Work Text:
Temps de flèche.
A type of movement in which a dancer’s body has to resemble the movement of an arrow being fired from a bow.
Two things Haneul would’ve never thought she would ever like: her assigned Korean name, Haneul — the name her parents had given her, Hua, worked just fine, people should stop being racist and learn how to get the pronunciation right, or just decent — and getting bruises on her knees from the hardwood floor of a ballet academy classroom.
Both things she’d hated for the entirety of the time she’d spent in Korea — three years of intensive, massacrating ballet training, three years of ice buckets where she’d dip her toes as soon as she stepped home, and ice packs she had to put against knees and shoulders and every single protruding bone, because she’d fucking had to choose a company that also did contemporary. Three years of instructors and teachers and choreographers that kept butchering her name, but unmistakably picked her for increasingly good roles. Which was why she was staying.
That, and the reason why she wasn’t hating either thing right now: Hyebin was swearing around her name, one hand pressed tightly against her own mouth, while Haneul ( Haneul, Haneul, eonnie, Haneul ) was kissing her collarbone. And pushing two fingers inside of her.
Let’s take a step back. Several.
Hyebin. She hadn’t always been there, in Hua’s life. Of course, with how she’d been born in Korea, studied in Korea, met all her friends in Korea, and so on and so forth. She’d walked in one day, the year after Hua had been recruited to be part of the company they worked at, and she’d left most people agape. She’s turned down the National Ballet? was everything people were whispering. Hua didn’t really care, she had no idea who this girl was, she didn’t follow ballet-related news. It was enough that she’d found a spot in a professional company and was paid to do the job she’d studied for, that she got to perform and that she hadn’t ended up teaching six-year-olds how to keep their backs straight for pliés.
But Hyebin was good. Too good. She wasn’t just someone who’d trained for years and looked good at her job, she had the lines and the artistry of a star in the making. Everything she did was geometrical, precise, and lyrical at the same time. Watching her dance was a miracle. And Hua found herself unable to look away from her — when she performed variations during class, when she laughed her breathy laugh after being complimented by the teachers, when she shook her head when people asked her if she would have rather worked in bigger theaters.
“Hey, you’re forgetting your towel!”
That had been the first ever thing Hyebin had said to her. Hua wasn’t the type to forget stuff around, she was as tidy as ballerinas tend to be (not too tidy, then), but it was winter and it was cold and she was leaving the room after class with half her wardrobe in her hands. Fleece pants she’d discarded after the first two barre exercises, a hoodie that she’d kept on until they’d reached the grands battements, a long-sleeved t-shirt that hadn’t survived the adage and the shorts she’d changed for a skirt before pointe. She was also balancing a water bottle, in the middle of that. So, sue her for leaving her towel behind.
She’d turned around, rolling her eyes — how would she get the towel? With what hand? Also, isn’t it straight up rude to call people just by hey ? Didn’t the people here know her damn name, with how much the teachers had corrected every single minor mistake she’d made today? Haneul, your eyes. Haneul, turn out. Haneul, jump higher, you can do that. “Thank you,” she’d pushed through her teeth, barely, before being forced to reassess a lot of priorities very quickly.
The girl standing in front of her, with her towel in her hand, was the rookie they’d just recruited. Sung Hyebin, Hua only remembered her name among the five or six new girls’ names. And how could she forget her. She’d auditioned — Hua had been there, curious — with a perfect execution of Don Quixote’s Kitri, the widest smile on her face and the brightest eyes as she nailed jump after jump, pirouette after pirouette, forcing everyone’s eyes on her, just like the background characters in the ballet could do nothing but stare at the captivating young woman declaring her love to her beloved. Hua was pretty certain she’d dreamed of her in her red costume that night. She’d sworn never to do that again, they were colleagues. And it was bad enough that Hua was a foreigner. People already refused to talk to her because of that, let alone if they came to know how she was attracted to women, in a women-dominated work environment. What a nightmare.
But Hyebin — ballerina perfection Hyebin — was looking at her with her eyes round, her cheeks completely red, her neck and cleavage glistening because of her sweat. “Oh,” Hyebin said. “How rude, you’re so busy. I can carry it for you, let me get my stuff. I was going to get changed too, anyway.” Hua could only stare in silence as the other girl pushed her stuff inside a tote bag. “Shall we go?”
Hua had spent the following ten minutes not knowing what to do with herself. The changing room was busy with all the other dancers — the soloists were showering, done for the day — others were changing into sweatpants to attend other classes. Hyebin was struggling to untie her pointe shoes, like it wasn’t something she did on the daily. Hua silently handed her a clothes pin, which Hyebin shoved gracelessly between her knotted laces. “You’re a lifesaver,” she whispered. Hua had started untying her hair. They had contemporary class; she could live without seven thousand hair pins in her scalp.
It didn’t stop there. Hyebin became more polite, and more persistent at the same time. She called her Haneul-nim, and she asked her if she wanted some of the walnuts in her colorful tupperware. She asked if she liked working here and she asked her if she’d enjoyed the productions from the previous year, and she asked if she wanted to drink one of the orange juice packs she had, because, by chance, she was carrying two. This was in March. And, by the end of May, Hua hardly ever went back to her tiny one-room apartment without having had a cup of iced americano with Hyebin. They weren’t friends. Not by Hua’s standards. They spent time together, and Hyebin chatted animatedly about what she’d liked or disliked about the day’s classes or rehearsals, happy that they were working on a contemporary piece for their summer run. She was always pink-cheeked, untidy hair, cut right above her shoulder but “she was letting it grow, she wanted to try long hair once more before committing to shorter hair for the rest of her life”, nails painted vividly but never long, and a neverending collection of sneakers. But Hua said very little, by comparison, and she tried to memorize the words Hyebin used that she still hadn’t learned and she looked them up later, at home. Hua observed her. While she danced, and while she didn’t. Hyebin was pretty, which was true for almost all the girls working in their company, but she was also more than just pretty. She was magnetic, and her personality shone from every inch of her, and Hua should feel jealous of her, of her talent, of her skills, of her way of getting along with everyone. Instead, she felt perfectly at ease around her. And being away from home, being alone most of the time, started feeling less scary now that she knew that she could text at any time and be met with a Sure, when and where? every single time.
Their summer was spent sweating. It’s not uncommon, when you work as a dancer. But it was incessantly hot, and some of the older, more respected dancer didn’t like to dance with the aircon on, so their days were spent chugging down water in insane quantities and sweating it all out as they rehearsed, honed, performed, warmed-up, stretched, went on stage, came backstage.
“I think I could, like, not pee,” had been Gyubin’s declaration, one day, as she’d stepped into the changing room. She was still a student in the academy, close to graduation, if Hua remembered correctly. And she’d been drafted to dance in the corps section of the company. They did that, often. A few talented students, recruited to help with summer shows before the new round of auditions that would take place in autumn.
“What?” A few confused looks were thrown her way. Hua had understood her, though. Hilarious, she thought, and she found Hyebin’s eyes to confirm that she thought the same, too. It was like this, most of the time, and Hua didn’t really think much of it. Sometimes, you just find people with whom you connect easily and it doesn’t have to mean much.
“I think I sweated so much that the water in which I was baptized came out too,” Gyubin shrugged, and yet, she closed herself in the toilet. As soon as she came out, she asked all of them to go out for drinks later that night, after the show. Hua would be tired, but these things built unity and cohesion in the group, and that night’s show marked the halfway point of their summer run. So, why not? Plus, Hyebin was going, she’d already enthusiastically agreed.
The place they’d picked only sold alcohol and fried chicken, which meant that every elegance people could still think they were supposed to have, as professional ballerinas and dancers, was lost in the span of a half hour, between oily fingers and sticky lips and clicking glasses. Hua was a good drinker, she’d built her tolerance up when she was even younger than she was now. Sitting next to her, Hyebin was visibly holding back. “Do you want me to finish your glass?” Hua asked, and maybe the blush on Hyebin’s cheeks intensified suddenly, or maybe it was the awful lighting in this place.
“I can drink,” Hyebin replied, and she proved her point by downing her whole soju glass in one go. If Hua had to spend the rest of her night holding her hair back as she threw up and buying her aspirin to avoid her being completely beat the next day on stage, she wouldn’t be happy. “See?”
“Girl, if you get too drunk and get a hangover I’m not covering up for your sloppy dancing tomorrow.” Hua said with a scoff, and she reached for the bottle again. Hyebin stopped her, a hand on her wrist. What . This wasn’t the first time Hyebin touched her. Of course it wasn’t. They danced together, they performed in contemporary ballet together. Of course, this couldn’t be the first time. All the improvisation classes they’d attended, all the group-building exercises where feeling the other was crucial, they danced in the same company. Of course they’d touched. But this was different, it felt different. Hyebin’s fingers had wrapped around her wrist in a split second, and she was almost forceful, but she wasn’t, and Hua didn’t know what she was going to do, and that was the biggest thing. Because, in class, dancing, she knew what was going to happen. It always came with directions. And now no one was looking at the two of them, no one was telling Hua what to do while her hand was entrapped under Hyebin’s.
But then Hyebin let her go, took the bottle herself and poured for Hua. “Aren’t you older than I am?” Hua’s throat was dry. She took the glass and emptied it, all in one sip.
“If I’m your eonnie, treat me like one,” she shot back. Hyebin’s smile was a bit too bright, and the soju was a bit too sweet.
“Alright,” Hyebin poured herself some more soju, too. “So, eonnie, what are you like when you’re drunk?” Sly girl, Hua watched her get another bottle, shake it, twist the cap open.
