Midnight struck with twelve resonant chimes from the antique grandfather clock in the east gallery. Inside the private ballet studio of Vivienne’s suite, the only sound was the rhythmic, soft thud of satin pointe shoes striking the sprung oak floor and the sharp, ragged intake of Vivienne’s breath. She had been dancing for three hours straight. She wore a simple black rehearsal leotard that hugged the lithe, muscular lines of…
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