She danced. The stage was her place in the world. Ever since she was just a little girl, dancing was her passion. Her whole being, her whole life was devoted to her ballet. She was known by many regulars at the opera house, she was always the prima ballerina. She was Clara, she was Odette, she was Coppélia, the many faces she took on stage where always spot on and perfect. She was perfection.

That night was going like others so far, flawless. Her pirouettes and her jumps made her seem as light as a feather. She was princess Odette, she had to be graceful and beautiful, like a swan. Her next move was the grand jeté, she jumped and looked at the crowd with the corner of her eye. Crimson eyes made contact with hers. The owner of such eyes was surrounded in dreadful shade. It was just a second, but it was a very important second. Her landing was not graceful. The crowds gasped collectively and her companions just stared in pitiful awe. It took a second for her world to shatter apart.

It would take some time, and several operations but she was going to be able to walk again, however her dancing career was over. Nothing could be done for the forever damaged leg.

“I’m so sorry.” The doctor told her parents who were still shocked.

“So…” she said after a long silence. “When can I dance again?” her voice was unconcerned, as if the recent news didn’t quite sink in yet.

Her parents and the doctor looked at her in disbelief, and her mother started to sob silently.

“Honey…” her father tried to explain her the reality once again. She still seemed unperturbed, but her eyes widened giving away her increasing worry. She met the doctor’s eyes and asked, hopeful:

“You are a doctor. You can do something right?!” he didn’t know how to respond. She stared back at her parents, any glimpse of faith would ease her worries, but there was none, just empty pity.

Her despair was heard by all who stood at her same hospital floor, some felt bad for her, while others pleaded for her to silence as their loved ones needed rest. Her spirit broke. Family and friends would come to greet her, but no smile was ever drawn again in her doll-like face, in fact, she didn’t acknowledge the presence of any of her visitors, preferring to stare into space instead.

Everything was a reminder of her beloved dancing. All her friends were dancers, her boyfriend as well. Her family would always talk about their dancing and successful niece/daughter/sister, but those ice breaker topics for tea time conversation were over. Some would even gifted her ballet themed “Get well soon” cards or ballerina dolls.

The nerve.

She would clench her teeth and rip all those dance themed presents right there and then, while screaming all sorts of insults. Her anguish turned from silent sorrow to unruly anger. They gave her some space, and soon nobody but her parents visited her at the hospital.

Back home everything just turned more and more bitter. The idea of using crutches or a wheelchair meant facing her painful reality, so she decided to not get up from her bed. Her studies were lacking and her boyfriend and another dancing friend came to lend a hand so she can catch up. They all went to the same art university studying performing arts. They avoided any dance related topic as much as they could, but the exam they were studying for was the dance history one.

As her mood became grouchy, conflict was unavoidable.

“So how is the show going?” both her boyfriend and her friend went quiet and exchanged looks. “You know. “The picture of Dorian Grey”? You were cast as Dorian and I was supposed to be Sybil.” She looked directly into his eyes. “Who is my replacement?”

There was a brief silence that was camouflage by their nervous laughs, however, she wasn’t laughing.

“I don’t think we should talk about that, the exam is tomorrow and…”

She cut his statement mid-sentence with cold eyes.

“I just need two words, a name and last name, simple.”

He went mute again and exchange looks with her friend who did the same but quickly looked away trying to avoid a gesture that could tell the truth, however that fraction of a second was enough.

She closed her fist, anger boiling inside of her, she suspected that her close friend would take her role, she was the second best in the troupe, a spot below her. Of course that wasn’t the case now, she was an useless cripple and that former friend was taking what was rightfully hers.

“Get out.”

“But…” before he could say another word, she started to throw anything she could grasp at them.

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“Never come back! Just go dance and die!” she screamed all the insult in the book while they escaped her sight, and before her mother could ask about the sudden noise, she slammed the door and locked it. Her screams became unintelligible as they turn to sobs.

At some point in the night she finally decided to clean the mess her rage had created and found the novel “The portrait of Dorian Grey”. Suddenly uninterested in organizing her space, she lay on her bed while turning the pages of the book, not actually reading any.

“I wish I had a magical painting like him, make the painting take my problems for me.”

She pondered for a moment and reached for her phone.

“Just how did that painting do that?” she had read the novel in high school and always thought, how on earth could a normal painter create such powerful object?