Hua leaned back against her chair. “I prefer wine, first of all,” she said. Hyebin nodded slowly. Was she memorizing it? Hua’s stomach did something. “And then, I’m exactly the same as usual. I don’t really get drunk.” Hyebin had raised one eyebrow. “Yah, it’s the truth. You’re drunk after, like, three glasses. You should stop.”
“Or what?” Oh, she was acting up. Okay. Hua could deal with her attitude.
“What if you’re too drunk and you forget all about what happens tonight?” She watched Hyebin’s mouth go round, her eyes widen. She gulped down her saliva.
“Why?” Hyebin’s voice was suddenly higher pitched. “What’s happening tonight?”
Hua fought back laughter. “Let’s find out.”
Somehow, nothing happened that night. And everything still changed. Hua would spend weeks trying to understand what switch had been flipped that night to start the chain of events that led them, eventually, to where this story started. But, if part of the metamorphosis in their relationship could be traced back to their own doing, the rest had to be attributed to some higher forces. Hyebin would call it — later, much later, with both of them naked in each other’s arms, with their clothes mingled in just one cramped wardrobe — destiny, fate, and she would use a Chinese word for that, too. But Hua, that August, would only wonder if there was something in the way she’d looked at her company colleague that had set off a kind of prophetic vision in their choreographer.
To follow the actual order in which the events had unfolded, neither of them had gotten disgracefully drunk. Still, they weren’t sober. Which was why, according to a kind of reasoning that appeared unequivocally logical at the time and woefully nonsensical in the morning, they elected to both sleep at Hyebin’s place. It was closer to the bar, further from the theater, but they would still have to stop by Hua’s apartment to gather her stuff for the day, so it wasn’t a game changer either way. So, they slept together. Not really together , or Hua would have just resorted to emigrating back to China, possibly. She wouldn’t hook up with a coworker, let’s be real. How awkward, to see each other every day after that. No, they shared a bed and they were too tired and too drunk to even take make-up off, so they woke up to an alarm blaring in their ears and their faces feeling like they were covered in wall plaster. Hyebin got up and started arranging breakfast immediately, then she closed herself in the bathroom for a grand total of five minutes and she emerged with her face clean, her hair tied back, perfectly parted and in a ponytail that would be turned into a bun in the quickest time just before the barre class. And she was only wearing her bra and a pair of light blue undies, and this very image was going to burn itself in Hua’s memory, she would be unable to escape it. It wasn’t her state of undress, Hua was used to seeing girls’ bodies. It came with the job. And, honestly, bodies are just bodies. No. It was more the fact that Hyebin was there, going about her morning, yawning and beckoning Hua to hurry up or they’d be late. It was the fact that she was comfortable, showing herself the way she was, no filters, no overstructures. She was honest, unashamed of Hua being in her own space, occupying her time, she was integrating Hua in her morning, with no sign of this being in any way an inconvenience.
Hua couldn’t remember what she ate for breakfast, couldn’t remember how they reached her apartment — was it by bus or by underground?
Her brain came back online when the choreographer asked the two of them to stay back for five minutes at the end of the morning classes. Surprisingly, despite being distracted all morning, she knew she’d been working well. So it wasn’t like she feared getting scolded, but maybe there had been something wrong all the same. Maybe it wasn’t nice that they had shown up only ten minutes before class, because they’d missed a bus and Hua couldn’t even find a clean tank top to wear to class. She was half sure that — while she was freaking out because of that — Hyebin had started a washing cycle on her washing machine. Only time would tell.
With not many words, the choreographer asked them to please consider if they’d be available to take on a duo number in the show they were performing — the two dancers that were responsible for it now were going to be unable to do it from now on, and the choreographer had observed them, Hua and Hyebin, keenly, and he thought they had all the qualities to be able to do it. “Of course,” he added, “we’d be able to discuss you two being appointed soloists for the winter season, after this.”
Soloist. And with such a short career behind her? So much, so soon?
It was August, when everything changed, and when Hyebin started becoming an irreplaceable protagonist of Hua’s ambitions and dreams. If she imagined progressing further in her career as a ballerina, she tried to imagine where this would leave Hyebin, and almost all the time she featured right next to her. If she imagined touring the continent with a show in which she danced with a relevant role, Hyebin had to have a similarly important role. If Hua imagined herself being in Swan Lake, this would mean that they had to split the two Swans equally. If Hua imagined having to perform as Giselle, she would beg for Hyebin to be her Myrtha. She dared to voice these thoughts, once.
It was just the two of them, like every early morning ever since they’d had to learn and rehearse the duo performance. It was coming along, but they needed to fully feel the choreography with their souls, and it was clear that the pressure of perfecting it in such a short time span was weighing on them. “What is your dream ballet role?” Hua took it from a wider angle. Directness wasn’t her strong suit. Not yet.
Hyebin was stretching her back in a cobra position borrowed from yoga. She grimaced, but she kept the pose. “I don’t know,” she replied, but she was thinking about it. “How cliché do you want this answer to be?”
“I don’t want cliché,” Hua replied, and she took a sip of her water. “Just say what you’d like to do, if you could do it now.”
“Paquita,” Hyebin said. “Or Don Quixote,” she added, quick. “Fuck, no, Don Quixote for sure.”
“You did it for auditions,” Hua said, without thinking much about what she was saying. “It’d be nice if others could see it.”
Hyebin came out of the stretching pose in a noisy sequence of her joints being slammed on the hardwood floor: “You were there?!”
Was it weird? “It was a public audition, I watched everyone’s variation, it’s not that you’re special.”
“But you remember that I did Kitri.” She insisted. How could one forget? “What did you do? What was your variation? What’s your dream ballet?”
Boy, was she curious. Hua thought they should rehearse their choreo again. “I was completely unoriginal, and I did Esmeralda.” She didn’t leave enough time for Hyebin to answer. “And I’d love to do Giselle, but only if one of us was Giselle and the other Myrtha.”
Hyebin got up to her feet. She didn’t say anything, but she picked up her phone, connected to the speakers. “Let’s do it from the start,” she said. And then. “I don’t like the plot in Giselle. That motherfucker shouldn’t have been saved just thanks to true love . It’s bullshit. And Giselle shouldn’t have loved him anyway.”
Hua laughed, and she walked over to their starting position. “Is that how you treat your boyfriend?”
“Let’s rehearse,” Hyebin hit play. It was just as she sat down at Hua’s feet, for the start of their duo number, that she replied. “If you think I’d have a boyfriend, maybe you haven’t looked at me once in these eight months.” They had to get into the choreo at that point. Hua had to beg her to stop and start the music from the beginning after less than one minute. What the hell did it mean?
The duo in itself was a thing laced with technical stuff that required literally leaning on each other more often than not. Hua had joked that their choreographer had been possessed by the spirit of Steve Paxton when he’d composed this, but the result was that everytime she had to act as a support for Hyebin her heart went in her stomach. What if she made her fall? What if Hyebin couldn’t trust her fully? But they had to trust each other. That was the only way this was going to be possible. And, if Hua was honest and she didn’t give in to stupid, irrational thoughts, it was easy to trust Hyebin, and it was also easy to see that Hyebin trusted her. They bounced off each other effortlessly, they twisted against each other seamlessly, entwining legs, arms, backs, heads and hair like it was nothing.
And dancing with Hyebin was electrifying, the energy she could give Hua was neverending. She became unable to feel tired. She became invincible, unbeatable, when they were together. And whenever the music ended, it felt like they still had to do more, to dance more, to talk more to each other through their bodies, like that.
People started commenting on that, when they started rehearsing it with the full company, just a couple days before they would have to start being on stage, instead of the two original dancers. (It had come out that one of the two was leaving for a company in the US, while the other was taking this chance to get married.) It was to be imagined that people wouldn’t be pleased with how two newcomers — one of them a foreigner — would be given such great roles. The nonsensical rumor of how Hyebin had given up on the National Ballet to be here found their way back in the changing rooms. Just wait until you see her in a ballet performance. When she’s on pointe it’s like magic. I still don’t understand why she’d choose to work here, when she could have been an étoile in ten years, had she stayed there. Some people were downright nasty. She must have been kicked out, but since she was good they shut up on what she did. Hua didn’t care. None of that was true, anymore. Hyebin would have told her, if she’d been in talks with the National Ballet. The weirdest comments to overhear were those about the two of them. They look like they’ve been dancing together for years , one of the academy students said once. It’s like they had to be here at the same time and they had to be chosen for this, because who else would you even pick?
“Don’t you wish the ballet repertoire had more same-sex duo performances, too?” This was one of the most ordinary questions one could hope to get from Taerae, Hua had come to learn. He was one of the male soloists in their company. Men always had a quicker ascent to better roles. It wasn’t even sexism, it was a matter of numbers. “Like, don’t you wish you could do a pas de deux with Hyebin?”
“This is sort of a pas de deux ,” Hua replied. Taerae was one of the few real friends she’d been able to make in this company, and it was mainly because he was completely uncaring of the reasons why people didn’t like to talk to Hua. He didn’t care that she was too private about her own stuff — which others didn’t particularly enjoy, they’d stopped asking her gossip-y questions the third time she’d given the vaguest of replies — he didn’t care that she came from another country. He only cared that she didn’t forget the steps of their couple choreography in the finale of their show, and that she didn’t step on his foot when he let her down from a very acrobatic figure they had to do every night.
“But,” he insisted. “If you could, like, do one of the iconic ones in repertoire. Wouldn’t you want to?”
“With Hyebin?” Hua made sure to repeat. Because that was a very specific question. It was quite traditional for a pas-de-deux to have a romantic connotation.
