.
.
.
The crisp, white snow crunched under my feet as I walked down the streets of Magnolia. The sounds of the bustling city filled my ears as I buried my face further into my scarf. Laughter, murmuring, and the rustling of water as boats navigated the manmade rivers that flowed through the cliffside city echoed off the walls of the buildings.
Kardia Cathedral dominated the skyline from every angle, and I was well aware of the Fairy Tail guildhall situated on the city's outskirts. Despite assuming the appearance of a young adult woman with brown hair, a persistent wave of nervousness enveloped me as I moved through the streets. The presence of both Mirajane and Erza in the city only heightened my unease.
"Come on, you can do it, Lyssa. Just sign up for lessons and get out..."
Hands plunged into my jacket pockets, I strolled down the streets, vigilant, my eyes scanning for a particular studio that matched the flier nestled in my purse. Discovering the lime green stonework building I sought, I paled at the sealed entrance. Just as I was about to read the poster taped to the door, a maternal voice beckoned my attention.
"If you're seeking ballet lessons, you'll have to wait until next year."
When I turned around I was met with a voluptuous woman dressed in warm white clothes. Her blonde hair emerged from underneath a hood to frame a picturesque face with penetrating red eyes. She was holding an umbrella to shield herself from the snowfall.
"Why so?"
"Well, ignoring that Christmas is this weekend, the instructor was in a constant quarrel with one of the students, and the two ended up taking it to the instructor's academy to see who could lead a better class."
"Why would a student argue with a teacher?"
"Disagreement of practice," she said with a shrug, "Madam Bonette seemed to have pushed an easier routine with an emphasis on flair that would put a lot of strain on the body, so much strain that it would leave most of the practitioners debilitatingly injured before they were even middle-aged.
The young Akihiko condemned this practice, which is considered the standard across Ishgar, and pushed for a harder, more artistic style that focused on building the dancer's bodily health in a manner that would support their body instead of crippling it."
For a brief moment, I was taken aback by the possibility of reuniting with someone from Himura but decided to chalk it up to matching names.
"If there's a chance of someone being injured and being unable to continue dancing, then it shouldn't be an argument. Ballet is a sport, and physical health should be a priority. A practice that encourages health should be the standard, not the other."
"You would think it would be, wouldn't it?" The woman said as she looked towards the sign overhanging the dance studio's door. "The standard of practice must often meet the demand of expectations. And in this age where performances can be recorded, distributed, and sold ballet has become an affront to its former self. Instead of focusing on the emotions and the performance, it has become all about the tricks and stunts that woo and awe the casual consumer.
It's exciting to watch a dancer spin thirty-six times on the spot, but what about the other hour and a half you're in the theatre? Ballet has begun emerging into extremities that go against the fundamentals of artistry!"
I could see her grip tightening around the grip of the umbrella she was holding, her arm flexing with a barely perceptible level of restraint. Even if her face and voice remained largely calm, frustration could be seen behind her eyes.
"In the past forty years, it has become standard practice for a dancer to receive one critical injury every year and a career-ending injury that could handicap them before they're thirty. All of this is simply because it is easier to impress someone by kicking your legs up at a 190 degree angle than it is to portray complex emotions. Humans have begun to destroy one of their more intricate and temporary art forms by pushing the anatomical limits they possess in favour of avalanches of injury.
Listen, demon. If that boy doesn't take over the position of ballet master for this studio, then don't even grace this place with your presence. Humans like Bonette don't deserve the title after turning the dance practice into a sport. And don't ever, ever, make the mistake of calling ballet a sport again."
"Y-yes, ma'am!"
"Good," she said with a thankful smile, "My name is Selene, by the way. Don't be discouraged from pursuing artistic dance, though. Ballet isn't the only form of practice, just don't encourage any fools who teach the modern form you see today. Try sword dancing, for instance. Until we meet again, little demon."
And then she began to walk away while I stared slightly dumbfounded by the circumstance I wandered across. The passion with which Selene spoke temporarily distracted me from the "little demon" and human comments, but by the time I realised them, the woman was long gone.
"It can't be..."
Seeing that there wasn't any reason for me to stay in Magnolia any longer than I needed to, I began to make my way back to Magnolia Station to catch a return ride to Oak Town.
As the day wore on, my attention span dwindled. My thoughts meandered from the prospect of meeting an old acquaintance to the dragoness with an unusual interest in the performing arts, eventually settling on the initial reason I attempted to enroll in a dance class.
