on stage! AGAIN!"

The girls filed off in a line, some bending back and rubbing their aching muscles. Sebastian craned his neck, trying to see Veronica…there! She was the seventh swan on the left. He felt an ache in his chest at the sight of her small, pale face and dark features- she looked tinier than ever on the colossal stage, and her face had grown even whiter through tiredness. The swans re-entered, this time to Gilbert's approval, and Sebastian settled down to watch, and listen to the glorious music- or, at least, the approximation being coaxed out of the creaking piano in the pit.

The rehearsal continued without many more interruptions, and they had progressed to the beginning of Act three- the Ball at the palace. Sebastian saw one of the Swans take her place behind the sheet of glass on stage, ready to mime Odette's distress at her lover's betrayal- and his stomach clenched as he saw that it was Veronica.

Nothing could have prepared him for this. He saw the graceful, elegant movements of her arms as she spelled out pain and sorrow, heartbreak and longing- things he himself understood well. But the one thing that moved him most was the look on her face- a look of such pleading, beseeching love, mingled with a horrible amount of disbelief- Why would he do this to me?

He had always known that she was a dancer who put some of herself into each role she played- and he also knew that this time, it was no different. It was him- he who had done this to her, made her so heartbroken. The one person he prized above all others. He got up, swiftly, sweeping out of the exit just in time to stop tears falling, as they would have done had he stayed to watch her any longer.

Gilbert turned his head when the door slammed- but Veronica was still miming her role, her one piece of solo work. To do that she had to concentrate- but she heard the noise and it distracted her. She fell, crumpling down onto the floor, and was immediately surrounded by her feathered companions, all asking whether she was hurt. Her eyes seemed more liquid than usual. Denise, the French girl, was concerned for her serious friend. "Veronique- you are all right? You are hurt?" Veronica nodded in a vague way, looking melancholy. Denise sighed- Veronique, she had decided, although a lovely person, could be a little bit too intense when it came to dancing- she threw her heart and soul into it in a way one simply didn't need to. Veronica swayed on the spot. "I'm fine," she whispered, and then, almost as if she couldn't help herself, breathed a name- "Sebastian."