Giselle Blanc was born in Toulouse, France to loving parents, Angeline and Jean Baptiste Blanc. All French natives, the French lifestyle was all Giselle knew. Something she wouldn’t call a bad thing, as she quite enjoyed the lifestyle of Toulouse. She liked the weekly grocery pickup, all the fresh food, the fact that there wasn’t a single neighbor she didn’t know by complete full name. To be quite honest, there wasn’t a single-family in her entire neighborhood she didn’t know most things about.
Giselle was what many would call a model child. She did well in her classes, did well in her extracurriculars and was really just a well-rounded good person. Compassionate, helpful, hard-working, she was never found somewhere not doing something beneficial. Whether it was studying for exams, or giving a helping hand to someone who needed a dresser moved down a staircase the street over, she found something about being charming so rewarding.
Giselle’s family was not necessarily affluent by any means, but they made up for it in good karma. Jean Baptiste ran a non-profit organization, while Angeline worked for the French Red Cross. Altogether, the Blanc family was simply known as an altogether sweet family. Giselle was happy to have such a good family, as she knew of many friends who had not been as blessed as she had been.
Most notably, her best friend, Fleur, who had a rough upbringing with parents who had found their way in and out of prison as she got older. Instead of being put into a system that wouldn’t do much to really help Fleur make her way in life, the Blanc family had taken the chance to adopt Fleur and bring her in as one of their own. She would still be able to see her parents if she felt the desire to, but she never really brought up that she really would.
Fleur was the opposite of Giselle. While Giselle was calm and collected, Fleur was reckless and the wild-child. She didn’t care much for her grades, nor her reputation. The reputation that she carried around had already been tainted by her parents. This, however, boosted the Blanc family reputation. They had taken the courage to bring in someone with such a difficult and different dynamic than anything they had ever known in their own four walls. Even with the adversity that had been thrown their way, they were still going out of their way to take care of a child that was not theirs.
Fleur and Giselle never failed to get along. Two peas in a pod, two girls attached at the hip, you would never see one without the other. Even with the fact that they were almost exact opposites, there was never a point where one wasn’t either with the other, talking about the other, talking with the other, the whole nine yards.
Giselle was the uppity-type. Type A to the extreme, dancer, cheerleader, top of the class kind of girl. Fleur was the thigh-high black lace-up boots, a black bob ending right below her ears, at least four piercings on each ear with an additional septum piercing. She couldn’t bother to care less about what was going on in her life. Yet, something was so enticing about Fleur that was weirdly not the same with Fleur.
While many people believed that it would be Giselle dragging Fleur around to all the events, it was usually vice-versa. Fleur was the one getting the party-invites, whilst Giselle was the one being tossed on the back burner and invited for the sole reason as Fleur wasn’t going to attend unless she had her adoptive sister in tow. Yet even with that, Giselle often told Fleur that it was okay to be in attendance at these parties without her. She didn’t mind.
She did mind. Not all that much, but she wasn’t going to let Fleur know. It did hurt a little that she realized she had been spending all this time with studies and perfecting her crafts, that she hadn’t even taken the time to let her hair down and actually had fun. However, it really all caught up to Giselle on her eighteenth birthday. After ignoring the constant party invites that Fleur had given her several times in the past, she decided that she was no longer just going to sit back and just let her counterpart have all the fun. She was going to a party, and she was going to have fun.
Three nights after her eighteenth birthday, Fleur had received an invite from Laurent, a boy who had graduated from the high school they attended two years prior, to come to a party he was throwing at his home while his parents were out of the country. As part of the routine, Fleur invited Giselle, expecting the same exact answer per usual. However, it was different, because this time Giselle seemed eager to attend. She actually couldn’t stop reassuring Fleur that she wanted to go, which weirded her out just slightly, but she was excited for her to come nonetheless.
Giselle was gorgeous, which sometimes made up for the fact that she may or may not have lacked a personality. Long strawberry blonde locks that stopped right below her shoulder, which she usually tied up in a high ponytail that peaked right at the crown of her head. Porcelain skin littered with freckles, and little amounts of makeup. Perky cheekbones and a tiny nose, it was weird that no boys at her school had ever even tried to make a move with her. This constant idea of being blown under the radar strangely irritated Giselle, as she knew she was pretty enough to get a guy if she really felt the need to.
The party was not Giselle’s environment. Surrounded by at least several dozen people she had never met in her entire life was crazy. While Fleur had told her she was going to stick by her side, the music started playing and the drinks were being poured, and Fleur disappeared as another face in the crowd of half-clothed teenage girls and guys who couldn’t get their hands off of each other.
Giselle was told by Fleur before they arrived to just pound some drinks down, she would be more comfortable that way, maybe even a little bit more frisky than the regular Type-A persona she so heavily occupied. That she did, she kept getting more drinks and even though she gagged at the taste of the majority of them, she did exactly as her adoptive sister and best friend told her to do, and she kept drinking.
