Author's Note: I don't write that often. -But this idea hit me and I couldn't avoid writing it down. And then once I started writing I couldn't stop. This may be the end, or it might be the beginning. It might even be the beginning of the end. I don't have a plot figured out. Nor do I have ideas to move on from this spot. All I know is if this is continued, this part will be a preface, and actual chapters will be written in a different style. So comments are very much so welcome, as is constructive criticism, because I am absolutely sure this work is NOT flawless. It is very angsty. So here is a *trigger warning*. Thanks for reading.

Her eyes fluttered shut. She didn't need to see in order to feel.

She counted, slow, easy breaths escaping her. 5, 6, 5, 6, 7, 8..

With fluid movements, movements that are ever so graceful, she steps forwards and lets the music that's steadily pulsing around her, engulf her entire being in order to become one with the beat.

She looks up, the long mirror encircling the room shows not what she wants, for it only glared her own reflection back at her.

Her own reflection full of flaws.

Full of scars.

All gathered together to create a shell of a person she used to know.

She feels the cool glass of the mirror against her finger-tips as she inches closer.

Close enough to see her red-rimmed eyes. She pushes herself away in disgust. The mirror almost cracking under the exerted pressure.

She falls back into a series of spins and turns, not bothering to spot. For she is aware of the messy performance, yet she ignores it. There's no audience to impress. This is for no one else- only herself. Only to feel.

As she forces her eyes shut once more, a lone tear rolls, leaving a track down her cheek before finally landing on the hard floor in a silent puddle.

Her happy facade had long since been abandoned the moment she was certain no eyes were on her. She despised that- always having to fake a smile with people around. Always having to lie to the ones who it would destroy the most. The ones who would be the most disappointed.

That's what defines her though, isn't it? A disappointment. It's how she defines herself, at least.

Still moving in time, her arms reach out for something in front of her. Something, anything, but nothing is there, nothing ever is. She pulls them back around her with more force then necessary, throwing herself back into the air doing leaps, after leaps. She lets the music direct her movements, as the lyrics explain the things she can never quite say herself.

She can feel her legs start to weaken the more she uses them. She can feel the sweat begin to cling to her forehead. She can feel herself slowly, draining of energy and her emotions she had continuously shut away, time and time again, bubble up to the surface. She can't stop. She needs these feelings. She needs to feel.

She stumbles, with her body already strained she's unable to catch herself. She crumbles to the ground.

She contemplates no longer fighting the exhaustion that has a tight grip around her, to lay on the cold floor, waiting for someone to notice her absence and find her. Or for someone to simply walk past the studio and notice her broken figure and pulsing music. She can't wait for that though. She's alone, and that's how it's always been, and how it will stay.

She forces herself up, rolling her body until the balls of her feet are supporting her.

She returned to absorbing the music and not caring about much else. Then again, she can't help when thoughts decides to re-enter her mind, as she tries to focus elsewhere. Or when memories do the same.

The only thing she can truly and completely have control over, is her movements. She has learned that long ago, and she relies on that to never change.

Dance is the only place she can let loose.

Where she can lose herself, without thinking about how she's going to find herself again when it's through.

But all good things must end.

And all good songs have a last line.

As fast as it began, it's over.

The sound of the music comes to a close, her movements stop their fluidity. She makes her way back up to the mirror, in which she had long forgotten.

She can see her broken reflection once more. Her fingers curl into a fist, and her eyes squeeze shut a final time before plummeting her fist into the fragile glass with all the strength she could muster.

She collapses down. Down with the thousands of broken, shards of glass that now surround her.

She finally releases the sob thats been building in her chest, as she curls into herself, hugging her knees.

She can feel the glass dig into her sides, but she doesn't do anything about it. She doesn't move, nor care. She accepts the scars as something she deserves.

She isn't sure of how long she's going to stay there, silent tears cascading down her face, body laying broken on the floor.

She isn't quite ready to go find her smiling, happy facade yet. She isn't ready to go back to the real world, to the life that awaits her outside.

But suddenly, her tear-filled eyes snap open, and she is made painfully aware she's not the only one in the room anymore.