The Swan Queen's Requiem
The sharp stench of antiseptic clung to the hospital room.
I lay on the cold, unyielding bed, my body torn apart by pain—but the deeper agony was the hollow wound in my chest.
My right foot was wrapped in thick bandages, the blood seeping through in blotches shaped like bruised blossoms.
A plaster brace locked my left shoulder and back in place, leaving me motionless.
The monitor beeped steadily, as if mocking me by reminding me I was still alive.
The door clicked open.
Elara walked in, her heels striking the floor like deliberate taunts. Two women, dressed in gaudy, overdone outfits, trailed after her.
Lucian followed last, his expression grim, his eyes darting anywhere but toward me.
She stopped at my bedside, looking down at my bandaged foot with a cruel, almost curious smile.
"Well, well, Ms. Lynelle. What did the doctors say about this foot of yours? Don't tell me you're going to be a cripple for the rest of your life."
The women at her side broke into laughter.
"What a shame! For a ballerina, her feet are everything. Ruin them, and you might as well be dead.
"Wasn't a certain someone used to be touted as the 'Swan's Spirit'? Look at her now—she doesn't even measure up to a limping duck."
The other one waved her phone in front of me with a theatrical flourish.
"Almost forgot to share the news. The final performance of 'Eternal Crown' was a massive hit! The media is calling Lucian and Elara's adaptation a stroke of genius, saying it surpassed the original.
"The internet's buzzing—praise everywhere. Your name? Not even mentioned. Apparently, the 'original version' is just too outdated to matter."
"Eternal Crown" was my life's work, the creation I had poured countless sleepless nights into.
And now they had stolen it, then had the audacity to laugh in my face.
Lucian avoided my eyes, his voice dry. "Astraea, given your condition, we're very sorry, but we have to face reality. We'll terminate your contract in accordance with the law, and you'll receive the standard compensation."
He paused and produced a copy of the agreement.
"Also, we'd like to purchase the copyright to 'Eternal Crown' outright. It's for the continued life of the work and to avoid unnecessary trouble. If you sign, we can negotiate the price."
They were trying to strip away the last piece of my artistic legacy.
Darkness swam at the edges of my vision.
Elara stared at my immobilized, bandaged foot, then slowly lifted her heel. The sharp stiletto tip pressed and dragged across the gauze-wrapped wound.
"Argh!"
A hot, searing pain curled me forward; cold sweat soaked the hospital gown. This wasn't just physical torture. It was the cruelest trampling of a dancer's dignity.
Elara withdrew her foot and smiled, syrup-sweet and poisonous. "Oh, sorry. I didn't see your useless foot."
She leaned down until her face was close to mine, delighting in the distortion pain had carved into my features. "Astraea, you look so pathetic, like a maggot in the mud. I'll give you a chance. Right now, kneel and beg me loudly. Beg me to have mercy. Then…"
She snapped upright, swept her skirt up to her thighs, splayed her legs, and jabbed a finger at herself with a shrill, derisive voice.
"Crawl through here like a dog! Do that, bark like a dog, and maybe I'll be charitable. I can put in a good word for you in front of Lucian so that he'll ask Mr. Ashford to get you sent back to Celestia Ballet to clean toilets. Trash like you can still be reused! Ha!"
Her friends erupted into cruel laughter.
Lucian's fists clenched, and his breathing quickened. "Astraea, it's still an opportunity. Maybe you should agree."
Tears mixed with cold sweat as they slid down my face. I bit my lower lip and tasted blood.
With a single, brutal kick, the heavy oak door flew off its hinges. It slammed against the wall, splinters spraying everywhere.
A voice thundered through the room—cold, furious, like a clap of lightning, wrapped in an implacable chill. "Who has the nerve to lay a hand on my Swan Queen?!"
