Taking a deep breath, slowly she stood on the tip of her toes. As the pianist’s fingers started moving gracefully over the piano keys, her feet moved with even more grace, gliding across the room as though she was a maple leaf that is flying in the autumn wind. The air around her kissed her cheeks as she twirled in the center of the room, her arms holding the empty space in front of her as though holding onto a long lost lover. Even with her closed eyes, she could feel gaze of all that were present in the dance room, but she only cared for the chords playing from the corner of the room. A sense of calmness took place in her heart with each twirl and jump that she did, as though the world had disappeared entirely and all that is left is she and the music.

The song started towards its end and slowly she opened her eyes. She knew it was now her chance to do the perfect spin on but just one toe, something her ballet teacher had been saying she needed to work on and she had been working on it for weeks. With her chin held high and arms embracing the air, she twirled and the room spins with her. The faces of her fellow dancers that were standing by the wall with her teacher seemed like a blur, but something out of the group was standing there as well. Something whom when she saw she fell on the floor with a frightened gasp, tarnishing all the effort she had put on practicing this twirl, all the while twisting her foot which made her cry out in pain. The pianist, Jackson, stopped the chords and rushed towards her, as did the dancers and the teacher. However, as she held her foot in pain, she cared for none of them; her eyes stayed glued to the hazy unmoving figure that was standing by the wall. Its face was burnt and melted from one side and was covered in mud and blood, so was his ragged attire. His bare feet were bleeding, leaving stains on the wooden floor of the dance-room.

No one saw the figure though as they circled around her sitting form on the floor. Ignorant to the group, she kept her fearful gaze on that figure, as it kept its gaze on her. Her ballet teacher took hold on her foot and this abrupt act distracted her from the distorted man.

“It’s not broken, thankfully,” The teacher, Mrs. Roswell said as she examined Fleur’s foot, “There is a strain though, and the swelling would most likely last for a few days.”

A sour expression took place on her soft features that turned even sourer when Mrs. Roswell told her that not everyone could master the move she had just failed to do. As the dancers began to chat with each other, and the teacher stood up and walked away, Fleur slowly turned her head towards where the figure was. Nobody was there now, as nobody ever is whom she sees. There was no bloodstain on the floor either, but the peace she had felt moments ago when she was gliding across the room, was stained, as it always did when such episodes took place. Although her therapist always told her to keep in mind, that the things such as these that she sees are not real, but the terror of them took place in her heart anyway, every single time.

The next two hours went by uneventful; after the teacher wrapped a bandage around her foot, and gave her a painkiller, the only thing Fleur could think of was had she had not slipped, then she could have proved that she can master that spin. Throughout the evening, she had been sitting aside and watching the rest of the dancers practicing their moves; through the glass window that went from the ceiling to the floor, she could see the sun setting behind the towering buildings of New York, and soon the cold dark night sky replaced the warm evening one. Moreover, out of boredom, she gave a look to each corner of the dance room that she had seen so many times in the past six months, ever since she had moved to New York. She looked at every corner, except the one where she had seen the figure before.

When the class was over, Fleur was more than ready to leave. Without looking back at the dance room, she rushed out. However, had she looked back she would have found the figure that she had seen before, was standing unerringly where she had last seen him; watching her leave.

---

Down in the lobby of the building, Fleur found herself walking along her fellow dancers who were gushing about the party they were going to tonight. When she refused their invitation, Amanda, a petite girl with round black eyes and a mass of curly red hair, frowned at her. “But it’s Saturday night Fleur; you cannot truly be planning on spending it in your apartment watching boring TV shows as you eat takeouts. Live a little, girl!”

While others agreed with Amanda, Fleur shook her head, even though it was exactly how she had planned the night, “You guys should go ahead; I will join some other time.” She said as they exited the building.

The scene outside was no different from what it had been from last one week; snow on each sides of the road and the night sky crammed with grey clouds. Clouds that seemed to want to burst, almost as if they were someone who had been keeping so many words hidden inside that would swallow them wholly if they did not pour them out. However, the group surrounding Fleur had no trouble pouring out their words as they told her to join them tonight. It took some convincing but at the end, they agreed to leave without her.

“Would like me to drop you to your apartment?” Jackson asked as the rest of the group continued talking with each other.

Fleur shook her head, “It’s alright my friend is coming to pick me up.” 

A flash of what seemed like disappointment crossed Jackson’s face but it was gone before she could even notice it, “Oh, alright...” Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked at her foot, “Take care of your foot; would not want our star ballerina off the stage for too long.”

A blush found its way towards Fleur’s cheeks, “I’ll take care of it.”