Captain Tatsuo.
I could practically hear his voice booming with laughter as he and several other elders drunkenly danced around a barbeque every time the sun went down.
The air would always be filled with the sounds of music and laughter, and the clinking of glasses and gourds a rhythmic accompaniment. In the centre of it all, you'd spot a spirited bear of a man, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm and a mischievous grin playing on his lips.
"Imagine the flame, with its flickerin' and dancin' in the hearth. It's got a life of its own, it does. And here's the thing, when we dance, we're not just movin' our bodies. Nay, we're channelin' the very essence of fire!"
He'd take a swig of his beer, wiping the foam from his beard, before continuing with unabashed passion.
"Look at the way the flames sway and leap, twistin' and turnin'. When we dance, we're mimickin' that sacred dance of the fire. The flick of a foot, the twirl of a partner – it's all like the flames reachin' and stretchin' towards the sky! We're callin' upon the power of the fire, drawin' it into ourselves with every step and spin."
My enthusiastic mentor would lead them all, stumbling into an impromptu jig, his feet tapping energetically on the wooden floor. The rest of the guards, always bemused, would find themselves captivated by the spectacle.
"See, it's like we're callin' forth the ancient spirits of the hearth! The fire, it's not just heat and light; it's a force, a primal energy. And when we dance, we become vessels of that energy. It courses through us like a wildfire, liftin' our spirits and connectin' us to somethin' deeper, somethin' older than time itself!"
Everyone would always exchange amused glances, some nodding in agreement, others chuckling at the sheer exuberance of their intoxicated philosopher. But for that brief moment, as he twirls and stomps with wild abandon, there's a shared sense of connection – a communal celebration of the ancient and fiery magic that resides in the heart of pyromancers and their revelry.
Regrettably, it was a pursuit I could never excel in. It wasn't due to any personal fault, but rather my possession of two left feet – feet that failed to aid my balance when I inadvertently collided with people while lost in thought. The muted thuds of wrapped gifts tumbling into the snow echoed around me and another woman as we accidentally bumped into each other while turning the street corner.
"Oh no, no, no, no! Please don't be damaged!" I heard her plea, her voice filled with concern as she started inspecting a few boxes, delicately shaking them close to her ear. But when I saw her, my breath stopped.
Kneeling before me amidst a sea of white snow and a pile of gifts stood a girl, her unmistakably familiar red hair and brown eyes catching my attention. Clad from neck to toe in armour that she wore with an air of casual ease. "Erza..." escaped from my lips without conscious thought.
"Hm? Oh, I apologize for bumping into you, miss. I couldn't see where I was going," she explained while continuing to inspect the presents. It took me a moment to register her words, and when I did, I felt grateful for the transformation that completely concealed my identity.
Smiling I got down to help her, "No it's my fault. I wasn't paying attention in the slightest. Just leave this mess to me." My arm burst into a whirlwind of violet flame that sprawled across the snowy ground, wrapping around the wrapped boxes before stacking them all together gently. My arm reformed and with a muttering of the word "Hold" the items were all gently held together by a slight invisible force. "Should stay together now, all you'd have to do is give it a light tug to break the magic tension."
"Wow! Um, thank you! This will make carrying it a lot easier!" Erza exclaimed, then delicately lifted the stack of presents, effortlessly concealing her face from view. It was only now that I properly noticed her face, adorned with two brown eyes that shimmered like pristine hydrogoethite.
'So she managed to get an artificial eye, too...'
She effortlessly hoisted the gifts onto her shoulder, ensuring their stability, and grinned with satisfaction at their secure arrangement. "I suppose I should express my gratitude somehow. Oh, there's a cake shop down the road! I'm a loyal customer, so I might be able to sweet-talk them into giving you a discount. Regardless, I can't recommend their strawberry cake enough! It's absolutely divine! Whenever I visit, I usually buy at least ten for myself. Anyway, thanks again, but I have to get home before any of my friends spot me and start prying into what I've got for them!"
"Fufu~ Thanks for the advice," I chuckled, waving her off. "Good luck with keeping them from dropping again!"
"No promises!"
With a smile on my face, I watched as the girl I endured torment with took off in a jog before walking off in the opposite direction.
"That reminds me, I'll have to go shopping soon while the others are out of the house..." The smile never left my face as I remembered the excited look on Erza's face. She seemed so excited about the presents she bought, and so relieved when she found out that her gifts didn't break.