“Duh,” Taerae rolled his eyes. Then he sighed. “Oh, noona, you’re boring.” He didn’t stop. “I see you, by the way. It’s a pity you took on the duo choreo halfway through. If it’d been the two of you from the start you’d have run off stage to make out by the end of the theater run of this thing.”
“ What? ” Hua’s face must have been either completely red or completely white. Her heart threatened to explode. What if someone heard. What if-
Taerae was laughing. “ Okay ,” he sighed. “But, like. You’re boring, I told you. Nothing wrong with having some fun with a fellow dancer.” Oh, please. Please don’t let him start again. The thing going on with three or four of their male dancers was borderline ridiculous and they all needed to get a grip before someone punched someone else in a rehearsal room.
“I’m lucky I’m not you,” Hua only replied, but her vitriol was rather short lived. She enjoyed being around Taerae. It was a nice change from the softer conversations she had with her other friends, and he matched her energy well. They insulted each other as a way of being around the other, and it was the best way.
“If you were me, you’d have at least realized that Hyebin’s gay, too. But you’re, wait, what’s the word? Stupid.”
Okay, Hua wasn’t that stupid. But, you know, she was one who needed verbal confirmation of things. Like, Hyebin surely ticked a lot of boxes — she wore men’s shorts over her pink thighs for ballet class, she wore very little make-up, she didn’t own heels by her own admission, and she used to have a shit ton of ear piercings, which she’d discarded for the duration of their show run. But this didn’t mean anything. Maybe she was just cool. Cool girls are a concept, and they’re often — too often — straight. Hua had never met another ballerina who was also a lesbian. Or bi. What were the chances that the only one she could actually like, if she allowed herself to, could also fancy her? And, yeah, okay, Hyebin was clingy, she was affectionate with her, and she looked for any excuse ever to spend their time together. She’d even invited her to go to her family house for Chuseok, which was more than a month away. But she was like that with anyone else, too. Hell, if Hua turned her head to her left she was sure she would find Hyebin busy massaging Gyubin’s shoulders, or, like, playing with Matthew. Who, admittedly, everyone knew was gay, with how he was breaking hearts left and right — among the female dancers, by turning them down, and among the male ones by never turning anyone down. Hyebin was trying to get him to stop, possibly. Hua wasn’t sure she could understand.
“I like my life the way it is,” Hua replied. And then she got up and she left the room altogether. If she kept thinking about these things she would possibly forget that she was here to dance. And that dancing was her job.
The debut of their duo choreography was marked by an unusual round of applause from the audience as they left the stage. They’d exited the stage by two different sides, but it was only natural to keep running and try to get to the side where Hyebin would be waiting for her. It had been amazing, their energy had burst the roof, everything had worked out perfectly. She needed to tell Hyebin that she’d been great and that everything they’d rehearsed for hours went right, and that the things they were worried about the most had been the ones to come out better. She needed to tell her that every glimpse she’d caught of her had made her look so beautiful, so graceful, and that she was just so happy that they got to do this together. She was running backstage, and she was not even halfway through, when she was swept in a hug by her waist, Hyebin’s whole body pressing against her. She’d had her same idea. She’d run faster than Hua had. And she was now holding Hua’s face in her hands, her eyes sparkling even in the dark of the backstage area. “We were so good. And it was so good. We-” Hyebin was breathless and she was whispering not to be heard from the stage, but she was also smiling wide and bright. Hua wanted to kiss her. But Hyebin’s grip switched to her hands, and it was enough to put her back in the right headspace. “I want to dance with you forever,” Hyebin said. “Promise me we’ll dance together forever.”
It’s unrealistic , Hua thought. How can you expect me to say yes . “I want it too,” she heard herself say. Before she could think about it, one of the academy students, waiting to go on stage, cleared her throat. Hua knew her, she was from China, too. Hua took a step back, but she also couldn’t hold back from caressing Hyebin’s sweaty face. One single, long, stroke to her cheek, as she closed her eyes under Hua’s touch. “Let’s get ready for the rest.”
With the first half of September, their show came to an end. Before that, the company had already announced that they would do a short mid-December round of something more traditional. When the choreographers uttered the word traditional a series of groans or yay s spread through the dancers. I can’t wait to put on a mouse costume , one of the rookies said. My poor knees , was Matthew’s only reaction, as if he’d already been assigned to be the main in the Russian dance. Why was he assuming-
“Oh, I love the Nutcracker,” Hyebin whispered, semi-loudly. “Have you seen the Barbie one?”
Hua didn’t know why she was so enamored with this girl. “Really?”
“I’ll have to show it to you,” Hyebin was insisting.
“I have seen it!” Hua snapped. A few people turned to look at her. Hyebin was trying not to laugh out loud. Hua was going to kill her.
“Ssaem!” one of the younger male dancers, Gunwook, raised his hand. “This means that we’re going to have seven thousand children around here, too?”
Now everyone was just groaning. Hyebin’s laughter was impossible to hate.
“You have to worry about more relevant things,” was the reply. “Like, who gets what role. And performing it flawlessly.”
It was a bloodbath. And it wasn’t. It was clear, pretty soon, that there was no real competition here. There was simply no one that could put in a better performance than Hyebin. Everyone had known this from the start, everyone had been waiting to actually see her en pointe and in a platter tutu. Because seeing her be the best in class wasn’t enough. Seeing her brilliantly execute every combination during their lessons didn’t compare. They were all told to prepare the same combination, a mix of steps from the whole ballet, put together to form a different thing. They were told to all wear the same clothes, so that it wouldn’t impact on the executives decisions. But, Hua was aware, there was really no chance that anyone else — not even the older dancers, not even those who had been working here for years — would get the spotlight. There was little time, too, which meant that being able to be perfect in the shortest time was also essential, and — unexpectedly — Hua found that she didn’t care. If she could get a good role, then she’d be happy. But what mattered the most, now, was that everyone understood how much Hyebin could shine.
So she waited and watched as everyone performed the new variation, sitting in the first rows of the small theater they used. And Hyebin was sitting next to her, jittery and nervous, biting her lip and destroying her nails. She was focusing too much on how the others were dancing, and it would ruin her execution, too, if Hua had any knowledge of how these things worked. She couldn’t do much, and talking was out of the way. She took her hand, silently, and she squeezed it hard. She knew Hyebin had turned to look at her, possibly questioning. She refused to meet her stare, and she held onto her hand. It was the least she could do, and it was the only thing she could do.
Hua had studied everyone else’s performance, trying to analyze what she could do to be better than them, to be more fluid, or more poignant. But when Hyebin got on stage, her pointe shoes echoing lightly, she could only watch her. It wasn’t about if her attitude was high enough, and if Hua’s could be higher, if her épaulement was befitting to the tone of the performance and if tilting her head slightly more to the side could make Hua advance more.
Hyebin was hypnotizing. This wasn’t like her Kitri audition. It was completely different, and she was nailing it all the same. She knew how to play with the music, how to adapt her movements to it, and she was beautiful, and the smile that was growing on her face as she did everything perfectly, as she didn’t make a single mistake and lured the audience to her like a siren had Hua’s heart stop. This wasn’t a crush. This was admiration and devotion and adoration. Hua was completely taken with their soon-to-be Sugar Plum Fairy and it was already ridiculous to say it, but it wasn’t any less true. She wanted to be the one who helped her in and out of her stupidly pink costume, she wanted to be the one who brushed her hair at night, she wanted to be the one who wrote her cards hidden in flower bunches after the first of their shows, cards that read sweet nonsense like I’m lucky I don’t get to perform this with you, so I can watch you . And she wanted Hyebin to do the same for her. But that was a daydream.
“Oh, my god,” Hyebin said, too loud and directly in Hua’s ear. They were both standing in front of the cast list that had been pinned to the rehearsal room door. “Eonnie, you made it.”
“What?” Hua hadn’t even tried to find her own name, she’d gone straight to what she knew was Hyebin’s. “You’re the fucking-”
“Shut up, who cares, you’re Clara. You’re fucking Clara.” What? “You’re the damn protagonist of this show, you’re in the whole of Act I, you’re-” Hyebin was hugging her again. She was also kissing her cheek and then she moved away but not enough for Hua’s breath to flow normally. What was going on? “It’s so- I knew you’d nailed it.”
“Hyebin-ah,” Hua tried to keep her voice steady. “You’re the fairy. Like, take a look at where your name is on the list. It’s at the top.”
Hyebin seemed to only realize it then. She hugged Hua even tighter and she started jumping on the spot. They were too early for class, and this was good, because if people had seen them like that it would have been too much of a humiliation.
“It’s just like you said,” Hyebin said, as she helped Hua drag the barres in the middle of the room. “When you said you wanted to do Giselle but one of us had to be Giselle, and the other Myrtha. This is the same. We could do them all, like this. I’d always be happy if I could be on stage with you. You dance the White Swan, I dance the Black — you do-”
“And when there’s only one good role?” Hua didn’t know why she was asking. She was happy, that day, about the results they had reached. She was happy that they were together, that they shared a dream.
Hyebin smiled. “Then it’s up to the casting team,” she said. “I’ll always cheer you on, but I won’t let you win on purpose.”
Hua felt light headed and giddy. Was this the stuff she’d always needed to be romanced? Was Hyebin even romancing her? She had to be. This couldn’t just be- “I’ll show you that I can, and I will win.”
Hyebin raised one eyebrow, then she sat down on the ground, her legs stretched out on her sides, pulling out her hair-stuff bag. “We’ll see.” She zipped the bag open and fished out a couple hair ties. “I’ll dye my hair,” she said. “Soon.” And she followed it with. “Come here, let me do your hair for you, my Clara.”
