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As soon as Olwyn walked into the studio, the lights flickered. A reminder of the rumors and old legends that took over the town years ago. She didn't fully believe in the legends, and so paid little attention to the rumors. Most of the dance community is superstitious to the ninth, but the dancers in her town took it to the next level.Reality was a better plane of existence for Olwyn to exist on most of the time. Growing up in a town as old as this, legends were engrained into the very foundation of the buildings. That being said, when everything ties into a legend, or an old story from before you were born, it becomes easier to ignore. The seventh of a seventh, Olwyn grew up hearing everything that could be considered a legend and then some. A family as old as the soil on her well-worn boots, the same magic that flowed through the country flowed in her veins and her sisters; and no one ever let her forget it.Dropping her bag at the barre and moving to put on her pointe shoes, Olwyn noticed the lights in the studio had fully gone out.
Shaking her head and moving to the windows, she opened the curtains, allowing the last rays of sunlight to filter in and dance along the polished floors.
As the soft sounds of a violin filled the air, Olwyn turned with the music and allowed herself to exist in space, going through the movements of a routine she knew as well as the color of her eyes or the view of the Loch from her bedroom window. Unaware that the ghosts had joined her. In the mirror, the reflection of a group of dancers swayed. They were swirling and twirling in perfect unison, their movements graceful and fluid. Olwyn moved in perfect time with them, a replica of the dancers from the past. Everyone knew the old legends, dancers who’d died in various time periods stuck in the mirror glass, unable to move on into the next realm, but no one had ever seen them or been able to figure out *how* they got stuck. Whenever Olwyn allowed herself to think about it, she imagined it would require a fair bit of magic but had never been able to piece the hows and perhaps, more importantly, the whys of how the dancers had been trapped. The final notes of music hung in the air as Olwyn held the final pose, turning toward the glass just in time to see the reflected dancers vanish back into the glass leaving her reflection staring back at her.
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The seventh of the seventh, Olwyn was used to pressure. From the beginning, her family expected certain things from her that were simply not asked of her sisters. They had planned her life since day one; the only thing she could call her own was dance.And so, for four hours a day, every day, since she was old enough to decide that was what she wanted to do, Olwyn spent more time in the haunted studio than almost anywhere else.The old building was held together with spite, Madame doing her best to keep it close to the original design while ensuring it was a safe space to dance in. While most of the town had been updated to match the modern era, the studio had been around since before the blitz; originally serving as a bank, it now housed the studio and a small apartment upstairs.Black and white marble flooring led through the main hall, with a sweeping staircase leading to the second floor. The various dance classrooms were a mixture of old and new, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and sprung wooden floors adding a more modern touch while the variety of grand pianos and chandeliers scattered in each room lent itself to ages past.Olwyn loved it.*************************************Madame ran a tight ship, training her dancers to be the best and expecting nothing less than perfection. Strict but fair, the elderly French woman was rumored to have danced with some of the greatest in Europe before becoming a teacher. Olwyn adored her.Her opinion was absolute and her judgment swift, but she treated the dancers like her own. Her cane tapped in time with the music as she corrected her class, her long grey hair scraped back in a tightly braided bun; she still looked every bit a prima ballerina." Un, Deux, Trois, Un, Deux, Trois, ladies, this is graceful, yes? Fix your shoulders."Olwyn and several other girls adjusted their posture as they started the final section of the piece they were working on. As they entered the final turn section, Madame's cane still tapping, Olwyn saw that the ghosts from before were back.The same phantom dancers, varying in dress but all in sync, seemed to float in time with the music playing. As Olwyn watched from the corner of her eye, they mirrored her class while also adding their steps, their skirts swirling as they moved; their pointe shoes shining in the light of the mirrors. As the final music notes hung in the air and faded into nothing, so did the dancers in the mirror.As the class wrapped up, Madame called for Olwyn to stay behind " Just a moment Cherie"Olwyn paused in gathering her coat and waited for the rest of the class to file out. While most within the dance world would consider staying to eavesdrop; Madame disavowed that behavior and dealt with it harshly. The girls in the studio all knew to file out quietly and to leave the halls quickly before a conversation with another student and their instructor began, lest they be accused of spiteful intentions."Yes, Madame?" Olwyn spoke softly but knew she had been heard. "You have been distracted in my class. Can you tell me why? Is your work not enticing enough?"Madame tapped her cane softly as she spoke to Olwyn, her sharp eyes not missing the way that Olwyn seemed to flinch away from her gaze."Non Madame! Truth, something has been on my mind, but is not my intention to be unfocused in your courses." Olwyn's Scottish accent clashed with the French words as she spoke, her red curls sliding out of her bun to frame her face as she shook her head.Madame looked down her nose at Olwyn, studying her before she spoke. " You know that you are welcome in my parlor anytime, Mon Cher, but do know your distraction takes away from your learning." Nodding to the door and tapping her cane as she spoke. "You are dismissed." Madame seemed to float as she left the room and made her way to the staircase. Olwyn stood frozen; her dance bag at her feet, her sweater half on and her pointe shoes half off. How on all the gods was she to explain to Madame that she was seeing ghosts in the mirrors? That they only seemed to show themselves to her? That the family curse seemed to be real, and she was seeing things not actually there? That, as the seventh, she was running out of time to escape the future her family had envisioned? Shaking herself free of her thoughts, Olwyn quickly readied herself to leave the studio, turning the lights out as she moved through the old building. As she moved towards the doors, something in her bones urged her to stop. Sure that she had locked all the necessary doors and gathered all of her things she paused to double-check everything once more. Fishing her studio keys out of her pocket she turned towards the entry mirror, promptly dropping her keys; Olwyn nearly shrieked in shock. The ghost was back.