A heavy feeling set in my chest as I was forced to lean against the wall of a building. Quickly, it became harder and harder to breathe. I talked to her. She seemed happy. She seemed content.
'Maybe I should just leave her alone. I shouldn't try to get her help freeing everyone.'
"You don't believe that."
The familiar voice caught me off guard, triggering a deep-seated rage that began to simmer within me. As I gazed ahead, through a hazy yet recognizable image, I saw the figure of my mother, disappointment evident in her eyes.
'Get out of my head.'
"I'm not in your head, dear. I'm in your soul."
'I SAID GET OUT!'
"Only you have the power to do that, but you aren't nearly powerful enough to do so. So let's talk."
Afraid of attracting attention, I moved into the nearest alleyway before I could start screaming in the middle of the street. When I turned around and met the phantasmal figure I didn't hold anything back.
"What the hell do you want from me you stain!?"
"For you to stop disappointing me for one," she replied nonchalantly, "When I saw how dedicated you were to growing stronger, I had dreams of you soaring like an eagle, but all I see is a wounded sparrow stumbling in mediocrity. You've not only disappointed me, but you've also managed to extinguish every flicker of expectation I held for you. It's disheartening to witness such a spectacular descent from potential to perpetual letdown."
"What does that have to do with anything!?"
"Everything," she spat, aggressively encroaching on my personal space. "You act as if your blood is a cursed burden when, in reality, you're the one morphing into a festering source of scorn. You're desperately trying to deny the fundamental essence of your existence—the very reason you can't fully embrace the dark side of your demonic lineage. Instead, you're forcing it to seep out through other, more insidious means. You're giving yourself an excuse that stands against the very stereotype I was hoping you'd be the antithesis of."
"And do enlighten me, how am I supposed to trust anything when you've left a trail of destruction, ruining countless lives just to burden me with this damned 'inheritance' of yours?"
"Those innocent souls may reside within you, and their power is at your disposal, but it was I who consumed them. I want you to understand that the atrocity was mine, not yours. I want you to recognize that these actions are my sins to be judged, not yours," Empusa explained, her cold eyes softening with just a hint of warmth. "As you said, 'We all do things we aren't proud of to take care of those we love.'"
"Don't turn my own words against me."
"You can't force me into anything. Because you're weak. Because you're afraid," she said, and her words cut deep, making me flinch. "I genuinely believe that someday you might find a way to release me and all the past bearers of the Aetna title to the afterlife, letting us and the souls we've consumed face judgment, or even to use us to alternative means. But for now, I'm simply waiting for my daughter, who I can't help but feel disappointed in, to gather the courage to connect with the girl she unwittingly transformed into on two separate occasions. I'm waiting for my greatest creation to start rallying allies and take down every Zeref-worshipping cult on this planet and avenge the Ifriti clan. I'm waiting for my precious Alectsa to go and talk to her friend..."
"Don't ever call me by that name. I'm Lyssa Wisteria, not an Ifriti."
"Well, excuse me," the phantom responded, a hint of insult in her tone. In the next instant, she turned around, shook her head in apparent disappointment, and added, "Fine then, 'Lyssa.' Stop with the dance routine and graciously engage in some actual conversation with the girl."
In a veil of mist, she lost form. But not without leaving a few parting words.
"You'll forever remain a demon, that's your unalterable truth. The choice is yours: accept it with some semblance of sense, or let your own foolishness consume you, dragging everything and everyone you love down with it."
I tried my best to ignore her, but what she said about Erza held the truth. I've been cowardly. I've been afraid. Afraid of how different she may be, afraid of how she might look at me.
"But I'll only ever know what she's like by talking to her..."
With a sigh filled with desperation, I let go of my transformation leaving me to dash out of the magic smoke left in the alley and down the street, my heart and anxiety infinitely heavier than my footsteps...
.
.
.
A/N: Seriously, if you practice a form of ballet that puts your physical health at risk, please stop and reconsider your method of practice. For those who want to know, Akihiko will be teaching Ceccheti's Days of the Week.
Also, Empusa and Lyssa's relationship can only be described as one-sided. Empusa cares for Lyssa, but not necessarily in the typical motherly way, more like a general who wants their troops to survive any situation they get thrown in. She feels responsible for all her pain, and wants Lyssa to be strong enough to never have to worry about it again.
And yes, I do have a reason for including Selene so early into the story.