The rest of the group, that had already starting walking away called out to Jackson, looking back at them, he wished her good night and jogged towards the group. Wishing them a great night, Fleur watched her excited friends leave whilst she waited by the entrance of the building for her best friend Harry to come and pick her up. Minutes turned into an hour but there was no sign of him, anywhere. She tried to call him, but reached to his voicemail every time she did so. After waiting for a few more minutes, she started walking down the street, wishing she had taken Jackson’s offer to drop her home. Taking out her wallet from the messenger bag that was hanging on her shoulder, she checked if she had enough money to take a taxi, and groaned when she realized she did not.

She could only make it to half way though when her swollen foot gave up, and the fact that she was at least twenty more blocks away from her apartment was not doing much for her confidence either.

Taking shelter under the entrance shade of a closed store, Fleur sat down on the floor, not caring about it being dirty. Taking off her converse, she examined her injured foot on which the swelling had now gone worst.  Trying to her best to ignore the pain, she contemplated whether to call someone to pick her up, but the only ones she knew in this city was her best friend who had bailed on her and those from the dance group who were by now probably enjoying the party. Taking out her cell phone her bag, she decided to call Jackson, though she felt bad for ruining the fun he might be having at the party, but looking at her foot she knew she would not be able to walk any more.

She heard the dialing tone ring when she called him and moments later, he picked up. The sound of loud music and screaming crowd could be heard but before she could speak a strange noise caught her ears. Almost as if, someone was wailing in pain. She could hear Jackson calling out her name through the phone but her only focus in that moment was the noise coming from the ally next to the store.

Slowly she stood up, and peeked carefully to see what was happening, but the sight that she witnessed had her breath caught in her throat.  It was a possibility, that what was before her eyes was nothing but a fragment of her imagination; or so she told herself. However, as man with crimson eyes stepped out of the shadows, strangling a form against the wall of the ally, a part of Fleur screamed that it was all real.

“I-I swear I’m not lying, I d-do not know where it is!” The strangled man managed to form out these words despite the tight hold around neck.

The man with crimson eyes brought his face merely an inch away from the strangled one causing his to flinch. “Then it truly is a shame really, as now you are of no use to me.” The words spoken calmly yet they resembled the lightning of a storm. What happened next seemed to have taken place within a blink, in one moment the strangled man was against the wall and the next he was screaming in agony on the ally floor as flames covered his body. However, from the smoke that rose from the fire, an obscured body materialized, that had a face bejeweled with terrifying scars, fear and rage.

A scream escaped from Fleur’s throat as this horrifying scene tainted her mind. The materialized figure disappeared within a blink of an eye, leaving behind that burning body and a man with crimson eyes whose attention her scream had caught. Fleur covered her mouth and looked around, watching as the cars passed by them and so did a few people that were walking on the other side of the road. They all seemed ignorant to the fire, ignorant towards the man with crimson eyes.

She looked back towards the ally, only to find those eyes looking at her with fury. It is just my imagination; she chanted this mantra repeatedly in her mind. As she took a step back, her injured foot gave in and she fell on the side of the road. The man took a step forward, his eyes never leaving hers, his anger taking a hold over her spine.

It is just my imagination.

She dragged herself away as he took another step forward. Tears ran down her cheeks as she tried to breathe under the suffocating hold that seemed to have taken over her heart and mind.  People passing by gave her an odd look, probably wondering why is a girl sitting there on the road like an accident waiting to happen, but none of those people looked at what was in that ally. What happened next though, gave Fleur no chance to react.  The man with those crimson eyes snapped his fingers, and the next thing she heard was a blaring horn and a loud screech of tiers before her entire body engulfed in pain.

People rushed towards her as she laid there on the road with her head turned to her right. She heard a car door open, the sound of heals rushed towards her and an unfamiliar face of a crying woman came in view who repeatedly apologized to her. Even through this chaos, she could her Jackson still shouting her name over the phone.

Someone was screaming about calling an ambulance as warm liquid started forming a pool under Fleur’s head, a liquid as crimson as the eyes of the man who was still watching it all with an eerie peace on his face. He walked through the crowd, with everyone still ignorant to him, and knelt down on a knee next to Fleur. As a bright blue fleck floated out of her mouth, his hands reach towards it. However, just when he was about to wrap his palms around it, an invisible shield formed all around her, trapping the flake inside which made him retract his hand with an annoyed scowl.

In that moment, as the commotion around these two individuals played ignorant, the man with crimson eyes glared at Fleur as though she was nothing but a flawed soul in his sight. It did not seem to matter though, as she slowly closed her eyes, knowing she would never open them again, and felt one of the many snowflakes that were now falling from above; the clouds were finally saying what they wanted to.

On the other hand, perhaps, it was all really just a fragment of her imagination.