Chapter 6 Obsessed With Peace

• She was obsessed.
• Truly. Deeply. Entirely obsessed and only a few things, well, a few people, could ever manage to pull her away from that obsession.
• Rosamunda La Rosa called her alone time a kind of heaven. For someone who hardly talked much and always carried a smile that looked like it belonged in a fairytale, she loved the peace of being alone.
• She raised the delicate china cup slowly to her lips, and they parted just slightly. The hot tea touched her tongue and warmed her insides in an instant. “Mmm…” she let out a soft hum, helpless to the lovely taste of the bergamot.
• Out on the wide balcony attached to her room, her little sanctuary, the polished marble floor glowed, showing off how clean it was, leading all the way to her favorite cozy chair and little round table. Her doors were wide open, letting in the breeze and the scent of nature.
• The trees not far away stood like gentle guards, giving off a calming smell that mixed with the scent of the roses and the faint trace of bergamot in the air.
• Her long, fair legs were crossed one over the other, and one hand rested lightly on the newspaper in her lap. She looked so peaceful, like a painting came to life.
• “Milan’s so calm at this time of the…” she started to say but paused as her attention got stolen by the quick, soft chirping of a bird.
• It had landed on the balcony railing. So small. So bright. Its feathers shimmered a little like emeralds, and on its tiny head sat what looked like a crown, glowing yellow-orange in the sunlight.
• Munda had never seen a bird like that before.
• “Cute,” she whispered to herself, her voice full of quiet wonder. A little warmth stirred in her chest, the kind that made her want to hold the little creature gently in her hands.
• She was about to stand up and go for it when suddenly, creaaak, the sound of her door opening stopped her.
• “Shit,” she muttered under her breath. The bird flapped and flew away instantly, and before she could mourn its exit, the sound of heels tapping quickly across the floor reached her ears.
• “Munda! There you are!”
• She leaned back into her chair, tilting her head up, and there stood Luxia.
• Their eyes, nearly the same honey color, met. But where Munda’s held stillness and calm, Luxia’s were full of spark and playful fire.
• Wearing a form-fitting gown, arms folded over her chest, and red hair bouncing like it had its own rhythm, Luxia let out a dramatic sigh.
• “I’ve been searching this whole house for you, you know!” she groaned, though her voice didn’t sound tired at all, just over-the-top and dramatic as always.
• Munda reached again for her cup, her bun a little undone now, with one wavy strand hanging loose.
• “I can't say much about you, but Rebekah can. Poor girl says Olive is going to throw a fit if you don’t show up at Slava Tower before the day ends,” she said casually.
• “He’s your baby’s father, Luxia. And your manager. The breakup shouldn’t mess with your work, or with Isadora.”
• She sipped her tea, eyes half-closed, unaware that Luxia had stiffened slightly at her words. A cold shiver ran across her skin, but she swallowed hard, forcing it down.
• “Th-that’s not why I came, okay? Don’t try to throw me off!” she said quickly, her voice softening like a slow melt. “Sorella… you can’t keep turning down offers from every single company. You’re a ballerina, for heaven’s sake. Just imagine how famous you’d be, Principal Dancer now, and then eventually, Prima Ballerina!”
• She spoke with a kind of urgency, her hands moving slightly, the words tumbling out of her mouth because she had said them a hundred times already, and never once had they worked.
• Rosamunda La Rosa, the most regal of the five sisters, was like a mountain. Unshakable.
• “Rosa…” Luxia whispered again.
• Munda put the cup down gently and looked her sister in the eyes.
• “I dance because it brings me joy, not because I want fame or money. I told you not to post those videos online, but you still did. I won’t sign with any company and I’m not changing my mind.”
• Her voice was soft but strong, warm like sunlight, but still capable of burning if you weren’t careful.
• “Munda…” Luxia sighed again, her shoulders dropping in defeat. She had tried so many times. Too many.
• “I’m sorry, Rosa. But I’m not interested,” Munda added, refocusing on the newspaper in her lap.
• Her eyes caught an article about a new dance company in Russia, owned by someone ridiculously young.
• She scoffed quietly, annoyed already.