.
.
.
The crisp, white snow crunched under my feet as I walked down the streets of Magnolia. The sounds of the bustling city filled my ears as I buried my face further into my scarf. Laughter, murmuring, and the rustling of water as boats navigated the manmade rivers that flowed through the cliffside city echoed off the walls of the buildings.
Kardia Cathedral dominated the skyline from every angle, and I was well aware of the Fairy Tail guildhall situated on the city's outskirts. Despite assuming the appearance of a young adult woman with brown hair, a persistent wave of nervousness enveloped me as I moved through the streets. The presence of both Mirajane and Erza in the city only heightened my unease.
"Come on, you can do it, Lyssa. Just sign up for lessons and get out..."
Hands plunged into my jacket pockets, I strolled down the streets, vigilant, my eyes scanning for a particular studio that matched the flier nestled in my purse. Discovering the lime green stonework building I sought, I paled at the sealed entrance. Just as I was about to read the poster taped to the door, a maternal voice beckoned my attention.
"If you're seeking ballet lessons, you'll have to wait until next year."
When I turned around I was met with a voluptuous woman dressed in warm white clothes. Her blonde hair emerged from underneath a hood to frame a picturesque face with penetrating red eyes. She was holding an umbrella to shield herself from the snowfall.
"Why so?"
"Well, ignoring that Christmas is this weekend, the instructor was in a constant quarrel with one of the students, and the two ended up taking it to the instructor's academy to see who could lead a better class."
"Why would a student argue with a teacher?"
"Disagreement of practice," she said with a shrug, "Madam Bonette seemed to have pushed an easier routine with an emphasis on flair that would put a lot of strain on the body, so much strain that it would leave most of the practitioners debilitatingly injured before they were even middle-aged.
The young Akihiko condemned this practice, which is considered the standard across Ishgar, and pushed for a harder, more artistic style that focused on building the dancer's bodily health in a manner that would support their body instead of crippling it."
For a brief moment, I was taken aback by the possibility of reuniting with someone from Himura but decided to chalk it up to matching names.
"If there's a chance of someone being injured and being unable to continue dancing, then it shouldn't be an argument. Ballet is a sport, and physical health should be a priority. A practice that encourages health should be the standard, not the other."
"You would think it would be, wouldn't it?" The woman said as she looked towards the sign overhanging the dance studio's door. "The standard of practice must often meet the demand of expectations. And in this age where performances can be recorded, distributed, and sold ballet has become an affront to its former self. Instead of focusing on the emotions and the performance, it has become all about the tricks and stunts that woo and awe the casual consumer.
It's exciting to watch a dancer spin thirty-six times on the spot, but what about the other hour and a half you're in the theatre? Ballet has begun emerging into extremities that go against the fundamentals of artistry!"
I could see her grip tightening around the grip of the umbrella she was holding, her arm flexing with a barely perceptible level of restraint. Even if her face and voice remained largely calm, frustration could be seen behind her eyes.
"In the past forty years, it has become standard practice for a dancer to receive one critical injury every year and a career-ending injury that could handicap them before they're thirty. All of this is simply because it is easier to impress someone by kicking your legs up at a 190 degree angle than it is to portray complex emotions. Humans have begun to destroy one of their more intricate and temporary art forms by pushing the anatomical limits they possess in favour of avalanches of injury.
Listen, demon. If that boy doesn't take over the position of ballet master for this studio, then don't even grace this place with your presence. Humans like Bonette don't deserve the title after turning the dance practice into a sport. And don't ever, ever, make the mistake of calling ballet a sport again."
"Y-yes, ma'am!"
"Good," she said with a thankful smile, "My name is Selene, by the way. Don't be discouraged from pursuing artistic dance, though. Ballet isn't the only form of practice, just don't encourage any fools who teach the modern form you see today. Try sword dancing, for instance. Until we meet again, little demon."
And then she began to walk away while I stared slightly dumbfounded by the circumstance I wandered across. The passion with which Selene spoke temporarily distracted me from the "little demon" and human comments, but by the time I realised them, the woman was long gone.
"It can't be..."
Seeing that there wasn't any reason for me to stay in Magnolia any longer than I needed to, I began to make my way back to Magnolia Station to catch a return ride to Oak Town.
As the day wore on, my attention span dwindled. My thoughts meandered from the prospect of meeting an old acquaintance to the dragoness with an unusual interest in the performing arts, eventually settling on the initial reason I attempted to enroll in a dance class.
