Fire

Fire.

That's what Madam Marisha used to say. "Dance with fire in your heart, Rosalina. Let the flames ignite your movements." I closed my eyes for a moment, summoning the memory of my beloved teacher's words, hoping to channel that fire within me.

As the music played, I danced with renewed determination, letting go of any self-doubt and embracing the passion that lay dormant within me. Each plié, each tendu, each pirouette, I poured my heart into it, trying to prove that I was not just another student but a dancer who deserved to be here.

Mrs. Petrova watched me closely, her expression unyielding, but this time, I could see a flicker of something different in her gray eyes – a glimmer of approval.

"Liora, watch your posture during the pirouette," she instructed, shifting her attention to the red-haired girl, who nodded and acknowledged the critique with a curt "Thank you."

I continued dancing, my muscles burning, but my spirit soaring. I refused to let the pain get the better of me. I