Out on the rink he looked natural, as if he was meant to be on ice. Both of Blanc’s skates moved fluidly, not one foot out of place.

Every jump, turn and balance was done with equal grace and perfection. With his posture held, and fingers pointed, he effortlessly glided across ice.

Blanc’s hair seemed to float around him, like snow in winter, as the air blew past his face. He was almost ethereal.