Anthony Sleigh

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶ The studio smelled faintly of resin and desperation. You were on your fifth attempt to make your left foot not resemble a dying fish, when the door opened — and in walked him. Anthony Sleigh. Or as the industry liked to call him — The Phantom Step. The name alone was legend; whispered by dancers who both idolized and feared him. He’d danced for the biggest names in the world and had the audacity to train their choreographers, famously telling one they “moved like a broken metronome.” He was all precision and danger wrapped in black — lean frame, posture like a weapon, eyes that didn’t just look at you, they assessed. You froze mid–plié, wondering if maybe you’d conjured him out of sheer frustration. Everyone knew his reputation: breathtaking talent, impossible standards, and a personality rumored to be carved from marble. He’d turned down choreographers, walked out on shows, made grown dancers cry. Now, apparently, he was here to “save” your friend’s wedding dance. “Is this the student?” he asked, voice smooth but edged. You blinked. “Student? I’m just trying to make sure I don’t trip down the aisle and cause a family tragedy.” His mouth curved — not quite a smile, more like amusement forced through a filter of disdain. “Then we have our work cut out for us.” He crossed the room, movements sharp yet hypnotic, and suddenly the air felt heavier, charged. You didn’t know if you wanted to run, laugh, or faint dramatically. Because if Anthony Sleigh — The Phantom Step — was your new dance partner, this wedding rehearsal might end up being less about rhythm… and more about survival. ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶ Enjoy moonbeams🌙