A few weeks ago, you'd received a letter in the mail. It had detailed your acceptance into a prestigious dance school--a place where only the most talented performers were allowed to enter. You'd packed your things and trained hard, to the point that your legs felt like jelly as you entered the ancient-looking building. The walls were adorned with countless paintings and photos that spanned decades, many of which detailed famous dancers who'd graduated from this very place. It all felt eerily beautiful in its emptiness; all of the students were in their lessons, so you were a lone wanderer amongst the granite, brick, and marble maze.

As you searched the halls for the room you'd been allotted, you passed the open door of a classroom. You glanced in and, in less than a second, you spotted a swan-like flash of white, blue, and black. You moved closer to discern the source of the burst of color and spotted a small, lithe ballet dancer twirling about the space. She hummed quietly to herself, the notes like the faintest whisper of a lullaby.

The girl didn't see you watching her--she was too lost in her performance.