I fell asleep after taking a few bites from the food the old lady had provided. I decided to save a bit of the drink that had performed such wonders on my health for right before they took me away. I heard them lumber down the stairs hours later, four or five of them from the sound of it. I grabbed the last of the health potion, drank it down and stood, ready to face them. With a renewed energy I was prepared to stand my ground, to tell them to let me go, to tell them I was a wanted fugitive, whatever it took to get me out of this mess. I wasn't waking up and re-entering the real world, so I needed to find a way to stall, to get out of whatever they had planned for me.
The thin man was the first through the prison door, followed very quickly by two of the twin goons. I think it must have been standard protocol. After all, he was such a small, worm-like creature I could have beaten him into submission if he didn't have an ample supply of Cryoventia. I stood in place, fists clenched, waiting to hear what he had to say.
"My, my, my." He began, hands clutched behind his back, eyes sizing me up. "You are the curious little thing, aren't you? First you disappear from one of my handlers, next you stand up to one of my guards when you had gotten away without a trace. I'd call you foolish, but I don't think you are devoid of thought, much like my precious pets are." He walked over to one of the guards and reached out, stroking him lovingly on the cheek. It was one of the creepiest things I had ever seen. The huge guard, instead of being insulted, responded the way a puppy might respond to an abusive master's one unexpected act of kindness. He leaned into his master's hand, happy to be acknowledged in any way. It was a repulsive sight.
"So, what's to be done with you?" he walked across the newly-clean floor, as if pacing to figure out what to do with the curious girl in his possession. "You are not from these lands. I can tell when the girls are 'local'. They just seem beaten down by life at such a young age. You seem to have a little spirit in you. It's spirit I will of course have to break, but for now it's too strong to put you to the banners." I figured he meant the long line of seamstresses I had seen earlier making the never-ending lengths of plain fabric. "Perhaps I should put you above ground, as one of the patrons. Then again the only ones allowed above ground are the ones who have gained favor with the queen, so that might be a tricky move. Not to mention your penchant for sudden outbursts." He paced for a moment more before he held his hand up in a "eureka" moment. "I've got it. We'll make you one of the Exceptionals! That way I can keep an eye on you, and it should be no problem to break that spirit of yours when you are being controlled by a good steady dose of Dioden, or more Cryoventia, if it comes to that. That's it, that's what we'll do with you. The old music box girl, I'm thinking. She was in such desperate need of replacing for quite a while. The last time the queen was here she complained about her haggard appearance. She has to be...replaced. I believe you will be a nice replacement for her."
I interrupted. "Speaking of the queen, that might be a bad idea. The last time I was here I was told I was a fugitive from the queen's justice. It might be more beneficial if you find that soldier you incapacitated and return me to face her wrath. If she finds out you've taken one of her prisoners it might not go so well for you."
I never saw the man reach in and grab a thinner version of one of the cattle prods the guards carried, but the jolt of the voltage as it coursed through my body told me he had just given me a nasty shock. My knees buckled from the extreme pain flowing through every single particle of my body. "Quiet your lies slave!" He shouted angrily. "Nobody escapes from Calperal once you have been claimed! You are mine. If what you say is true, then the queen is easy enough to placate. I hand you over after I am finished with you. And when I am finished with you, there will be little left for the queen to punish. But now, you are subject to my punishment. No one runs away from the great Calperal and gets away with it! Take her to the fitters! I am done with her...for now." The guard grabbed me and hoisted me over his shoulder. As we walked away I watched Calperal take a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wipe the hand that had touched the cheek of his "pet." Apparently he wasn't that enamored with his animals as he pretended to be.
The fitter was an old man sitting in the middle of a vast room that was covered from wall to wall with various costumes and decorations. The goon put me down and left me in the fitter's capable hands, still in pain but recovering quickly with the aid of the old woman's potion. I was looked up and down, turned on a pedestal that afforded my costumer a 360-degree view of me and in short order I was given a beautiful dancing costume that was frilly and lacy, colorful and bright and about five sizes too small for me. It looked like something Aurora could squeeze her lithe frame into given the opportunity, but for a girl of my curvy stature it would never fit. He motioned me into an attached wash room, ordering me to wash before I put on the costume. "Don't get your foul stench on my masterpiece!" the old man chuffed before resuming his place on his stool. I was going to argue with him about the size of his masterpiece, but I figured he'd find out soon enough when I split the seams trying to pull the small costume up on my broader hips.
