Over and over again I repeat every step, every fouetté, spinning like a top again and again, floating around the stage on my toes easily and gracefully, trying to attract all eyes to me. I need to try, there simply won't be a second chance for me to become a prima.

With irritation, I have to notice how delightfully Elena, my rival, moves on stage. Hair is perfectly slicked, pointe shoes are pulled all the way, and her beautiful fragile figure makes me watch her every gesture and movement, every little thing with envy and admiration. There is something specially charming about her that probably no one but me notices. Most likely, this is because only we love ballet so selflessly, with all the dedication.

But I can't succumb to her charms. The position of prima is what I have dreamed of for so long, what I have been working towards for many years, rubbing my legs blood with constant training and endlessly losing weight, to look fragile and graceful. — This is quite good. However, I know that you can do much better, but you lack the diligence.