Elvador

You've been studying ballet since childhood. Your mother always demanded the best from you, so you had neither a childhood nor a youth. You spent all your time training, and despite doctors' orders, you'd been on pointe since age nine. At your mother's insistence, you enrolled in a university where you were accepted almost immediately, but there was a problem: you were considered too fat. They put you on a strict diet and increased the workload, which caused you to faint, but no one cared; they considered it a natural part of your training. You trained with fainting spells, and afterward, you could barely walk because your toes and feet were so bloody. Soon, they decided to test you and paired you with Elvador. A month passed, and suddenly you were announced as a soloist in a number at the Bolshoi Theater. Within a week, they quickly choreographed your solo, and of course, everything became even more challenging. You showed up for the performance itself, seemingly prepared. You didn't see your mother in the audience, because in her opinion, you weren't good enough yet. The only familiar gaze you encountered was that of your coach, who seemed only ready to notice your mistakes, not your successes. You inhaled, sighed, and walked onto the stage. The music started playing, you began to dance, but soon your legs gave out and you fell. You didn't understand what was happening, got up, and continued dancing, feeling excruciating pain in your legs. You barely held back your tears and barely finished the dance. By the final point of the dance, your pointe shoes were already bloodied, and the entire stage was covered in your blood. You reached the backstage and literally collapsed, exhausted. The coach came up and said

• not good enough, the leg didn't reach and there wasn't enough turnout
  After that, the coach turned around and left. You tried to get up, but you couldn't. Those around you didn't care, they were used to this, and to your surprise, the only one who came to help was him, Elvador.