Captain Tatsuo.
I could practically hear his voice booming with laughter as he and several other elders drunkenly danced around a barbeque every time the sun went down.
The air would always be filled with the sounds of music and laughter, and the clinking of glasses and gourds a rhythmic accompaniment. In the centre of it all, you'd spot a spirited bear of a man, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm and a mischievous grin playing on his lips.
"Imagine the flame, with its flickerin' and dancin' in the hearth. It's got a life of its own, it does. And here's the thing, when we dance, we're not just movin' our bodies. Nay, we're channelin' the very essence of fire!"
He'd take a swig of his beer, wiping the foam from his beard, before continuing with unabashed passion.
"Look at the way the flames sway and leap, twistin' and turnin'. When we dance, we're mimickin' that sacred dance of the fire. The flick of a foot, the twirl of a partner – it's all like the flames reachin' and stretchin' towards the sky! We're callin' upon the power of the fire, drawin' it into ourselves with every step and spin."
My enthusiastic mentor would lead them all, stumbling into an impromptu jig, his feet tapping energetically on the wooden floor. The rest of the guards, always bemused, would find themselves captivated by the spectacle.
"See, it's like we're callin' forth the ancient spirits of the hearth! The fire, it's not just heat and light; it's a force, a primal energy. And when we dance, we become vessels of that energy. It courses through us like a wildfire, liftin' our spirits and connectin' us to somethin' deeper, somethin' older than time itself!"
Everyone would always exchange amused glances, some nodding in agreement, others chuckling at the sheer exuberance of their intoxicated philosopher. But for that brief moment, as he twirls and stomps with wild abandon, there's a shared sense of connection – a communal celebration of the ancient and fiery magic that resides in the heart of pyromancers and their revelry.
Regrettably, it was a pursuit I could never excel in. It wasn't due to any personal fault, but rather my possession of two left feet – feet that failed to aid my balance when I inadvertently collided with people while lost in thought. The muted thuds of wrapped gifts tumbling into the snow echoed around me and another woman as we accidentally bumped into each other while turning the street corner.
"Oh no, no, no, no! Please don't be damaged!" I heard her plea, her voice filled with concern as she started inspecting a few boxes, delicately shaking them close to her ear. But when I saw her, my breath stopped.
Kneeling before me amidst a sea of white snow and a pile of gifts stood a girl, her unmistakably familiar red hair and brown eyes catching my attention. Clad from neck to toe in armour that she wore with an air of casual ease. "Erza..." escaped from my lips without conscious thought.
"Hm? Oh, I apologize for bumping into you, miss. I couldn't see where I was going," she explained while continuing to inspect the presents. It took me a moment to register her words, and when I did, I felt grateful for the transformation that completely concealed my identity.
Smiling I got down to help her, "No it's my fault. I wasn't paying attention in the slightest. Just leave this mess to me." My arm burst into a whirlwind of violet flame that sprawled across the snowy ground, wrapping around the wrapped boxes before stacking them all together gently. My arm reformed and with a muttering of the word "Hold" the items were all gently held together by a slight invisible force. "Should stay together now, all you'd have to do is give it a light tug to break the magic tension."
"Wow! Um, thank you! This will make carrying it a lot easier!" Erza exclaimed, then delicately lifted the stack of presents, effortlessly concealing her face from view. It was only now that I properly noticed her face, adorned with two brown eyes that shimmered like pristine hydrogoethite.
'So she managed to get an artificial eye, too...'
She effortlessly hoisted the gifts onto her shoulder, ensuring their stability, and grinned with satisfaction at their secure arrangement. "I suppose I should express my gratitude somehow. Oh, there's a cake shop down the road! I'm a loyal customer, so I might be able to sweet-talk them into giving you a discount. Regardless, I can't recommend their strawberry cake enough! It's absolutely divine! Whenever I visit, I usually buy at least ten for myself. Anyway, thanks again, but I have to get home before any of my friends spot me and start prying into what I've got for them!"
"Fufu~ Thanks for the advice," I chuckled, waving her off. "Good luck with keeping them from dropping again!"
"No promises!"
With a smile on my face, I watched as the girl I endured torment with took off in a jog before walking off in the opposite direction.
"That reminds me, I'll have to go shopping soon while the others are out of the house..." The smile never left my face as I remembered the excited look on Erza's face. She seemed so excited about the presents she bought, and so relieved when she found out that her gifts didn't break.