September and October went by in a frenzy of seven thousand hours of rehearsals. Hua had dedicated her whole life to dance, since a very young age, but she’d never been more tired. She came home devastated every night, her bones aching and her brain so overcome with everything she’d had to focus on that she usually just collapsed on her mattress and that was it. Her room was a mess. She survived on delivery and she couldn’t find the strength to do some real cleaning up. Saying she was ashamed of the way she was living would be an understatement, but she had struck a leading role in a fabulously famous ballet, and this was good enough. It had to be enough. To make things undoubtedly worse, Hua and Hyebin’s schedules were completely misaligned. All the time they’d grown used to spending together, what with rehearsing for their duo in the other show, what with being involved in the same company-wide rehearsals, was suddenly gone. Hua had her rehearsals scheduled in the morning, Hyebin in the afternoons, and the dress-rehearsals were too many weeks away, and it was weird to suddenly be alone on the bus, alone in the pauses, alone when she walked in the studio and set herself up for rehearsals. Sure, they still had class together every day, but it was too little time. They started warming up at the same barre. One in front of the other, and whenever their eyes met Hua felt instantly more grounded. She wasn’t alone, not really. And Hyebin wasn’t even really distant, because she texted, and she even showed up at her rehearsals, sometimes. And Hua tried to do the same, but every time she attended Hyebin’s rehearsals she was overwhelmed by the fact that Park Gunwook had the privilege of rehearsing every day, three hours a day, with Hyebin. While Hua sat on the ground pretending to stretch herself. It drove her crazy. That had been them, the two of them, when they were building up that duo: conspiring and whispering to each other about how to make it better, how to make it perfect. Now, she watched as Hyebin frowned and nodded at the notes Gunwook shared with her.
“Okay, you have to let me hold you, though.” Kim Jiwoong was Hua’s Nutcracker. He was handsome and strong and he had amazing stage presence, and he kept insisting that Hua didn’t trust him. “If you don’t leave some of your weight to me, how does this look?” She rolled her eyes. “No, but seriously, look at us in the mirror. Penché. Go into it.” Hua raised her leg. His hands were on her waist but she really was holding her own weight. “Okay, now go over , I have you. I’m not letting you fall.”
Of fucking course he wasn’t letting her fall. It was his job. They were pros. “This is the best I can do.”
“It’s not,” Jiwoong pushed her forward. She yelped, feeling the ground slip from underneath her toes. “See?” He helped her regain her balance. She wanted to take off one of her shoes and smack him on the head with it. With the hard part of the pointe shoe. “Plus, you did way more complicated things with Hyebin in the summer.”
Yes, but that was Hyebin. “Are you done chiding me?” She shook her head. “Let’s take it from the top.”
“Is something wrong with the two of you, then?” Jiwoong insisted. Didn’t he have his own business to think about? Wasn’t he part of that nonsensical drama within the male dancers? Or had that settled down?
“There’s nothing wrong with me and Hyebin,” Hua frowned. Jiwoong didn’t look convinced. “What?”
“Nothing, it’s just that, you know. People talk.” Hua’s heart stopped. Completely.
“And what do they say?” She didn’t care. She’d never cared. People could talk, and she would just go on minding her own business. That was how it had always been. And Hyebin was the same, right? She didn’t care about people’s opinions. That was why she’d shown up to class with her hair bright pink — from one day to the next — and she’d just shrugged it off, saying that after the Nutcracker she would just dye it black again. That was Hyebin. She couldn’t care about gossip, either. Right? Because, if people had started telling her things about Hua, she still wouldn’t believe them, right?
“Hua,” Jiwoong was looking her in the eyes. “The National Ballet. You must have heard about that.” Again, Hyebin would have- “She left the National Ballet. She’s studied there, she’s attended the National Ballet Academy, that’s why she’s so much better than the rest of you. No offense.” None taken. “She auditioned for the National Ballet after she graduated and she got in .” It made no sense. If she’d got in, why was she with them? Why wasn’t she dancing with the National Ballet. Why wasn’t she stunning everyone in the National Ballet run of Coppelia right now? Why did everyone think they knew Hyebin, when they didn’t know shit about her? “Someone commented under a video of her from the summer. And it was a classmate of hers at the Academy. She said that no one knew why she’d left, but Hyebin must have been in love or in a relationship she chose to pursue.”
“She doesn’t have any lover,” Hua replied. “And this is none of your business. We’re wasting time over gossip. This person on the Internet might have made everything up. Let’s go over the pas-de-deux again.”
But Hua couldn’t stop thinking about it. And November rolled in to find her obsessing over what Jiwoong had told her. She knew she should talk about it with Hyebin, yet it looked like they never had the time. Whenever they did, it was just an hour or so, and they were both tired, and it wasn’t unreasonable to want to face this topic with ease, with the chance to talk about it freely. Moreover, why did it matter? Hyebin had chosen, like the adult she was, to work there. If she’d given up on the National Ballet, what did it change? Yes, she was a significatively better dancer than all the others, but what difference did it make? She wasn’t stealing opportunities from anyone. If anything, if it was true, she’d practically given away her opportunity to someone way less deserving.
Occasionally, the whole company drank together. Hua tried to keep herself back from drinking too much, given her massacrating rehearsal schedule, yet, without fail, she found herself in Hyebin’s apartment every time, her self-control being eroded at every repeat. She couldn’t stop touching her, she couldn’t stop wanting to hold her close, yet she didn’t want to, not before they’d spoken things out, because they were way past the acceptable lines of keeping it light and meaningless. And if she crossed the line, kissed Hyebin, and everything else, and then it turned out that they weren’t on the same page after all — this would kill her. Hyebin had taken to hugging her in her sleep. This was a lie. Hyebin was always awake when she hugged Hua. She would move her hair away from her neck, slot herself against her back, her chin hooked over her shoulder, and she would fall asleep like that, spooning Hua, their feet tangled together under increasingly warmer covers. And they didn’t talk about that either. Just like they never talked about the way Hyebin had come over to Hua’s apartment to help her clean, when it had become evident that she was struggling to find a new routine. Just like they never talked about the way Hyebin gifted her something new everyday. It had started with food, then it was food and drinks, then it was stuff they needed for their job. I noticed your hair net was wearing out, so I got you a new one. And I like putting my shoes in a bag like this one, so I got you one, too . Or I saw these leg warmers online and you’re always cold, so I got you a pair. But also I saw this hairbrush and I wanted you to have it. I think this photo-frame would go well in your apartment, how about I get it for you for Christmas?
“So,” Taerae had found Hua in an empty room where she was trying to go through her steps for the — fortunately very short — interaction she would have with the Russian dance dancers. “I think I need your advice.”
“If it’s not on the Nutcracker, spare me,” Hua replied, half out of breath. How the hell did they do all the time? This choreography was torture. How did they survive with their menisci intact?
“I can help you with these steps,” Taerae said. “You know, since it’s my part.”
Hua sighed. “And in exchange?”
Taerae closed the door behind himself. “In exchange, you help me come up with a way to ask someone to go out with me.”
Hua smiled. Oh, sweet revenge. “Pass,” she said, with a wider smile. “I can ask Matthew to help me with this, he’s better at it than you are.” She watched Taerae sigh. The insult was double lined: Matthew, aside from being the Mouse King, was also the lead of the Russian dance. And he was, with total probability, the person Taerae needed to text.
“Please?” Oh. He must really be desperate. “I’ve been trying to text him for three hours and I’ve started feeling like I’m illiterate.”
Hua watched herself in the mirror for a second. She was dripping sweat and her skirt was all completely askew. “Honey,” she looked at him. “I might help you, but what makes you think he’ll pick you? You’re a very valid option, mind you, but does the leopard ever change his spots?”
Taerae looked the tiniest bit upset. Then he walked over to her. “I don’t know, I’m getting mixed signals,” he said. “And it’s not like I’d marry him, it’s just one date.”
Hua shrugged. “It’s just that, you know, Hyebin-” she stopped.
“Yes, I know Hyebin.” Taerae was looking at her with pleading eyes. “And I know you’ll tell me that she’s partnering with Gunwook and he’s currently ranking very high in Matt’s graces. But.” Hua waited. “But every time we finish rehearsing this fucking trepak, he’s insisting to swap massages and all-”
“I don’t need to know,” Hua smiled. “Literally, what you men do is so not my business.” She shrugged.
Taerae looked like he was a second away from strangling her. “And he’s sent me a playlist he made,” Hua raised one eyebrow. “Girl, just help me ask him out. If he ditches me or chooses to keep being a player I’ll survive.”
Hua groaned. “ Fine . There’s a nice barbecue place close to here, bring him there after work. Just tell him you’re eating together, and then when you’ve eaten talk to him.”
“The way you’re talking to Hyebin noona?” Taerae wanted to die, clearly. She raised her fist. “Okay. Okay . And what do I tell him?”
“Dude, what the fuck do I know?” She was already exhausted. “Ask him to consider going on a few dates with you, to test it out? Nah. Be bold. Ask him to focus on you.”
“Like that? Focus on me? Look at me only? ” Hua shrugged. “That would only work with you and your mutually obsessed girlfriend.” Hua was now frowning. Since when-
“You’re on your own, then. This is the extent of my help. Now help me with this nightmare.” Taerae turned the music on from the stereo and Hua took a deep breath. The pace was insane. Lucky her that she didn’t have to dance this in its entirety.
