It was Christmastime, and London was freezing. A lacy coverlet of snow had fallen, not promising to stay but whispering of cold, exciting nights under the stars and the inky blue sky. It felt like magic was in the air, sweet, playful magic that promised to work its forces on every single person in the Estate Theater.

None of us noticed the creeping darkness, slowly bleeding in through the brick building, its cold, claw-like tendrils enticing me to join the dark side. 

It was a freezing night. In the dressing room at the back of the theater, it was too warm though, the air thick and fragrant with the scent of flowers and the room filled with noise. It was a Friday night, well past midnight, and the crew had collapsed in remarkably good moods after their first performance of The Nutcracker.

I fell back into a chair, a sigh leaving my lips as I kicked off my ballet shoes. I was ecstatic, high on our success and dazzled by my performance. I had done more than well, and for the first time, I had managed to thoroughly impress my trainer, Madame Dugare. She was harsh on me, always urging me to do more, jump higher, try harder. And I gave it my all, sometimes wondering when it would pay off. Every vestige of my power went into dancing, every coin I made towards costumes and training. I lived for it, lived for the dance and the exquisite beauty I felt permeating my body as I stood center stage, en pointe and with my thick lashes open to reveal the crowd. 

Oh, the crowd... I lived for them too, every single person in the audience, their applause, their cheers, their inability to look away.

Mummy used to call me a dancer when I was a little girl. 

She said she knew I'd be dancing under the stars, among them, and finally, becoming one as I stepped front and center, my eyes bright with dreams and my body poised, trained to perfection. 

For a long time, I thought I was doing this for her. The dancing, the life - no personal contacts, knowing no-one but the people connected to the business. Devoting my whole life to dance, to ballet, letting the stunning art shape me into a person.

Other times, when I was feeling low, I wondered what Mummy would think if she saw me now.

With blistered, broken feet, and a body so thin it looked emaciated. With hair that shone like gold and big blue eyes that seemed manic when I danced. 

What would she think of the girl I had become?

But it didn't matter either way now. I was a success, I felt on top of the world, and by tomorrow, I would be joining a more prominent ballet. There was no way they wouldn't take me after seeing this performance. The critics were left speechless.

"Harlow!" 

I raised my eyes, thick with eyeshadow and fake lashes, towards the bent woman approaching me.

"Madame," I said excitedly, standing up on my weary feet, my eyes sparkling as they connected with her dark brown gaze.

"I spoke to a scout from The Great Russian Ballet," she whispered, and my consciousness fought the exciting information, coming in panicked, anxious waves and hitting me as I almost passed out. I hadn't eaten in days. I needed to fit my costume. I needed this dream to happen, and I needed to be a star.

"And?" I begged, my voice so desperate I almost felt ashamed of myself.

"And they loved you," she said solemnly. "I gave them your number, but I didn't let them come back here."

"Madame!" I whimpered. "It could be my only chance! How could you!"

She started to answer, but I didn't wait for her explanation, turning around instead with a desperate flourish and letting out a cry of protest. Just then, the Theater receptionist showed up with a bright smile and urged several employees in, each of them carrying a bigger vase of flowers.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, approaching the giant bouquets.

I'd never gotten flowers before that day.

They kept on coming, bringing gorgeous white roses, velvety peonies, pretty daisies, orchids. So many flowers, to join the ones already filling the room. Except now they weren't meant to say 'good luck.' Now, they were here to congratulate me on the job I would surely be awarded for my flawless performance.

I flitted from bouquet to bouquet, trying to decide which one was my favorite, when the receptionist cleared his throat. Turning around, I surveyed him, urging him to go on. He held out his hand with a single red rose between his gloved fingers. It was beautiful, thick velvet petals forming a perfect bud, the color a light blush pink. Dewdrops glistened on the leaves. It was beautiful.

"Only one?" I asked, jutting out my bottom lip.

“Yes, but-“ he started, but I cut him off.

“Never mind,” I said. “Better than nothing.”