I entered the wash room, expecting a dank chamber in which to wash and change. What I found instead was a room of luxury, a room entirely bathed in bright white light, with pleasant-smelling soaps and perfumes. In the center of the room was a bathtub filled with hot, perfumed water. Fluffy white towels hung off to the side and a wash cloth sat on the side of the tub near the soaps and the shampoos. I undressed quickly, tossing the ragged and smelly clothes into a pile in the corner. I stepped into the bath and submerged my entire body in the luxurious liquid. I know I spent an hour soaking in the tub, but the old man never knocked or expressed any signs of hurry. It was strange, but as I looked down at my naked body things seemed different, as if I was thinner than I would be in the waking world. Maybe one of the benefits of the dream was being able to decide what size I wanted to be and not the size I really was. I carefully bathed, lathering my head and leaving the lather in for longer than need be, more to drag out my time in the bath and admire the way my body looked than to protect the integrity of the costume, even though it was quite a work of art.
It looked like one of those costumes the French would wear in the ballets of long ago. There was this whole frame for the skirt to rest upon so it would look bustled on the sides. The shoes laced all the way up the calves to tie in a bow at the knee. Frilly lace gave the illusion of a full petticoat where the skirt was gathered on either side. And ribbons and flowers in various shades of pink and green held the ruching in place. A flower coronet in the same colors finished the outfit, along with dainty white lace gloves. It was a sight to behold; I only hoped my eyes had not been deceiving me in the bathtub. I eased out of the tub and wrapped a towel around myself, still looking at the costume with a bit of doubt. Imagine my surprise and delight when the petite costume fit me perfectly. After all the pieces were in place I walked out to get the fitter's opinion. He placed me back on the pedestal, laced up the lace corset in the back, leaving me very little room to breathe, and started fussing with my hair, putting it in curlers, taking it out of curlers, putting it up in a loose bun and putting it back in curlers. As the last of my curls set he sat me on the stool to fix my face. He coated my skin with a very thick foundation, then spent fifteen minutes applying mascara eyeliner and shadow to my eyelids. Being so unaccustomed to putting so much stuff on my face it took him several attempts to get the eyeliner right, my eyes kept tearing up. After another twenty minutes applying and re-applying blush and making my lips look just right he stepped back, inspecting his handiwork. He motioned me over to a mirror, more to brag about his own work than to let me admire what I looked like.
I stepped in front of the three-way mirror and lost my breath. There in the three images stood a beautiful girl, much thinner than I was in real life and completely overdone in the make-up but nevertheless dazzling. I'd never looked like this before in my entire life. I looked like a music box doll. If it weren't for the fact that a huge beast of a man was waiting to take me to some fancy form of slavery I would have been a little more ecstatic about my appearance. But before I could take it all in completely the guard joined us. "Is she done?" he asked the fitter, getting a slight nod for an answer. The guard grabbed me by the wrist and began to pull me away, but the fitter protested. "Gently, you imbecile!" He shouted. "You'll destroy the costume!" The guard let up, taking me by the hand and putting me in front to walk ahead of him instead. He made certain to let me see the cattle prod ready to shoot me full of electricity should I protest.
We walked through a labyrinth of hallways and stairwells. I was exhausted by the time we met back up with Calperal at the end of a small hallway, at the end of the hallway a singular door. Calperal looked me over with a meticulous eye. "Well, you certainly clean up nicely." He smiled, and his smile suddenly made me feel dirty, as if I was naked and exposed in some way. He circled me like a vulture, pulling a ribbon here, straightening a bit of lace there. When he knelt down to "fix" my skirt I had to fight the urge to pull away from his prying eyes. There were two of his goons standing nearby, prods at the ready. I didn't want to get lit up like a light bulb again; the pain from those prods was unbearable. "Can you dance?" he asked.
