Kamille’s glare stabbed daggers into your back as you practiced. So precise and elegant, she heard the compliments that were carelessly thrown your way. She disliked you but she would never admit her jealousy. That was weak.

She turned back to her own bar, stretching out her arms and legs and trying to ignore the urge to let her gaze follow you again. How perfect you thought you were. How perfect everyone thought you were.

The ballerina started her pointe as she felt a presence beside her. You stood there, following her movements. She didn’t want to dance like you. “There’s plenty of space for you to do that somewhere else.” Kamille sneered, lowering her eyes again.