The receptionist laughed nervously, shrugging as he said, "Some gentleman just brought it over. He's seen your performance I take it. Congratulations, Miss Granger. It was truly out of this world. I was so impressed by-"

"Thank you," I replied with an icy smile, my attention already elsewhere. "You can put the rose on my dressing table if you'd like."

I turned my back on him, feeling his surprise at the rejection as I sauntered back towards the rest of the cast. He was disappointed, of course, and any other day, I never would have treated him that way. But a mere few hours ago, I was Harlow Granger, the girl next door who was always living from month to month, barely covering her expenses to pursue a stupid dream. And now, with the ballet behind me, I was someone. A beautiful, talented dancer with nothing but a bright future ahead.

Madame was gone by the time my attention snapped back, and my lips pursed in annoyance. She was supposed to be by my side, apologizing profusely for letting the agent get away. Hopefully, she was gone to try and convince them to give me another shot. The Great Russian Ballet had always been a dream of mine, and I wanted desperately to be a part of it.

Still, it was near impossible to put a dampener on my mood. I was excited, the adrenaline rush from the ballet still coursing through my veins. And my girls' spirit was the same. The room was filled with giggling and excited laughter, and someone started passing around cigarettes even though they were strictly forbidden in the dressing rooms. I stared at the cancer stick when it reached me, wondering whether I should do it, break my rules for once and have some fun.

I took a long drag on the cigarette, and my friend Amber lost it when I started choking the next second. The smoke was thick and cloying, and I stuck my tongue out with the unpleasantness of it.

"This is horrible!" I announced. "I don't know how you can stand it."

"I heard it keeps you skinny," Amber grinned wide. She wasn’t smoking herself. We wouldn’t have let her. She was only thirteen. 

We spent the next several hours in the dressing rooms. Most of us were too young to go out to a bar, and I knew my figure meant I looked even younger than my eighteen years. Besides, there was nowhere I would have wanted to be but in the company of people who'd worked with me on the ballet. It had been such a fantastic success, and I wanted the feeling of being loved to last a lifetime.

"I have to get home," Amber said a quarter to three a.m.

"Nooo," I whined. "Please stay a little while longer."

"They’ll be waiting for me," she said apologetically. "You know I'm happy for you, Harlow, but I have to work to do. You'll get an offer tomorrow, I'm sure of it. But for me..." She shrugged. “I just had a small part today. I need to keep working toward my goal.”

"I understand," I mumbled, flushing lightly and suddenly feeling embarrassed about the way I'd acted.

Especially with that receptionist earlier. I'd been a royal bitch when he'd done nothing to deserve that kind of treatment. God, this was already going to my head.

I gave Amber a quick embrace and promised to call her with any news and developments the next day.

I felt sorry for her, knowing that I'd gotten off lucky because Madame wanted to teach me herself, only accepting the paltry sum I made as a waitress for my training. I'd treated her too harshly too, but I'd just been too excited to worry about anyone else.

"I'll see you soon," I called after her, and Amber waved me off as she disappeared down the hallway and into the cold, snowy night.

There were only a couple of girls left, and we started passing around a bottle of Becherovka, a Czech drink one of the understudies had pinched from her parents. She told us the whole story, and I found myself giggling over her antics while pretending to like the sharp, cinnamon flavor. It was disgusting, but it was the first drink I'd ever had, and I wanted to savor it.

The girls started dropping like flies, leaving one by one until I was begging Carina, the last girl around, to stay until we finished the bottle. But she was adamant - she had to go home. She'd danced as Clara that night, technically a more significant role than my own Sugarplum Fairy, but everyone in the theater knew I'd outshined her.

Still, I didn’t want her to go. It would mean the night would be over, and I'd have to head home myself. It was time to say goodbye to the magical evening.