Giselle didn’t remember much after the third or fourth drink. However, she did remember sitting on the staircase, dizzy and feeling like the only possible thing she could do was puke. She remembered meeting the curly-haired brunette boy who sat by her. Tall, slender, a little lanky. He had smelled like roses and sandalwood, wearing a ripped tank top with some jagged holes where the sleeves once occupied. He had black ripped jeans on with some bulky white sneakers, and he spoke in a way that Giselle could only describe as straight velvet. The simple greeting he gave her was enough to give her butterflies. He had said his name was Yves, and Giselle couldn’t get enough.
The next thing she remembered was his lips on hers, his hands underneath her shirt. The taste of mixed liquors, the scent of rose all around her. The locking of the bedroom door, the turning out of the lights. Clothing on the floor, the creaking of an old bed frame, sweet nothings in her ear. The bustling of the party reached a climax of volume as the music got even louder, and eventually died down as the invitees eventually fell asleep or took the dangerous treks home.
Giselle woke up shirtless, hand on the bare chest of the rather lean man in the bed next to her. The smell of rose still in the room, now slightly masked by the smell of morning breath and sweat. He rolled over, his curly locks of brunette hair now messy. Her strawberry blonde locks stuck to her mouth, now weirdly dry. Not to mention, the absolute monstrous headache that she was feeling. Yves had offered to drive her home, which she graciously accepted, but she needed to let her sister know that she was leaving.
Putting her clothes back on took a few minutes as she could barely stand without feeling the need to crumble to her knees or puke absolutely everywhere. She went looking for her sister, not downstairs on the couch, but the car they had taken was still in the driveway. She went back upstairs, walked down the hallway to the master bedroom and saw Fleur...well busy… with the host of the party, Laurent. Oddly enough, Fleur didn’t really care all that much that she had been walked in on by her sister, what else did she really have to hide.
Yves and Giselle grabbed breakfast, he took her home, gave her a final kiss on the cheek and promised he would stay in touch. Unfortunately, he never stayed in touch. To be quite frank, she never even saw Yves again. She knew everyone in the nearby neighborhoods and thinking about it, she didn’t even know who he was. She didn’t even catch his last name. Was Yves even his first name?
Giselle had to move past it. The moment of intimacy they shared was absolutely incredible, and while it sucked to have to forget about it and get over it, Giselle didn’t want to get over the night of. She did want to forget about the number of drinks she had, which she really couldn’t once she got home that morning after breakfast and proceeded to puke up absolutely everything that was in her stomach. She had the taste of Cointreau stuck in her mouth for at least three days after that night.
Fleur eventually came home later that day, looking completely disheveled. Yet, the two of them bonded over the incredible time they had the night prior. Giselle gushed about the boy she never knew she wouldn’t ever see again, Fleur complained about the lackluster performance she had with Laurent that morning, but couldn’t stop talking about the many guys she kissed up on the night prior.
They laughed about it, bonded, and just had a nice sister moment. It was late May at the time of the party, meaning that their summer break would be coming soon. One final month of school, they would be released mid-June, and then it was party time for the rest of the summer up until they had to go off to university.
The end of the school year was strange, especially because Giselle could never get the image of Yves’ smirk and curly hair out of her head. She would dream about him, daydream about him, doodle his face on her papers. She would see him on the faces of any person that passed on the street, it was so weird. She was so attached to a man she barely knew.
Summer began, and it all seemed to be going well. Up until Giselle was waking up with the constant urge to vomit, and feeling nauseous for the majority of the day. She couldn’t wrap her head around why she was getting so constantly sick. That was right until she realized that she and Yves didn’t use protection, and it was now far past the point where she could do anything about it.
She had to come clean to her parents. The bad thing, Jean-Baptise and Angeline were not very happy at first, but the good thing, they accepted the fact and told Giselle that it was okay if she took the first year of university off, and took the time to take care of the child she was going to have. Besides, they were excited to have a grand-parent, being the fact that they were already a little further into their years than what was considered normal for having an eighteen-year-old daughter.
The next few months were hell for Giselle, caring for a growing child in her womb at the age of eighteen was nothing short of a struggle. But, she knew she had to. Her decisions led her to this point, and due to that, she was going to deal with the consequences of her own actions. However, it was awkward having to tell her parents that she really didn’t know the father. That led to some tension between the trio.
Fleur was very supportive, and it’s not like she actually had university to attend to, so she said she would stay home and help raise the baby if she needed any help, which she undoubtedly would. Those next few months were extremely hard, especially being the fact that Angeline had developed early on-set signs of dementia. The mid-sixties and she would forget the most simple of things she was doing. Dementia acted quite quickly, and with Giselle having to raise a child, and Jean-Baptise in charge of aiding his wife, Giselle and Fleur agreed to move out so he wouldn’t have such a hassle in doing so.
