The Price {Completed}

Chapter One

----1917; City State of Rumonin----

Before the sun rose, I lay awake and stared at the ceiling. A spider had made a web in one corner sometime the week before, and now I watched as it walked to the outskirts of its domain and fixed one of the anchors that kept its home in place. Somewhere outside, a stray dog fought with one of the neighborhood cats. After a few minutes they finally ran off, and I was left once again in the stillness of dawn.

Sleep tugged at my consciousness and my body ached from the intense rehearsal of the day before. But no matter how much my legs burned and my eyes drooped, I could not return myself to the calm darkness. Steps and combinations buzzed through my head with the counts of the songs.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

I was more than aware that I knew the dances backward and forward, yet my anxious mind would not release it and let me sleep. The knowledge that, when the morning came, so would the debut of the Lennox Company, made my heart pound against my ribs. It would be our real debut. We, of course, had done multiple shows in our run-down theater, but today would be our first program in front of the people who would matter. That made today either the day our company was born into significance, or the day it was doomed to slowly die amongst the squabbling children and drunken men that normally frequented our audience.

The idea of perhaps finally being shown to an audience who could appreciate our dancing made me both excited and worried to the point of feeling sick. While the swelling feeling of hope made my limbs fizz and grow light, I also fought the dark shadow of doubt that found ways to force itself into every crack of my mind. It was that nagging feeling of not being prepared that had woken me last night only minutes after I had fallen asleep, and had kept me up since. Though the new dances had been cemented into my muscles and I could repeat back a combination at will, my mind would not stay still long enough to close my eyes.

The spider had long ago slipped off to find a suitable place to hide from the growing light. I turned over and to look out toward the wall where Mr. Lennox's bedroom door stood. As I lay still, I could hear he was awake as well. The soft swishes of his coat and the sound of his cane tapping against the stand he kept it in were easy for me to pick out from the sound of the wakening city outside my window. Over a decade in his care had caused my ears to become attuned to the sounds of his life. I could tell when to approach or avoid him, all from something as simple as the sound of his hand clenching the raven on the top of his cane.

A moment later, there came the familiar tap of his cane across the floorboards, and the door opened. He walked into the room without even a glance at me. I watched him quietly for a moment, noting that he wore the same thin suit with tattered seams and faded knees as he always did. I sometimes wondered if he slept in the suit. It was as much a part of him as his pale skin or the cane that clicked across the floorboards.

Ignoring me, Mr. Lennox made his way to the range and flicked open the small iron door with the end of his cane. The gentle glow of the low embers washed the room in orange before Mr. Lennox temporarily dampened them with two logs from our stockpile against the window. A moment later, a fire flared up, and Mr. Lennox closed the range and tapped his cane on the floorboard to clear it of any stray ash.

Our mornings were as choreographed as our dances, and I knew that now was the time that I was to rise and prepare breakfast. I sat up and slid my feet into the worn slippers pressed up against the wall while wrapping a shawl around my shoulders. Shuffling to the lone cupboard on the wall, I inspected the insides. Two iron pans lay stacked in the corner, and what was left of the food that Mr. Lennox had bought a few days ago. I grabbed the eggs and bread and one of the pans, and turned with them to the range.