I said goodbye to Carina with tears in my eyes and sat down on a chair in front of the giant lit up mirror as she gathered her things and left. My reflection stared back at me as I reached for the makeup remover, lathering a cotton wool pad with cleansing milk and wiping away at my face. My lashes came off, then the lipstick. The thick paints, foundation, blusher, mascara, everything off, revealing my porcelain pale skin underneath, smattered with freckles. I wasn't drop dead stunning, but I consoled myself that all that mattered was that I was a dancer. My body and the things it could do made up for my too-turned-up nose, my too-full lips and my too-hooded eyes. At least my lashes were thick and dark, and I had decent eyebrows to go with my blonde hair. Most of the other girls had to pencil theirs in.

I didn't stop until all the makeup was gone. Then I tossed the cotton pads away and changed out of my beautiful, glittering costume into a plain skirt and turtleneck. I pulled on some tights and added my thick wool coat, bundling up with a scarf and my gloves in my hand. I looked miles away from the glamorous ballerina who had danced center stage that night. Now, I was just a little girl with a dream. But not for long. Soon, my fantasies would become a reality.

Starting for the exit, I regretted leaving all those bouquets there to wilt. My eyes came to rest on the single, plump pink rose lying in front of the mirror. I wrapped my fingers around it and gasped when it pricked me, a fat, bloody drop running down my thumb where I'd touched the thorn. I stared at it, then sucked on my thumb and glared at the rose. I couldn't leave it behind though, something telling me to take it with me.

My gloves were smooth pink leather, inherited from my grandmother, and I slipped them one before taking the rose in my hands again. It was coming with me, but it wasn't going to hurt me again.

As soon as I stepped outside through the back door, the cold air hit me like a force to be reckoned with, icy and frightening in how freezing it was. I shivered under the light of the streetlamp, my feet leaving prints in the fresh snow as I made my way towards home. It was about twenty minutes away, and I was considering being naughty and just calling a cab to take me home. It had been a long night.

But I had no cash, and I'd need the money to pay my rent - if everything went according to plan, the last time I did for the shitty apartment I lived in. Hopefully, by next month, I'd be living in a gorgeous new place with a new job, too.

The street was deserted, and it should have been comforting, knowing there was no one out to get me, but instead, I felt fear seeping through my pores and filling me with an urge to run. But there was no one around, no one to hurt me or do me any harm. I just needed to brave the weather and the empty city and get a move on.

I put some distance between myself and the theater, the bright lights slowly moving farther and farther away until only the nightlamps remained, lighting up the rest of my journey. My steps were brisk and hurried, and I rushed home, thinking about what awaited me. A lonely, cold apartment where I'd turned off the heating to save some money. An empty fridge and very few coffee grounds for the next morning, since I'd been too broke to get some more. But all of it was bound to change, and a smile tugged the corners of my lips upwards as I thought about my bright future.

Stepping off the main street, I decided to cut a corner to get home and warm up faster.

It was a decision I'd regret moments later.

I heard footsteps behind me, only a few. 

I turned around with my eyes panicked, scanning the empty street in search of a stranger. But there was nobody there. A sigh of relief fell from my lips, and I turned back towards my destination, but now my path was suddenly blocked by a tall, looming figure standing in front of me. The rose fell from my gloved fingers, breaking when it hit the ground.

"God!" I cried out. "You scared me, I-"

I didn't get to finish my sentence. He knocked me out with a single punch and my body crumbled to the ground, barely conscious but panicking, adrenaline surging and begging my body to fight back. I never got the chance to do that, and never even got to see the man who took me. He wore a hood, but I could tell he was impossibly tall and broad. I would never have been able to escape. A small consolation, knowing that I hadn't even tried.

"P-please," I muttered, and he reached for me, my battered body screaming in protest as he sank a needle in my neck. "No!"

The last thing I saw was him picking up the rose I’d dropped when he attacked me. Its bud was intact, but the stem had broken, hanging down sadly as if it were observing me struggling on the ground. The man twirled it between his fingers, seemingly not caring about the thorns.

“I like broken things,” he muttered in a dark, deep voice.

I blinked, my eyelids heavy with sleep. I needed sleep. I needed to rest.

And then darkness took over. The same soft, calming darkness I felt when I slept, a darkness that held a promise of pain and beauty.

I let it pull me under.