She was from the north, she said. I could hear it in her voice and in her laugh. The school she went to was apparently in a rough town. One of those sprawling post-industrial giants of the north - sleepy yet also throbbing with menace. The school, however, was really posh. It was one of those fancy dance schools gated off from the urban rot and protected by a buffer of extremely well-kept lawns. From what I gathered, there was just as much suffering within as there was without. I guess Dante was somewhat right; there are circles to hell.
The teachers told her that she would never make it as a ballet dancer since she was overweight. I looked at her arms which were thin but basically just muscle. Everything about her seemed lean and even her skin seemed taut. Strong, yet strained - incredibly so.
She tried to escape once. I don't blame her. She told me she went through a phase where she snuck out and went searching for something in the city after the sun set. She said she drank and danced until she could forget where she was. When she was telling me this she broke eye contact with me and stared in between her feet with a slight frown on her face like she was seeing a reflection in a hall of mirrors.