Fiorentina
I got the part. I had become Giselle. In the process, I became Dalia Forsky. I could feel it in the strange looks I had gotten as soon as I put on the costume. There were awed whispers as I walked around near the stage before the performance began for the day.
“You’re beautiful,” said a fellow ballerina. It made me wonder what her standards were. She herself was stunning, a little pixie with pale blonde hair. She was about sixteen or so. Her name was Lila.
“Thank you.”
I noticed that other people stared openly. I wondered if they were just wondering how a stranger like me could suddenly simply enter the theater doors and become the prima ballerina.
“Did she pay Madame Sophie? Is she another royal trying to become a star?”
“S-she looks like the dead ballerina. Oh my.”
“