I shook my head. He seemed to be disappointed by this news, but only slightly. "No matter. The only performance you give that will matter will be for the queen when she deigns to join us again. She was just here a few weeks ago, and it is unlikely we'll see her again for a while." I started to remind him of my fugitive status, but he waved me off. "And don't worry about being recognized. We will use one of the masks to hide your face, should the need arise. For the time being you are to put on a show, nothing more. It doesn't have to be a good show. Entertainment has no value here." He said this with a sigh, as if remembering better times gone by. "These days I fill positions, nothing more. Talent means nothing. Beauty," he stroked my cheek, much like he did with his goon, "means very little. All the queen wants is sustenance. The park continues to run because Psitharis needs it. The park keeps this land alive somehow. These days this place is a means to an end, nothing more. When I was in charge years ago this was a place to behold. And now," he paused, "it's a graveyard full of emotionless zombies. You could step back and forth in a dreadful two-step and it wouldn't matter. All you need to do is put on some sort of show whenever you are prompted." He opened the other door and motioned for me to step inside.
The small room was rectangular, with a French countryside painted on the back wall and a huge plate glass window with a decorative border painted on the edges acting as the wall on the other side. Through the window you could see the dreary landscape. Park patrons marched past abysmally, completely defeated by their existence. Nobody talked, nobody smiled. Every now and then one of the children would steal a glance our way to see what was going on, why one part of the park was suddenly so illuminated. But they always looked down as quickly as they could, lest they be detected and punished. It made me sad to see my beloved Dream Land become this nightmare. It meant that, somewhere down the line I had created this. My life and my thoughts created this netherworld in which people were punished for having fun and being happy. In creating this, I must have also created that bitch of a queen. What the hell was wrong with me?
"As you can see, the room is set up like a music box. This light," he pointed up, "is usually off. It only comes on when a patron pushes a button out there in the courtyard." He pointed to a stand between some of the park benches. "They will do so every hour or so, perhaps a little more often. It is their job. When the button is pushed, this light will go on and music will play. You are the music box ballerina. It is your job to go through the motions, dance a little dance until the light goes off. Then you pause, perfectly still, until the park patrons leave. Do not move until they have gone, around two minutes or so. After that you may relax, sit on the floor or lean against the wall, as long as you are prepared to begin dancing from where you stand or sit. Any varying from the routine will result in severe punishment." One of the thugs hit his baton against the palm of his hand to remind me of the punishment I could expect should I not do my job.
"What happened to the last girl who did this job?" I asked.
Calperal sighed, disappointment showing clearly on his face. "She was displeasing to the queen. She stumbled during her performance, she began to show her age and the queen decided to have her – terminated – from her position. It was so unfortunate. She could actually dance, unlike you, who I am sure will prove to be as light-footed as a rhinoceros." He paused to see if I would argue with him, but I couldn't. I would have protested if I thought for one moment he was mistaken. "All I ask is that you keep the advisors off my back, and the bare minimum will do for that to happen. And, should the queen ever decide to visit the park again, we will be given advance notice and we will try to save you from termination by showing you some basic steps. The last girl was a true ballerina; didn't save her though. Well, let's just hope the queen is satisfied with her last visit, and chooses to stay locked up in her tower, shall we?" He turned to go.
"Wait!" I stopped him, suddenly thinking of something I had wanted to ask him for a while. "The soldier who escorted me into the park. What happened to him?"
