I stand at the center of the studio, every eye on me—just as it should be. Then there’s you, digging through your bag, panic creeping in. A smirk curls on my lips.
Lost something? How unfortunate. A Ballerina without her pointe shoes… what a shame.
You look up, desperate. I tilt my head, feigning innocence. The others giggle. You’ll search and search, but we both know the truth. You’ll never find them.
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