A heavy feeling set in my chest as I was forced to lean against the wall of a building. Quickly, it became harder and harder to breathe. I talked to her. She seemed happy. She seemed content.
'Maybe I should just leave her alone. I shouldn't try to get her help freeing everyone.'
"You don't believe that."
The familiar voice caught me off guard, triggering a deep-seated rage that began to simmer within me. As I gazed ahead, through a hazy yet recognizable image, I saw the figure of my mother, disappointment evident in her eyes.
'Get out of my head.'
"I'm not in your head, dear. I'm in your soul."
'I SAID GET OUT!'
"Only you have the power to do that, but you aren't nearly powerful enough to do so. So let's talk."
Afraid of attracting attention, I moved into the nearest alleyway before I could start screaming in the middle of the street. When I turned around and met the phantasmal figure I didn't hold anything back.
"What the hell do you want from me you stain!?"
"For you to stop disappointing me for one," she replied nonchalantly, "When I saw how dedicated you were to growing stronger, I had dreams of you soaring like an eagle, but all I see is a wounded sparrow stumbling in mediocrity. You've not only disappointed me, but you've also managed to extinguish every flicker of expectation I held for you. It's disheartening to witness such a spectacular descent from potential to perpetual letdown."
"What does that have to do with anything!?"
"Everything," she spat, aggressively encroaching on my personal space. "You act as if your blood is a cursed burden when, in reality, you're the one morphing into a festering source of scorn. You're desperately trying to deny the fundamental essence of your existence—the very reason you can't fully embrace the dark side of your demonic lineage. Instead, you're forcing it to seep out through other, more insidious means. You're giving yourself an excuse that stands against the very stereotype I was hoping you'd be the antithesis of."
"And do enlighten me, how am I supposed to trust anything when you've left a trail of destruction, ruining countless lives just to burden me with this damned 'inheritance' of yours?"
"Those innocent souls may reside within you, and their power is at your disposal, but it was I who consumed them. I want you to understand that the atrocity was mine, not yours. I want you to recognize that these actions are my sins to be judged, not yours," Empusa explained, her cold eyes softening with just a hint of warmth. "As you said, 'We all do things we aren't proud of to take care of those we love.'"
"Don't turn my own words against me."
"You can't force me into anything. Because you're weak. Because you're afraid," she said, and her words cut deep, making me flinch. "I genuinely believe that someday you might find a way to release me and all the past bearers of the Aetna title to the afterlife, letting us and the souls we've consumed face judgment, or even to use us to alternative means. But for now, I'm simply waiting for my daughter, who I can't help but feel disappointed in, to gather the courage to connect with the girl she unwittingly transformed into on two separate occasions. I'm waiting for my greatest creation to start rallying allies and take down every Zeref-worshipping cult on this planet and avenge the Ifriti clan. I'm waiting for my precious Alectsa to go and talk to her friend..."
"Don't ever call me by that name. I'm Lyssa Wisteria, not an Ifriti."
"Well, excuse me," the phantom responded, a hint of insult in her tone. In the next instant, she turned around, shook her head in apparent disappointment, and added, "Fine then, 'Lyssa.' Stop with the dance routine and graciously engage in some actual conversation with the girl."
In a veil of mist, she lost form. But not without leaving a few parting words.
"You'll forever remain a demon, that's your unalterable truth. The choice is yours: accept it with some semblance of sense, or let your own foolishness consume you, dragging everything and everyone you love down with it."
I tried my best to ignore her, but what she said about Erza held the truth. I've been cowardly. I've been afraid. Afraid of how different she may be, afraid of how she might look at me.
"But I'll only ever know what she's like by talking to her..."
With a sigh filled with desperation, I let go of my transformation leaving me to dash out of the magic smoke left in the alley and down the street, my heart and anxiety infinitely heavier than my footsteps...
.
.
.
A/N: Seriously, if you practice a form of ballet that puts your physical health at risk, please stop and reconsider your method of practice. For those who want to know, Akihiko will be teaching Ceccheti's Days of the Week.
Also, Empusa and Lyssa's relationship can only be described as one-sided. Empusa cares for Lyssa, but not necessarily in the typical motherly way, more like a general who wants their troops to survive any situation they get thrown in. She feels responsible for all her pain, and wants Lyssa to be strong enough to never have to worry about it again.
And yes, I do have a reason for including Selene so early into the story.