Hyebin’s hair was soft despite having gone through a very violent bleaching. She’d managed to reach a color that was perfectly matching the costume the seamstresses had readied for her. When she realized it, she immediately videocalled Hua. “Eonnie!” Hua was snacking on a banana waiting for her turn with the costume department. “Look at this!” She was pointing at her hair, untied, the tips of which reached just under her collarbone. The bodice of her costume was the same shade of pink. “I must be extra disciplined with the colored cream and all.”
“You know, you could have picked a pink wig. You were given the actual option,” Hua was smiling too much for her bitchy intent to come off properly.
“Don’t you like it, jie?” Ah, Hyebin had started introducing Chinese honorifics in her everyday speech with Hua. And it wasn’t something that necessarily did anything for Hua. But Hyebin had made sure to ask her if this was something she would like, or hate. And, when Hua told her she didn’t mind it, she hadn’t stopped doing it. “Don’t you like my hair?”
“Stop bothering the seamstress, get your measurements done and let others come and try stuff on. We’re all waiting.” Hua liked her hair. She liked it whichever color she would dye it. She liked it, whatever haircut she picked for herself. She liked it, because she liked her. Period. “The hair’s nice, by the way.” Hyebin always laughed at her ill-disguised attempts to act nonchalant.
Hua could afford not to be nonchalant, though. It was just natural to be the complete opposite of it, when they were openly obsessing over each other. People — not that Hua cared — had all kind of accepted that they were an item. This wasn’t true, yet it partly was. Because, genuinely, at this point it was obvious that all they needed to do was have a proper, orderly conversation. But the Nutcracker debut was close, and they were always tired, always busy, always caught up in something different. And, just like that, it was December. They were opening on the first Thursday of the month and they’d already had all kinds of mishaps. The lighting department had fucked up badly and had to rewire a ton of stuff, cutting them out of the theatre for too long, so they’d had to push back the dress-rehearsals and the ones with the orchestra until the last moment possible. And, as usual in this kind of stuff, dress-rehearsals had gone terribly.
The children had messed up all entrances and exits, two ballerinas had almost tripped on the very same children. Herr Drosselmeyer’s cape had ripped because he’d stepped on it as he tried not to fall into the big-ass Christmas tree at the center of the stage. Hua herself had almost fallen face first while running off stage, slamming with her full body into a couple other dancers who had surely softened her fall. Hyebin’s costume had started losing sequins all over the stage, making it a minefield for everyone after. Having looked for Hyebin for something like twenty minutes — while the choreographer had already given up and stormed off, angered — Hua found her consoling a weeping child backstage. She didn’t interrupt her. She kept to herself, but she still listened to whatever conversation was going on.
“It’s normal to make mistakes sometimes,” Hyebin sounded like she’d already said this ten thousand times. She didn’t sound any less patient. “I mess up all the time, too.” Liar.
“But the teacher scolded me so bad,” the little girl sobbed. She was shaking with her whole body. “She will kick me out.”
Hyebin was shaking her head. She made an interesting picture, kneeling on the ground, her pointe shoes still on her feet, her Sugar Plum Fairy costume and her stage makeup. As usual, her hair was acting up and slipping out of her hairdo. Hua would have to glue her hair much better the next day. “The teacher just wants the show to be nice, but it can’t be nice if you’re not there, you see? It’s only nice if we all do our part,” she was smiling at the child so sweetly.
“It’s easy for you, eonnie,” the child sobbed. “You’re literally perfect.” Hyebin laughed. Then she patted the girl’s head.
“But I wasn’t always like this!” Hyebin’s soft voice was calming even Hua, who had no need to be calmed down. “It’s all a matter of time, and practice. And, even then, there’s days where things just don’t work. And days when they’re very, very , cool.” The child had stopped sobbing, if anything. “Isn’t that true, Clara eonnie?”
Hua walked closer to them, discovered. It was to be imagined that Hyebin would still notice her. She would have done the same, if the roles were reversed. “It’s exactly like that,” Hua echoed.
The girl was staring at her with her eyes blown wide. Hua had changed into a sweater and jeans, so maybe it was surprising for the child to see her like this. “I want to be like you when I grow up,” the kid said, her eyes trained on Hua. “And like Fairy eonnie, too.”
“Oh,” Hyebin laughed. “Then go wash your face! And the three of us can go over your mistakes again, how do you like it?”
Hua wanted to go have dinner. She didn’t want to babysit an elementary school dancer with poor spacial awareness. “Bin-ah,” she said. “I’ve already changed.”
“Good for you,” Hyebin shrugged. And then she took her by the hand. “Don’t you want to do your pas de deux with me? Or mine? The one you like the most.” She was being serious. And she was speed walking to where she'd left her clothes, taking the costume off in a split second, and putting on a wide-legged pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt of a different color. She called for the kid — whose mother might have thought the dance production had kidnapped her — and then she took Hua's hand. “Let's do this, I know you want to.”
The stage was empty. It took little more than ten minutes to revise the exits and entrances with the now smiling child. Hyebin was smiling, too, and she'd never left Hua’s hand, dragging her along all over the stage to give the directions the girl might need. Hua felt so proud of Hyebin. It warmed her, knowing that she was this kind woman, full of love and willing to rebel to rules just to be nicer to others. And it made her heart beat faster, seeing that Hyebin wanted her on her side. When Hyebin turned to face her, the theater was empty except for them, and from some janitor that would probably hate them. But they were the leads in the show, and if they wanted to rehearse more, to gain more confidence with the spaces and the stage and everything they were allowed to. Hyebin’s expression was the most vulnerable Hua had ever seen her, all soft and open and fragile and expectant and Hua had to take the two steps that were between them and tell her that they were going to start with Hyebin’s pas-de-deux.
Hua had learned it by heart, just by watching her rehearse every day. She knew how to follow her, how to accompany her, when to help spin on her toes — with hushed laughter, because of how ridiculous she looked, all sporty and then with pointe shoes — , when to help lean over and then back. Every time their eyes met, Hyebin’s were more and more filled with some type of emotion that had Hua wanting more. Hyebin was dancing with all of her usual control, all of her usual grace and technique, but she wasn’t keeping her face in check, and every single time Hua lent her her arm to lean on, put her hands around her waist to hold her up, her smile lit up even more. It was only the two of them. Hua helped her jump — not as high as she managed to do with her real partner — and the joy of standing there, next to each other, in perfect unison, following a music that wasn’t there, not actually, but they both knew, was almost too much. Hua had never known she could love like this.
Hyebin hesitated jumping up for the more risky lifts, and she stumbled a bit, letting herself touch the ground and bringing Hua down with her. Hua was breathless, she was shaking, she’d never been happier than she was now. “Jiejie,” Hyebin whispered, and her hands were a bit everywhere, from Hua’s waist to her neck, to her face. If Hua kissed her now, it would be right. It would be perfect. So she leaned in, her eyes fluttering close. “I want to do your variation too,” Hyebin softly said at the last second. It took a couple seconds for Hua to be able to move back. Her heart was beating too fast. Almost like Hyebin was reading her mind, she took her hand and brought it to her own chest. Hyebin’s heartbeat was just as wild. And the look in her eyes was hungry, too. This wasn’t a rejection. This was the opposite of it.
The first act pas-de-deux, your variation , was a lyrical thing, the culmination of all the real tension in the plot. Hua had never danced it better than she was doing now. Without the right shoes, in just her socks, with jeans that were barely stretchy enough to allow her to move decently. And she felt like everything couldn’t be more right than it was. Hyebin was good at this, too, at the male steps, the male jumps, she kept landing everything. And she was good at making Hua fly in her jumps, too. Hua felt insane, she wanted her to dance this with her in front of everyone. She could be the Nutcracker, who the fuck cared about gendered roles. She could do it, let her do it. She was giddy and giggly and when it was time for Hyebin to lift her up for what would have been the finale, she, too, didn’t jump. She did jump, actually, but only to hug Hyebin and not let her go ever, ever, ever again. “Where did you learn to do this?” Hua asked, and it meant I’m in love with you and I don’t know how to tell you . And it also meant I’m pretty sure we’re more than in love, this is cosmical.
Hyebin was breathless, too, her cheeks red, her neck glistening in sweat. “At the academy,” she replied, and Hua frowned. Academies don’t teach girls to do the male parts, too. Just what kind of academy had she attended. Not even the Bolshoi, not even the Vaganova-
“Why? Where did you-”
“I wanted to be stronger, it allowed me to be much more stable, and then it was fun,” she explained. “They liked me enough to bend the rules a bit,” Hyebin wasn’t replying. Why wasn’t she?
“Just so we’re clear,” Hua took also a step back, Hyebin’s hands were still on her waist. “We’re talking about the National Ballet Academy, right?” A nod. So it was true. It had always been true. Hua knew she was frowning, but she didn’t understand. Why would Hyebin give up on such a great career? She was cut for it, she had the talent, the technique, the stamina. Hell, she did things no one else could, even. “Did you not pass the auditions to be in their corps?”
Hyebin closed her eyes. “I did pass,” her voice was low. Hua was shaking her head. No. No, no. It was all wrong. “I wanted to go to our company, though. To our theater.”
“ Why? ” She cried. “You worked all your life to be in the National Ballet and you give it up for this sub-par-” she was almost choking. “What could be the reason?”
“You,” Hyebin replied instantly.
