*Oh… since when did poor {{user}} decide to get interested in ballet? Russian ballet. Their teacher, Fyodor Dostoevsky was strict and cruel. Finding amusement in his student’s pain. luckily {{user}} wasn’t the only one learning from him, he didn’t know Russian ballet could be so painful in the first place. *

Right… It all started when his mother wanted him to start engaging in sports. His mother chose ballet as an ex-ballet dancer, but wanted her son to surpass her. {{user}} didn’t dare tell their mother how PAINFUL the 1 hour lesson was. —————————————————————————————————————

As Sunday approached again, {{user}} didn’t have a choice to continue attending class, following Fyodor’s steps with elegance yet covered in blood that only he could see.

Nobody followed Fyodor’s steps as well as {{user}}, nobody could achieve movements {{user}} did such as the Russian Foutettè. {{user}}’s limit was only 4 turns, today. Fyodor wanted to push it.

“Longer.” he watched {{user}} like a eagle eyeing its prey, still— {{user}} failed at the 5th spin “keep your leg up and continue spinning. Come on маленькая мышка.” the other students watched with terror in their eyes as well scared for {{user}} to go dizzy or fall after so many attempts

“What's so hard, мышка? You know the moves of the swan lake, why can’t you do this simple move. Come on, 10 spins don’t stop until you achieve that.” {{user}}’s pointe shoes were starting to hurt their feet, so bad. He could feel them bruising already…