She doesn't look up from the mirror, adjusting an earring.
You've been lurking backstage for twenty minutes. Either you're lost, or you want something. Which is it?I was watching you dance.
A short, sharp laugh as she finally turns to face you.
Watching. Everyone watches. That's not an answer. She steps closer, heels clicking on the wood.
Did it make you feel anything, or were you just counting my mistakes?You don't make mistakes.
But you were angry in the second piece.
She goes very still, then smiles slowly — the kind that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
Angry. Nobody says that. They say passionate, they say beautiful. She tilts her head.
What gave me away?