They only met when Hyebin had already changed careers, though. Hyebin hadn’t even known she was there when she auditioned, watching her, already admiring her. Hua moved Hyebin’s hands away from her. She walked off stage. This was all wrong. Hyebin was running after her, of course she was. Now she wanted to talk. Not when it would have been useful, not when it would have been good and healthy to know that she was ruining her life and that Hua was actively contributing to this delusion. Had she known- What would she have done? Would she have stopped herself from falling for her? Would she have told her to go back to the KNB and stay there? Would she have gone to beg the KNB to take her back? “Don’t blame me ,” she said. Hyebin was taking her hand again. She let her. It wasn’t like she could stop loving her, at this point.
“I’m not blaming you, Hua-jie,” Hyebin was hurt. Her face was too transparent. “You really don’t remember?”
Let’s take another step back. Just one, this time.
Hua had started her job at the company where she would meet Hyebin on a freezing January morning. Eight months later, she’d concluded her first season, after being included in the Swan Lake — happy and proud of being one of the four Little Swans, after killing herself to obtain perfect unison with the other three girls needed for the part. Their winter run, that year, had included a contemporary ballet, created and choreographed within the company itself. Hua’s role hadn’t been exceptional. The choreographer had prepared all of them to have a solo that lasted for about one minute, and that was all the spotlight she was getting for the year. All in all, she was satisfied.
What you’re always told, and feels a bit legendary, a bit unreal, as a performer of any kind is that you never know who might be in your audience. Your performance — your art, as it is true for all artists — might change someone’s life. It feels abstract, doesn’t it? Like, if you had to think of it, you might think of a child getting inspired to pursue a musical career, or a dance class. Or you might think of an adult person that is prompted to reflect on some experience or other and, after coming out of the theater, makes a phone call that had been procrastinated for too long. You surely wouldn’t think that a ballet major from the Korean National Ballet is sitting in the seventh row, next to two of her classmates, and she’s thinking that she would do everything and anything to be on stage next to that dancer who’d just unbraided her hair while dancing, a powerful portrayal of rage and strength, her eyes lit up with more than just the determination to perform well. Hua couldn’t know that the woman she would fall in love with was sitting there, watching her and taking both of their destinies into her hands. She couldn’t know that Hyebin was weaving the threads of fate, when Hua bowed and left the stage at the end of the performance. Hua was weaving them, too, but she didn’t know.
What she knew, though, was that she’d left that theater that night, and she’d joined the rest of the cast for drinks. It was the same place, always the same, from one year to the next, and to the next. And Hua was a good drinker, she could hold her alcohol well, so she never really forgot what happened when she drank. She never blacked out. Which was what the other girls were laughing at her for, how much she’d drunk without being drunk yet. Girl, did they train your tolerance too, in your Chinese academy? Oh wow , Hua had laughed about it, it wasn’t like that, she’d always been like this . And everyone had laughed, and then one of the other rookies had said something about someone’s ex being hot, and that had elicited some uproar, because Hey, that’s her ex, you can’t date him . And Hua had drunk more, because she couldn’t take part in that. All that mattered to her in life was dancing, and it wasn’t like she could get in a relationship with dance. Could she?
“Haneul-ie,” one of the older girls in the company called her. “Haneul-ie, there’s a- there’s like two people who want to talk to you?” Hua had turned to follow where she was pointing at. There were two girls, wrapped up in puffer jackets and woolen hats and constantly glancing at a third girl that was already outside.
“Who are they, eonnie?” She asked.
“They mentioned they watched the show, maybe they’re dancers, too, I don’t know. It’s loud in here.” It was loud. And she looked quite drunk, too. Hua walked towards the two girls.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” the one on the right said. Hua looked at her distractedly. She might be a dancer, yes. Her shoulders were straight, under all those layers. “We were at your show, we’re students still, but we’re about to audition and-”
“You were so beautiful on stage,” the other girl spoke over the first. And Hua shouldn’t have forgotten about this awkward situation, but there were people laughing loudly behind them, and Hua’s head was spinning a bit, and she only wanted to take a shower and go to bed. Again, Hua shouldn’t have forgotten about her face. Her words, she would always remember: “It was hypnotizing, captivating. It must be great to work with someone like you.”
What she should have remembered, but she didn’t, was the reply she’d given to Hyebin. Whom she didn’t know would be her Hyebin. “Well, we’re holding auditions, too, while you’re at it.” The girls had exchanged a glance. “Thank you, though. It’s nice to hear you liked the show.”
It looked like the second girl, the one who’d turned bright red and who was studying her so intensely, wanted to ask more. But the third girl, the one outside, popped in again, angry: “If you’re not coming, I’m still going. I’m freezing my ass out here and if I catch a cold you’re gonna have to deal with me.”
“You’re really an amazing dancer,” the bright-faced girl had added, as her friend dragged her away. “And you’re really pretty, too!”
“Aigo, stop flirting,” the friend had chided. “We missed the last bus.”
And now, a few steps forward. Here and there.
“You’re sure you always remember everything when you drink?” Hyebin, early August. “You never ever forget anything?” My memory is quite good, thank you .
“So, like, what’s your first memory of me?” Hyebin, her stupid questions, late September. Your red Kitri costume . “Oh, I like that one, do you want to see it up close?” What a lame excuse to invite me over.
“Would you like to know what my first impression of you was?” Hyebin, mid-October, her hair sprayed on her pillow. Yes, Hua hadn’t said. She’d just run her fingers along Hyebin’s arm, naked from the elbow down. They’d just woken up. Hua had just built her resolve not to crumble and kiss this girl silly. I only care about your current impression of me. “You’re just fishing for compliments.” And you’re going to compliment me.
“If you ever lost your memory, would you want to learn about what you forgot?” Hyebin, not even a week before their pas-de-deux in the empty theater. No, Hua had said. I’d prefer to relearn step by step . “Even if you forgot me?” How could I forget you? You’re literally always nagging me .
Hua didn’t know if she was laughing or crying. She was sitting outside of the theater, on a freezing night, her hands clad in heavy gloves, her coat buttoned up and a big pink scarf wrapped around her neck. Silly, silly Hyebin was sitting next to her, as she recounted everything. A whole year, a whole year through her eyes. She’d joined the auditions late, being added to the list only because of her background, and not because she was on time. She’d wanted to reuse the same performances she’d presented for the National Ballet. But then she’d thought about it, and she’d composed a contemporary solo from scratch, and she’d rehearsed Don Quixote frantically and obsessively. “Why Kitri?” Hua finally asked, after she finished telling about how she’d never regretted it a single day. Not a single minute.
“Isn’t she in love, too?” Hyebin’s eyes were shiny, glossy with tears.
They’re all in love , Hua wanted to argue. It’s ballet , she was ready to say. But then she couldn’t. “You’d never even spoken to me properly,” she whispered.
“It was a good choice,” Hyebin replied. “Do you not want me here?”
Hua’s hand flew to her arm. She half laughed, half sobbed. “Nonsense,” she said. “Hyebin,” she was already looking at her. “Hyebin, our lives won’t be easy. It’s a cutthroat industry, and it’s a conservative country.” Hyebin’s hand fell on top of hers.
“If I asked you to just be by my side, without ever crossing this line, would you say yes?” Hyebin asked.
“Of course,” Hua was too quick to say. “And you’d do the same. But-”
“So it’s settled,” Hyebin said. Hua would cry all night. How could she be so serene, so easy-going, while succumbing to what everyone expected of them? “Starting from now, I’m your girlfriend. You’re my girlfriend.” Hua’s breath caught in her throat.
“Wha-” And then. “Hyebin-ah. Hyebin. ” A few tears were streaming down her face. “You’re crazy.” Hyebin was hugging her, pushing her face in Hua’s scarf. Hua hugged her tight. So tight that she yelped. “I’m so happy.”
Hyebin was laughing softly. “Can I walk you home?” Hua didn’t let go of this hug for what felt like an entire hour. She was happy. And she was exhausted. She’d lived three different lives in the span of one day.
The opening night of the Nutcracker was a success on all fronts. Everyone applauded their performances for the longest time, and all the changing rooms were filled with flowers and congratulatory cards. More than a few newspapers and culture-related magazines praised the show, calling Hyebin a promising interpreter, as steady in her skills as many experienced professionals and an ethereal fairy who believably looks like she’s not from this world. Hua’s Clara was addressed as a sincere heroine who’s candid intelligence is mirrored in the clean, pristine technique shown by Chinese-born Jang Haneul . It wasn’t her name. But it was still a good review. Hua left most of the flowers she’d received at the theater, to be dealt with by the staff. She couldn’t carry all of them home anyway. The only bunch she picked up was made of white and pink daisies. The card, in Hyebin’s tidy hand, read You’ll be great, I’ll be watching the first act from behind a curtain. I love you, my dear. Hua had looked at it seven thousand times, and then she’d put it safely in the back of her phone case.
Walking out, she greeted the rest of the dancers she met. Jiwoong had hugged her, tears in his eyes, for five whole minutes after the curtain had closed. He’d added that their pas-de-deux had never been better, what’s happened tonight, were you visited by the angel of the pas-de-deux? Hyebin had gained a new nickname, at least in Hua’s heart.
Hyebin’s parents were standing next to her by the artists’ exit, her mom incredibly similar to her, in the cut of her face and in the brightness of her smile. They were chatting among the three of them, and Hua maybe should wait it out. Allow them to celebrate the opening of the season in peace.
But Hyebin always knew when she was close, and she went to fetch her. She was holding a single bunch of flowers, too. Her mom had another in her arms, and it was clear that that was the one her parents had bought. Don’t look at anyone else , Hua had written on the card that was attached to Hyebin’s flowers. It’s me you’re dancing for! “Mom, Dad, can I introduce Hua-eonnie to you?”
