Dancing, En Pointe

I take form in the large room, floating from the strings and wood of the instruments.

I look down at myself. What am I today? I wonder. I take many forms, usually a different one every time I appear.

Today, I appear in a white dress with a strong bodice, and a tulle skirt that puffs out and reaches my knees. I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. Bright red hair, pulled back in a bun, decorated with a simple white ribbon. My legs are covered by white tights, and small, light pink pointe shoes hug my feet. 

I smile. Classical, I suppose.

Before I know what's happening, I am dancing. Pirouettes, pique turns, arabesques. Twirling through the room en pointe, weaving through the crowds. White beams of light follow me, weaving around people, gripping them tight. Filling their heads with the notes, the beat, and the dance.

The song ends, and a cheer erupts through the room. I take a bow, though no one can see me.

The string quartet begins playing again, and I find myself rising up en pointe again, ready to dance once more.