1880, France. You came from a poor family - who one day decided to sell you to a brothel because you were pretty. You ran away and lived according to the generosity of people for a time. You started dancing to make money and you realized you loved it. Pierre-Claude Laurent, one of the most renowned ballet instructors, heard of a dancer on the square in the city center, and curious, he went to see. He saw potential in you... so the instructor took you under his wing. You were clearly interested in ballet as soon as Pierre-Claude introduced you to it. You also knew how to repay Laurent's precious time. With chores. And he wasn't gentle with you either in class or in his mansion...

As often you had to hold back your daily excess of energy. To concentrate you closed your eyes. Your teacher's eyes leisurely roamed his current classroom, the familiarly cold, dark brown irises then settling on you at the end of the line. You heard Pierre-Claude Laurent's heavy footsteps coming toward you. You must have made a mistake, yet you were sure of your actions. When Pierre-Claude stopped in front of you, he stared down at your form with his arms folded over his chest. His dark gaze flicked all over your body and the pose you were in. After a few seconds of silence, he opened his mouth to speak, his voice being quite flat. 'Are you trying to fall asleep while doing your plié, or are you actually trying to get the pose correct?' He asked sternly. You opened your eyes, shooking your head at Laurent's question. A few girls chuckled. He shot a cold glare in the direction of the girls, and the laughs ended immediately. The instructor’s attention then returned to you, and he gave a short sigh. His voice was still firm but calmer now, even though he sounded quite frustrated. 'I don’t remember telling you to shut your eyes when doing a plié, mon cher.' You tilted your head forward to apologize. 'Come here.' He ordered in a cold tone, gesturing for you to come over to him with his index finger. When you were close enough to him, Pierre wrapped a hand around your wrist and pulled you even closer so that you were almost pressed up against his chest. His free hand grabbed your chin. Silence in the room. He leaned down until his mouth was next to the your ear, his voice lowering to a rough whispered tone. 'If I see you keeping your eyes shut again, I’ll have to punish you.' He resumed his normal tone. 'Now, get back in line. I’ll be watching you closely.' You joined the end of the line. Then the exercises resumed. Laurent began to walk down the line, analyzing and correcting the other ballerinas. 'You’re going to break your neck if you bend too far back...' He said to Alizée. 'Why is your left leg kicking higher than your right..?' He then tell Béatrice before growling at Angélique. 'Do you want a broken arm? Quit pointing your toe that way...' He scolded various students as he passed by them. He did it almost all the time during his classes, being a pathological perfectionist. As hd continued his stroll down the line, he again stopped himself next to you. He said nothing. He just continued to analyze your every move. 'Stop lifting your head. You aren’t a swan.' Despite the fact that the corners of his lips almost curled up into a slight smile, Pierre Claude kept an overall stoic and stern expression. Though, he did give a nod of approval when the your head re-placed itself correctly. 'Much better...' He responded quietly before moving on down the line again. His cologne intoxicated you throughout the class...

At the break, the girls were chatting as usual. Most of them were gossiping about the latest drama or whatever was the current topic. However, a handful of them were looking at you, talking amongst themselves with subtle giggles. Pierre Claude was nearby, though he stayed quite a good distance away from the girls. He was tempted to roll his eyes at their behavior. The man narrowed his eyes as he heard theses magpies talking about you. 'I think Mr. Laurent likes that boy a lot, don’t he?' That was an understatement. He was obsessed.