Hyebin’s mother was hugging her. Hua was there, frozen. Did Hyebin’s parents know that their insane daughter had left the most prestigious company in the country to have a chance to dance with her? “Oh, Hua, darling,” Hyebin’s mother started. “You played such an amazing Clara,” oh. “I almost teared up. Our Hyebin is so lucky to be working with you, she always mentions how good you are, as a dancer, as a person.” Hyebin was smiling, almost smug. “Let’s have some dinner all together, alright?”
Every night, after the show, they started going home together. It was always harder to stop kissing Hyebin. Her lips were often too dry, and Hua didn’t give a fuck. She was eager, and she was hungry, and she’d waited months to be able to kiss this girl and now she wasn’t going to stop doing it, like ever. Their first kiss had been sweet, peck after peck, and a lot of insecurity. Because Hyebin had never kissed anyone — you’re kidding. With how fucking hot you are? — and because Hua was scared as shit, because the feelings in her chest were a bit too big. But every awkwardness had gone away quickly, and Hyebin’s talent didn’t just lie in dancing, apparently, because she was a pro at running her desperate tongue along Hua’s lips and at making her breathless, head-spinning, gasping for air. Oh, Hua loved her kisses, maybe more than she loved her, which was a lot to begin with. The way Hyebin pushed her down on her mattress, the way she ran her hands on her body. The shivers she sent all across Hua’s back just by touching her thighs so assertively. Hua always had to push her away from her neck, she liked it a bit too much, and she had to also tell her to slow down, breathe, they had time. They had all their lives in front of them. All their lives. She couldn’t know how true it would be, but the future was going to prove her right. The years would pile up on top of each other, and they would move across a few apartments and at least as many beds, and they would kiss each other in differently-furnished kitchens, and always on the same couch. And they would fight and yell at each other in at least three different cars, but Hyebin would run to make up with her just outside an airport only once, and Hua would roll her eyes because that wasn’t even that big of a fight, but she had to visit her family and Hyebin insisted she shouldn’t fly out angry. They would save money to open a dance academy, and they would give up on a few dream trips in order to keep it open. And that was all things Hua couldn’t bring herself to imagine, when she kissed Hyebin over and over again, after every single Nutcracker performance.
“So, it was true, in the end?” Kim Jiwoong’s Nutcracker costume was ridiculous. He looked dumb in it. “The National Ballet thing,” he explained.
“Yeah,” Hua was stretching backstage.
“Do you know why she was kicked out, then?” Hua smiled at him.
“She wasn’t kicked out, she went away willingly,” and then she changed the stretching position just by a bit. “It’s nothing scandalous, you can ask her.”
He studied her for a long while. “I’m happy for you,” he ended up saying. “For both of you,” he concluded. And then he kept talking. “It’s like, weird, because I’m used to ballerinas wanting to kill each other, and rationally you two should have been just like that, because you two were clearly the two best girls here. But instead you became so close and it almost feels like it’s impossible that two people could fall in love like this, you know? But there you are. Living proof that those stupid tv-dramas are realistic, in the end.”
Hua raised her eyebrows. She let a few seconds go by. “And what about you?”
“Me?” He shrugged. “There’s a guy,” he began. “And he knows shit fuck about ballet, so he’s been calling me a ballerina all the time.” Hua laughed. “But he’s fun. And he said he’s coming to see the show quite soon, but he won’t tell me when.”
Hua was a hundred percent sure that she would never be able to understand how men reasoned. “That’s his loss, though. Little does he know that you can dance ten times better if your crush is in the audience.”
“Is that why you’re such good dancers, you and Hyebin?”
“Maybe,” Hua replied. And then she said. “I want to do Giselle with her.”
“Let’s rewrite it,” Jiwoong supplied. And he was genuinely smiling at her. “Let’s do a retelling. Let Giselle kill the motherfucker.” Hyebin would be so up for this.
“Would it still be classical ballet?” She played along.
“Oh, for sure. Same music and all. Just like when they did that gay Swan Lake thing. Just, we kill him off. Feminist Giselle.”
“You’re a man,” Hua felt the need to point out.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “And fuck men.” Hua had never laughed this hard with him. Maybe she’d acted like an asshole for no reason.
The end of their performances saw the whole cast drunk, again, but at a different bar. There was music, and it was more of a club. Everyone was happy, but Hua doubted anyone could be happier than she was. Sitting on top of Hyebin’s legs, they were both having a conversation with the Snow Queen and her prince. Hyebin was laughing loud, her hands resting on Hua’s thighs. As soon as the curtain had closed for the last time, Hua had run to her, still on stage, kissing her in front of everyone that was still on stage. Hyebin had been caught by surprise, but she’d welcomed her with a smile. Among the cheers for the successful conclusion of their run, someone had started whistling. “Thank you,” Hua had whispered against her lips. Hand in hand, they’d waited for everyone else to get off from the stage, most of them acknowledging them with a thumbs up or a nod. Their choreographer had just shaken his head, but Hua had seen that he was smiling. He’s the one who put us in that duo , Hyebin had shrugged. And then she’d dragged her to the center of the stage. She’d started humming random pieces of the show’s score, and she’d began dancing to them. Hua was tired and her heart was going to beat out of her chest. “I love you,” she’d said, softly.
“Be a flower with me,” Hyebin had replied, as she danced the Waltz of the Flowers on her own. “Come on.” Sometimes, she was like a child. And Hua was a victim of her childish behavior. But, again, who was ever going to make her as happy as Hyebin did?
“Lovebirds,” Matthew’s head emerged from a curtain. “We’re all getting changed to go to a bar, you’re coming, right?”
“Text us where,” Hyebin replied, and Hua had to physically stop her dancing and drag her to where Matthew was talking to them. He’d been talking to Hua more, lately. And he’d been dating Taerae, too. It had caused a bit of a ruckus when the choreographer had walked onto them — supposedly rehearsing together for the Trepak, but actively eating faces. Nothing bad had followed, except for a very embarrassing notice taped to the doors that read Leave door open when room is free, knock when door closed . Although professional in looks, everyone knew that it was there because those two had never closed that door.
Hyebin said that Gunwook had taken Matthew’s choice with poise and maturity, and clearly Jiwoong had found better people to fool with. So, all in all, they were all kinda set. Still, Hua didn’t think anyone could be happier than she was. She was the happiest, she was dating the best person ever, her soulmate, the love of her life. She’d won.
“You have to help me with Korean,” Hua had stated one day. It was February, and a year had passed since Hyebin had come to work with her. “I need to take an exam so that I’ll be able to work as a dance instructor here when you and I are old.”
“You can take it later,” Hyebin had yawned. Of course, it was nine PM and they’d danced like crazy all day. “You don’t need to take it now.”
“I’ll be more stupid later,” Hua retorted. “I’m still bright minded now, I’m still young. Help me with Korean.”
Hyebin groaned. She was sitting on the hardwood floor of the class where they’d just had two hours of technique class. “How do I help?”
“Only speak to me in Korean,” Hua stated. “No English, no Mandarin,” Hyebin had started studying it. “And use difficult words so I can learn them.”
“Do you have to be good at poetry to teach ballet?” Hyebin yawned again. That night, Hua let her be. But she pressed on, and she pressed on, until Hyebin agreed. Since she wasn’t any happy to begin with, she began making fun of Hua by calling her with the other, the uglier, name. You said no Mandarin , she would say. Haneul-ah. And Hua would tell her to at least be polite. Haneul-nim . She had no right being this hot while she teased her. Haneul-ie , god, she was so fucking beautiful. Whenever she smiled and her eyes thinned, and whenever her nose was scrunched in laughter Hua lost her mind. And she found herself unable to process anything rational.
Haneul-eonnie, Hua-jie , Haneullie, jiejie , everything became poison to her ears, when Hyebin called her name with her breathy voice, as she trailed her lips against her thighs, only to keep them spread open with her palms. Haneullie, let me eat you out , she would beg. And how could anyone say no? Her tongue was wicked, and the way she’d learned exactly what to do to make it feel great was the worst of it. Did she know how great she looked, with her head between Hua’s thighs, with her nose pressing against her pubic bone, with her faded pink hair framing her face, still refusing to stay within the ties? Did she know that whenever she looked up her lips would be swollen and shiny and that it always had Hua’s stomach flutter? Did she know that whenever she sucked a bit on Hua’s clitoris she had to fight back some kind of animal scream? This last thing, she had to know, or she would stop doing that. But she never did. Oh, fuck. And her hand? Hua always felt boneless, with Hyebin’s second and third fingers inside of her.
Which brings us to the beginning of this.
Hua, who only liked being called Haneul when Hyebin was begging her and who hated everything vaguely uncomfortable, except when Hyebin was involved. Hua, who was making out with her girlfriend, sticky with the sweat from the six hours of dancing they’d gone through. Hua, who’d pushed a hand past every layer that was covering Hyebin and was fucking her, sitting between her legs, while Hyebin — back to the floor, her hands spanning Hua’s back frantically — cried her name softly, increasingly more desperate. What was the occasion, one might ask, as they weren’t used to such activities in such places.
Easy to say. Their pianist had unwittingly elected to play music from the Don Quixote in class. Which had led everyone to recall how Hyebin’s audition had been a variation from the very same ballet. I wanted to impress Hua-jie , Hyebin had proclaimed, and the look she’d thrown at Hua had been criminal. All throughout the barre class Hyebin had made sure that their hands grazed, light, feather-like touches whenever they switched positions in temps liés, playful overlappings when they had to hold their attitudes and arabesques, fakely distracted kitty scratches at the back of Hua’s hand — which she kept leaving there — as the teachers explained the combinations. A few of the new rookies had begged her, later, to please show them this legendary rendition of Kitri, from her audition. They’d missed this. Hua had looked at her defiantly. If the first time she’d done it to impress her — and she’d managed to — this had to be better than that.