She found a blog made for fans of classical books and found a link to the page dedicated to that novel. While scrolling down, swiftly reading the topics she made a sudden stop and a couple words caught her eye.

“Faustian contract.” A quick google search led her to a simple definition. “A pact with the devil?” she kept feasting her eyes in every bit of information regarding such trade and her interest grew. This led her to end in some sketchy Wiccan website. Her life was worthless, if it meant giving away her soul to some demon for the joy of dancing again she was ok with that.

“How to form a Faustian contract?” she wrote in a thread after making an account. Of course, a huge part of her knew getting a real answer was impossible. After a few minutes, she gave up and just went on to surf the next webpage.

A sudden notification block her view, someone sent her a message to her phone.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“What? Who is this?” she said to herself.

“The contract. Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t sure.” She mumbled while trying to figure out who sent the text, thinking it was some elaborate joke by a Wiccan hacker.

In a blink of an eye she was in a familiar looking location. A theatre.

“I know of your sad dilemma, you don’t need to explain.” A shadowy figure started to circle her. “I am glad. To be honest, I’m quite the fan.” She tried to follow the figure with her eyes but it started to move way to fast. As soon as she lost sight of the owner of that voice someone placed a hand on her shoulder. It was a man, tanned skin, dressed in black, slicked back hair and red eyes. “My lady.”

She stood still, completely shocked. This couldn’t be real. This person…was a demon!

“Interesting, while the eyes I often see are of fear, your eyes show me you are more curious than scared at me”

The logical side of her brain feared him, easily noticeable by her body trembling, however the rest of her felt…hope, hope she thought was long gone.

“Can you really grant my wish?” she asked “If I give you my soul, can I dance again?!” her voice was shaky but she didn’t back down.

The man gave her a wide vampiric smile.

“Now, now…” he said softly, with an eerie kindness. “If I took your soul it would be such a waste.” He circled her again. “As long as I can see your dance again I shall be satisfied.”

Her eyes widened expectantly.

“Yet, formalities are in order. I’m still a demon and you are still a human.” He faced her and a box materialized in his arms. “You shall dance once more, but you will only be able to if you use this garment.”

She opened the box the man gifted her and saw the most beautiful white romantic tutu and ballet slippers of the same color.

“So, shall we seal this contract?” He offered his hand, and she didn’t have to think twice. She gave him a handshake and everything faded into shadows.

“The contract is sealed…” she could hear his voice echoing in her ears.

She found herself in her room again, with the box on top of her bed. She quickly opened it again trying to prove to herself it wasn’t a dream, and he found the garments inside. Swiftly she change into them and tried some dance moves. Tears filled her eyes as she realized her world was coming together once more. She was going to take back what was hers.

Months passed and the ballet of “The portrait of Dorian Grey” was on premiere. She was a perfect Sybil, graceful and gentle. Her dancer companions and family were surprised by her triumphant return, a miracle was performing in front of them, but it was far from a miracle. Although they never understood her decision of using that one garment, her dance was far too precious to deny her demands.

Everyone was so impressed by her dance that they felt disappointed when she wasn’t on stage. Once the ballet was over, everyone gave a standing ovation once she presented herself. The applause was music to her ears, she felt at home.

Backstage her dance crew only complimented her on her performance, and she was enjoying every bit of praise.

At the locker room, she took off the tutu and put on some clothes. When she was going to put her it back in the box she noticed that both the tutu and slippers had a slight color change. They went from pure white to light pink. This confused her, she would have swear it was white.

A chill went down her spine but she ignored her intuition.

“This is a demonic dress, maybe its normal?”

Brushing of the sudden change she put away the dress until its next use. Along the year she continued to dance her heart out, ignoring the dress change. She believe the dress was magical, and that it would turn into the color befitting of the stories she was in.

A year later, they were presenting “The girl with the red shoes”, and of course she was the star. Her dress was now a bright red along with her slippers, it was perfect for the role of Karen. She was a gazelle with the music as the wind on her wings. Again she did a grand jeté, and for a split second saw the crowd, and like the time she fell the shadowy figure was there. This time she landed safely, but after that the theatre was totally empty with just that one figure in the crowd. It was the demon.

He grinned.

“That dress was slowly eating your humanity, until this day, now you are mine forever.”

She froze, unable to respond.

“Now, dance for me.”

As her eyes turned red and her will was destroyed, she gazed emptily at her crowd of one man with a faint smile.

And for eternity, she danced.