"Oh yes, the soldier." Calperal grinned as he recollected. "We left him where he fell. I think he eventually got up and stumbled away. If there had been a corpse I would have been informed." They walked out, closing the door behind them. I was glad to know at least Roland was alive out there somewhere. But for the life of me I didn't know why I cared so much. I looked around and assessed my situation. I was stuck in a tiny, rectangular room pretending to be a ballerina. If I didn't perform on command I would be lit up like a Christmas tree, drugged out of my gourd or worse. I had already experienced Cryoventia, and I knew that drug Dioden that Calperal was talking about couldn't be much better. Roland, the one person who could probably get me out of this mess, was nowhere to be found. And I wasn't waking up; maybe I was dead. I needed to suck it up and do as I was told until I could figure out how to escape or return to the real world. I stood motionless in the middle of the room, watching for a passing patron to go by the small kiosk and start me out on my inaugural run. The scene was dismal at best. Across the courtyard I could make out a darkened stage. I wondered if there were other performers who would soon join me, and why we should bother since enjoyment was something that had become taboo in Dream Land. Still, I knew getting out of this was pretty impossible, so I was determined that I would give the person who pushed that button, who forced me into an insignificant spotlight, the performance of my life.
I noticed someone walking closer to the button that led to my music box. They were cloaked so I couldn't see their face. I started to panic. I had never taken a single lesson. I had heard other little girls in my class talk excitedly about recitals and weekly classes, but the only experience I had with classical ballet was a field trip in first grade. How was I going to make a convincing ballerina? Perhaps a little magic was left in my imagination. I couldn't fix what had gone wrong in Psitharis but I could buy myself some time away from the cattle prod. I braced myself, waiting for the light to go on.
The patron reached out and pushed the button. Instantly the light brightened the room, blinding me temporarily. Beautiful polyphonic music began to play in the room, and I could hear the same music playing outside from loud speakers. I imagined myself standing on tip toe and pirouetting; it worked. I imagined myself dancing gracefully across the room, leaping across the room into what I imagined a jeté would look like. I tried to remember the graceful movements I had seen in ballet movies, and I copied them. My arms were fluid, my legs were surprisingly limber, I looked like a ballerina; I could see it reflected in the glass of the window. I couldn't dance en pointe, but I held my own. I mimicked what I could remember and tried to put them together in a form of improvisational choreography. And when the lights went out I paused in a pose I could only hope would look elegant and appropriate, my arms extended above my head and my left foot pointed in front of my right. The stupid patron stayed in place, staring at me and refusing to move on. I stood there for what seemed an eternity, arms beginning to shake from the pressure of holding the pose. Finally the patron walked away, and once they were out of sight I lowered my arms and shook the blood back into my veins. Hoping to get a little interval between dances I began to sit, thinking, as Calperal had said, it would be at least another hour before I was expected to dance again.
No such luck. Either the same idiotic patron or someone dressed eerily similar rounded back to push the button again. Instantly on my feet, I repeated what I had just done, with small variations when I couldn't remember exactly what I had just done. My end pose was different as well; I decided to imitate a dying swan, sitting on one leg and extending the other as I brought my arms down as close to my extended foot as possible. My head was down, so I couldn't see if my admirer had left or not. I stayed in place for as long as it took the last time for him or her to shuffle off. It was a needless venture, however. Suddenly the lights came on again, but this time there was no music. I jumped up, ready to start dancing, cursing the moment I thought this would be preferable to getting shocked by 20,000 volts or drugged out of my skull, when the back door opened. Calperal, dressed in the ragged cloak and followed as usual by two goons, came through the door applauding.
"Excellent!" He was smiling, which made me uneasy. Usually a smile was a welcome sign; on a man like Calperal it was downright unnerving. "I had no idea you held such a hidden talent underneath that unwashed and frightening veneer!" I rolled my eyes but said nothing. "My only issue was with the smiling. Never, ever smile at the lowly masses. They are beneath you. You are one of the Exceptionals, placed here by none other than Calperal himself. You have no need for their approval, and you have no need to offer them friendship or encouragement. With that dance you have soared above them; make certain you stay that way." He turned to leave, muttering "At least she didn't resemble a rhinoceros!" on his way out.
The lights went out, and I was left with my thoughts. Well, I'm safe for now, I thought, but how long will that hold out? The truth was, I didn't know. How long would I be able imagine myself as a prima ballerina? Was I stuck here forever, or until my presence wore thin and I was "terminated"? I was a captive, trapped in a nightmare, and I wanted so desperately to wake up.