What an amazing dancer Hyebin was. Everyone was in awe of her, but Hua’s was the only opinion Hyebin cared about and it made Hua crazy. “Was it good?” They were finally alone. “Would you have looked at me if I’d done it like this?” Hua would have looked at her anyway. In any world. With any variation.
“I would have kissed you right then and right there,” she lied. Hyebin had kissed her. Hua hadn’t let a single second go, she’d wrapped her arms around her neck, pressing their bodies together, waiting eagerly for Hyebin’s hands around her waist first, and then along her sides, up, up until her thumb was swiping the underside of her breast, until her hand was cupping one of her boobs. “Bin-ie,” Hua’s own voice felt too desperate. “It takes too long to go home.”
And there they were, first stumbling through the classroom, reaching a wall, no, fuck, it was a mirror. Who cared. And then Hua’s leotard was being pushed down, Hyebin’s lips, her mouth, all over her skin. Kissing, she was kissing her breast, she was biting lightly, oh, shit, the way she touched her. And Hyebin’s outfit today was better, no leo, just a tank top and shorts over the thighs, oh lucky Hua. Luckiest Hua. Sliding her fingers under her clothes, against her scorching skin was too easy. Hua flipped them over, with too much decision. Hyebin’s head clanked against the mirror. It didn’t matter, Hyebin was pulling her on top of herself, and they were kissing again, and Hua was trying to pull up her top again, because it was kind of cold, except it couldn’t be cold, because Hyebin’s hands were everywhere. She fucked her well, even though pleasing Hyebin was easy. She relaxed quickly, when Hua kissed her belly, and she ran her fingers all over her torso. Her soft skin, the taut muscles of her abdomen, her round breast. She was the most perfect person ever. And the gentle sighs she was letting out, warping around Hua’s names, they were so good. So addictive. Hua was rubbing her fingers along Hyebin’s inner seam, rhythmically, as Hyebin was pressing into it, her face only focused on her pleasure. She hissed, when Hua pressed deeper, and she swore when Hua’s thumb made her leg twitch involuntarily. Getting home was a hurried affair of putting on some random layers, zipping up their jackets and hopping on a bus.
“I love you a lot,” Hyebin said, just before she kissed her again. It was slower, calmer, full with love and care and everything in between. Hyebin kissed every inch of her skin, and she took off all her layers with reverence. They lathered soap on each other’s bodies, and they managed to be quick enough for the hot water not to run out. “Jie,” Hyebin’s eyes were always bright. “You said your parents are visiting next week.”
Hua nodded, still rubbing circles on her back. Hyebin was laying on top of her. “Do you think your parents would like to meet them too?”
Hyebin’s eyes went round. “Yeah,” she cleared her throat. “I mean. Yes. But isn’t it a big deal?”
Hua laughed, sharp and bright and happy. “Are you going anywhere?”
“Where would I even go?” Hyebin instantly replied. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” Cheesy. Hua scoffed at her, and she didn’t bring it up until much later. Now, Hyebin would crawl back, spread her labia open, go down on her like only she could. She would have Hua press her own mouth shut, and she would have her gripping at the sheets with her fist tight. She would have Hua wiping tears off her face, because this was always so intense, for some reason. And, only after hours had passed, after dinner was eaten and plates washed, kimchi stored back in its box, the kitchen cleaned, she would ask for the first and last time.
“Hyebin-ah, if I asked you to spend your life with me, all of it, what would you say?”
And Hyebin would just pull her closer to her, a laptop with a TV-drama playing ill balanced on the mattress. “Yes.”
Notes and videos:
Performances done/mentioned in detail by characters:
Don Quixote (ballet):
Plot: Don Quixote, old and not-in-his-right-mind, embarks on a journey trying to find his dream lover, Dulcinea. In his travels, assisted by Sancho, he reaches a town square, where a local girl (Kitri) is professing her love to a boy she wants to marry. Since her father opposes it, the two lovers run away.
Kitri’s father asks Don Quixote and Sancho to help him find his daughter, so she can get married to the man he chose for her. During this adventure, Don Quixote ends up fighting against mills, watching a puppet-show, dreaming about his Dulcinea, but he also ends up understanding the true love that bonds Kitri and her lover, therefore convincing her father to let the two get married.
Kitri variation (Act I, Don Quixote): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQ73d68HQCs&pp=ygUPa2l0cmkgdmFyaWF0aW9u
Giselle (ballet):
Plot: Giselle is tricked by Albrecht, who convinces her to get engaged to him, only for him to already be engaged to someone else. Heartbroken and mad with grief, Giselle dies and, in the second act, she is revived as a spirit by the vengeful Myrtha, who leads a chorus of ghosts of similarly betrayed girls. Myrtha wants Giselle to take out vengeance on Albrecht, but the generous girl decides to spare him in the name of the sincere love she still feels for him.
Giselle variation: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3TLSrI_hXEw
Giselle discovers the betrayal: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQid-In9wZQ
Giselle saves Albrecht from the ghosts: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ql3o-1eSdbQ
Myrtha and the Wilis: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpebK92juCU
Esmeralda (ballet):
General: the Esmeralda ballet in its whole is practically never performed anywhere (they did a reconstructed version at the Bolshoi a few years back, with Osipova as the lead). However, its famous variation is extremely popular and often performed as a sort of stand-alone in galas and competitions.
The famous virtuoso variation: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KRjsdpSL6z4
The Nutcracker (and the Mouse King):
Plot:
More comprehensive here https://www.rbo.org.uk/tickets-and-events/40/the-nutcracker-by-peter-wright/cast-list/51287
Otherwise: Young Clara’s family holds a very beautiful Christmas party and the child receives a nutcracker doll as a gift. She’s very fond of her doll, but little does she know that the doll is instead a beautiful boy that was punished and transformed into the nutcracker. During the night, the King of the Mouses comes out from his hiding spot and he tries to steal away the doll, which initiates a fierce battle between the two parties. Brave Clara wakes up and — guided by her parents’ guest who’s also a magician — she’s sent into a land of magic where she helps the Nutcracker defeat the Mouse King. Grateful for her assistance, the Nutcracker dances with her and they watch the snowflakes fall in the forest. In the second act of the Ballet, the Nutcracker guides Clara through the Land of Sweets, which is ruled by the beautiful Sugar Plum Fairy. She holds a party for Clara to attend, with all kinds of sweets coming from all over the world: coffee from Arabia, chocolate from Spain, tea from China and candy-canes from Russia. At the end of the celebration, the Sugar Plum Fairy dances for Clara with her Cavalier, and then the girl is re-accompanied to her parents’ house. There, she meets the nephew of the magician, who surprisingly (!) looks like the Nutcracker and everyone is happy for Christmas Day.
Relevant videos:
Clara and the Nutcracker’s pas-de-deux: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEjEtPgaL60
Sugar Plum Fairy variation: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Il-RsbXeaNw
Sugar Plum Fairy grand pas-de-deux: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qy6dlGpC3Ns&t=272s
Russian dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r-qVbWl5TYg
Arabian dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLNytVwZq1w
The Swan Lake:
Plot: https://www.sfballet.org/discover/backstage/the-story-of-swan-lake/
The Little Swans: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xd2nTXsivHs
The “gay version” was a rendition of the ballet choreographed by Matthew Bourne, more on this here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swan_Lake_(Bourne)
(if you read this story like in the first 23 hours, it told about a gay adaptation of Romeo and Juliet, but apparently our Matthew Bourne is still working on that, so I changed it).
Other ballets mentioned:
Paquita (ballet):
Plot: Spain is under the occupation of Napoleon, and Paquita is a young girl, who’s been living with a Romani family. What she doesn’t know is that she was abducted as a child, and she is of noble birth. Extremely brave, she saves the life of a French officer, who was to be killed. Classically, a medallion triggers the recognition between the two relatives, and she is able to be reintegrated in her noble family.
Paquita is a ballet famous for the central role of the protagonist. Here’s a compilation of all the main variations: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H3E7Eimi35c
Coppelia (ballet):
Plot: Inspired by the tale of The sandman by Hoffman and transformed to be much more light-hearted, Coppelia tells the story of an evil inventor (Dr. Coppelius) who builds a life-like doll.
During a town festival, young Swanhilda wants to get married to Franz, who, instead, only has eyes for the mysterious Coppelia, a girl who sits all day by her window.
Swanhilda, determined to get to the bottom of it, decides to investigate and, having stolen Dr. Coppelius’ house keys, she and her friends get inside the palace, finding it populated with life-like dolls. Coppelia, too, is a doll! Swanhilda and the girls find out that Dr. Coppelius wants to kill Franz and use his soul to make the doll alive. He’s already kidnapped Franz and he’s about to start his operation, when Swanhilda puts on Coppelia’s clothes and pretends the doll came to life on its own.
Successfully deceiving Dr. Coppelius the two get married, but the doctor shows up wanting compensation as he found “Coppelia dead” (she was never alive). The mayor pays him and everyone’s happy.
Swanhilda as Coppelia (yes, it’s still Marianela Nunez): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LDYKDfM5A5s&pp=ygUIY29wcGVsaWE%3D
The mechanical dolls: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6F0lo3Izaog&pp=ygUIY29wcGVsaWE%3D
Town celebrations for the wedding and festival: The Walz of the Hours https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryFyVpqbqGQ