Chapter 01

 An Old Friend

Resting her chin on the back of a hand clad in a beige half-glove, Dolores gazed at the stage with a wistful look in her eyes.

The orchestra, adorning the restrained darkness, opened the door to a sweet autumn.

Onstage, the ballerina was in the midst of a passionate performance. Amid the symphony that gathered and scattered according to the conductor’s gestures—high, then low; fast, then slow—the delicate sounds of pointe shoes blended into the music.

En pointe. En pointe. En pointe.

The thin romantic tutu fluttering with each graceful step seemed to hold love within every fold, while the outstretched hands, radiant smile, and body spinning round and round were all a wordless confession.

The ballerina spun, and spun again, until at last she came to a stop beneath the spotlight.

And when the curtain fell with the low sound of a cello, like the sigh of a giant, the story that had been alive only moments before fell asleep once more.

Only after the lights went out would her story begin.

Before the dancers had even finished their curtain call, Dolores made her way backstage.

Her cane was more hindrance than help in crowded places. Amid the rhythmic clacking of footsteps, voices overlapped in an irregular beat.

“Miss Dolores. It has been a long time.”

The staff of La Potske Theater occasionally recognized her and stopped to greet her.

Despite the fact that the Dolores who had once performed on this theater’s stage and the woman now walking with a cane must have seemed like two entirely different people.

“Yes, hello.”

There was no particular warmth in her reply, but neither was there any rudeness. Dolores accepted their greetings and continued quickly toward the dressing rooms.

Light-footed dancers and theater staff were already beginning to gather there one after another.

[Principal Dressing Room]

When she opened the door marked with the sign, the faint migraine she had been suffering from eased a little. Dolores let out a sigh without even realizing it.

Inside, Claudia, the leading lady of the final performance, was loosening the ribbons of her pointe shoes.

She was sitting on a tall stool, which made her already long legs look even more slender.

“You have to consider the audience making the long journey home. Here, too. Not every audience member is as light on their feet as a ballerina.”

Claudia stopped halfway through removing her shoes and raised her head.

Her eyes widened as though she had seen a ghost, but in the next instant, her face lit up.

“My goodness.”

Still holding the ribbon she had been untying, she nearly ran on her toes toward Dolores and threw her arms around her.

“Dolores! You came without even replying to me? Were you trying to surprise me?”

“When I wasn’t there, Ana’s hands got caught when she was showing the invitation to Father, so he took it away. She only told me this morning.”

“She really has a problem with her sticky fingers.”

“She is my sister. Watch what you say.”

“Anyway. Your father, too—well, what can I say? I’m glad to see he’s still as hale and hearty as ever.”

There was a subtle note of sarcasm in Claudia’s last words, but Dolores pretended not to notice.

For now, simply enjoying the happiness of their reunion was more than enough.

“Your performance as Lady Fordeille today was incredible. The staging and the production were both wonderful. Who else could have pulled it off if not you?”

“Why do you say something so obvious as though it’s a compliment? Come here, come here.”

Claudia led Dolores farther inside the dressing room. A sofa had been prepared for the company members.

Dolores carefully leaned her cane against the side of the sofa. Claudia watched her before speaking.

“You looked fine last time.”

“Mm.”

Dolores sat down with an unconcerned expression.

“Maybe it’s because of the change in seasons. More importantly, are you really retiring?”

Claudia nodded, her expression difficult to describe.

“So you’ve really made up your mind.”

“The narrow-minded fools in Hennacy don’t seem to like ballet.”

Dolores let out a quiet breath and smiled.

“I wonder who they are… Do you love him enough to go that far?”

“He’s the love of my life I’ve been telling you about all this time. Of course, it would be wonderful if I could keep dancing… But I’ll give it a try.”

Claudia spoke with a hint of regret before drawing in a breath.

Then she continued.

“I wish you could have met him. It’s such a shame we haven’t been able to spend much time together lately.”

Claudia, one of Dolores’s fellow alumnae from ballet school, was the same age as her. They were both twenty-two this year, and Claudia was due to marry in two months.

Her fiancé was a lawyer from Hennacy whom she had happened to meet while traveling. After relentlessly pursuing him, she had finally won his heart.

They say that the one who falls first is the weaker party.

Claudia had decided to move to Hennacy, her fiancé’s hometown.

“So… this was your retirement performance. It was wonderful.”

“You’re allowed to cry.”

“It’s not that serious.”

“Aww.”

“It will be sad not being able to watch you fly across the stage like a bird anymore, but I’m sure the younger dancers will give me plenty of reasons to enjoy myself.”

Dolores lifted only the corners of her lips into a smile, steering the conversation elsewhere.

“By the way, didn’t your fiancé come on such an important day?”

“Unfortunately, the weather in Pomeroy was terrible, so apparently the ship was stranded.”

“Your fiancé will have to curse the weather for the rest of his life. To miss this performance…”

“You brat.”

Claudia pouted, hiding the corners of her reddened eyes, before suddenly seeming to remember something.

“Oh, right, right. What are you doing this weekend?”

“Nothing in particular. Why?”

“There might be a party at Toma’s villa. Do you want to come?”

Dolores thought for a moment before asking,

“Toma… Pierre?”

“Yeah. Apparently, he’s opening the Azaria villa.”

Lange wasn’t such a large city that people couldn’t know one another. If you lived there long enough, everyone eventually became a friend of a friend.

Pierre was the son of Baron Toma, and one of the mutual friends Claudia and Dolores shared.

When Dolores hesitated to answer, Claudia quickly added,

“Pierre has been asking about you, too. Besides, it’s supposed to be my farewell party.”

“If it’s your farewell party, of course I want to go, but…”

“Toma at least has respectable roots, if you want to put it that way. Don’t you think your father would allow it?”

Dolores’s father’s obsession with class distinctions and his old-fashioned way of thinking were notorious among people their age.

Dolores let out a small laugh without meaning to.

“If it were something that simple to solve, our friendship would have been much more beautiful.”

“What kind of world are we living in these days? Why does he still divide people so inflexibly? Why don’t you ask your uncle instead? Sir Rudolph is more tolerant than your father, isn’t he? Hasn’t your uncle been visiting lately?”

“I don’t know. He should be coming around this time, though…”

Dolores decided to let the matter slide and was just about to change the subject when—

Knock, knock, knock.

Firm knuckles rapped against the wooden door.

“I heard this was Claudia Lefort’s retirement performance. Am I too late?”

A man stood in the doorway, holding a bouquet of roses.

With his tall, slender build, he was so large that the doorway seemed small around him.

Another burst of color spread across Claudia’s face.

“Xavier?”

Xavier Bransen was the second son of the Bransen family, a name no one in Lange failed to know.

They were the family behind Durand de Morton, a massive textile company, and were practically local patrons of the arts in their own right.

…

He really was someone Dolores hadn’t seen in a very long time.

Too long.

“Did you get taller?”

At Claudia’s innocent question, Xavier held a palm above his head and gestured upward.

“About this much. I’m thinking of getting even taller.”

Even setting aside the wealth of his family, he was an exceptionally gifted young man.

His brown hair was swept back in a dandyish style, accentuating his prominent brow and sculpted bridge of his nose. His long, deep-set eyes, framed by thin double eyelids, were green.

He wore a black single-breasted coat that fell to his knees, its surface gleaming whenever the dressing-room lights caught it.

There was a local saying that went, “Women from Pruit, men from Lange.”

Even in Lange, a city renowned for its handsome men, Xavier possessed an atmosphere that made him stand out from all the rest.

But Dolores, seeing him again after so long, did not feel the slightest bit happy.

He was someone she had never wanted to meet again.

A shattered admiration.

A friendship scattered to pieces.

A first love she wanted to forget.

All of those words had come to mean one thing to Dolores.

Xavier Bransen.

How did we begin,

I wonder?

What did we look like, back then?