Giselle and Fleur moved into a townhouse, and Giselle would give birth to a beautiful baby boy a few months later in that next year's February. He was a beautiful baby, strawberry blonde hair, fair skin toned, blue eyes. She named him Anton, and oh, did she absolutely adore Anton. It was unfortunate that Anton would never meet the beautiful man that he would call his father, but oh, the fears and doubts were erased when she saw his precious little face.
Giselle went home a few days later after the birth, Fleur had driven her home, and weirdly enough, Fleur was more tired than Giselle. Giselle couldn’t get enough of her baby boy, and Fleur was just excited to be along for the ride. When Giselle made it home, Fleur had raced inside to pass out. Giselle had put Anton down to sleep, she pulled the blankets back on her own bed to reveal a small box. While it should’ve terrified her at first, it was intriguing. How did this box just appear? Especially in her bed? Maybe it was a present from her father, or a trick from Fleur to scare her, she didn’t know.
She sat on the edge of her bed and opened the box to reveal a letter and a thin gold necklace. The letter had a wax seal, and as quietly as possible, Giselle opened it. The letter inside revealed that the man she had known as Yves wasn’t really Yves, but the Greek god by the name of Eros, who had been so infatuated with her that night of the party, he had no other option than to spend that time with her. It revealed the usual basis for children of the gods, the dangers they were going to experience, and the purpose of the necklace that was in the box.
It was hard to believe and even harder to digest. It made sense why she never saw him again, why the box just appeared in the house, but it was so odd to even read. The words didn’t seem real. So overcome with stress and confusion, she simply began to weep. Silent sobs in her hands, she didn’t know anything else to do. She had sobbed for at least an hour before she had finally managed to roll over into her bed and fall asleep.
Raising Anton was a challenge, but wasn’t as difficult with the help of Fleur. Even though Fleur was an absolute mess sometimes, she did have a mother's touch and could calm the crying Anton with a simple rock in her arms. After the birth of Anton, Giselle went into an odd depression. She didn’t know why she was happy. Her baby boy was healthy, her sister was helping. Without Yves or Eros as he called himself, not being here, it was weird. She felt empty.
Giselle figured she needed a change of scenario. She imagined that maybe getting out of the town where she knew the face of Yves would do nothing but follow her around. She took Anton and Fleur and moved to Paris. Once there, she enrolled Anton into a private schooling institution near them. Being in the company of Fleur was nice, as sometimes when she would look at Anton, his facial figures would remind her so much of the face of the man who she truly didn’t know the identity of.
She confessed the story to Fleur. She couldn’t keep it cooped up inside her. Fleur, being the weird spiritual being she claimed to be, believed the story whole-heartedly. The man did just up and disappear, and never even bothered to speak to her again. Besides, what could be so wrong with having a child who was part of God. Fleur saw no downsides in it, and even if it was all some elaborate lie, at least it was a fun way.
Anton wasn’t a hard baby to raise. He was content with watching television, being read a book, going on walks, the simple things. He wasn’t high maintenance, but lord knows, he could cry and scream when any minor inconvenience happened. However, Fleur was always ready to step in and calm the crying baby boy when needed.
At a young age, Anton expressed a passion for dance. Not only was he just interested in dance, but he was incredibly inclined in it. Enough as to where he was talented enough to be enrolled in the highly acclaimed and highly exclusive Ballet School of Paris. At the age of eight, he was making waves in the scene of ballet at a young age. He had the body type of a ballerina, the face of a cherub, and the attitude to accept anything that was thrown his way.
Anton fell in love with the art of ballet, and most of his good childhood experiences came out of the program. On his ninth birthday, he was given the necklace that his father had left his mother at his birth. He was in love with it, it was simply gorgeous. It was minimalist and simple, but it was stunning. Something about it was so magnetizing that Anton would never take it off.
Anton continued to succeed in the Ballet School, a thing he would then continue on doing for the next few years. He made it into the program once more after having to be readmitted at the age of eleven. However, this favoritism he was getting from his professors was making some other students quite angry. One of the girls in his class, whose mother had been a famous ballerina that had trained through the school, had ripped up Anton’s pointe shoes in what Anton could only see as an act of both pure jealousy and anger.
Frankly, a lot of the people at the school didn’t like Anton, especially because many of the members of the school were the children of alumni. Yet, Anton persisted. He couldn’t be bothered by what the kids had to say about him. If they wanted to be good, they needed to continue training, and not just rely on the fact that they had parents who had gone through the program.
It angered Anton slightly that many of the kids were not relying on talent, but were relying on the name. Many of them were the children of highly esteemed dancers from all over France, many of which had made national tours and been given awards for their dance. Anton had been working his ass off to even make the spot and had just been naturally gifted to do well in it. Even though he was naturally good at it, he never stopped working, something that many of the other kids did.
Upon the ripping up of Anton’s pointe shoes, three girls had been expelled from the school. Instead of taking action upon their children, the parents felt the need to come to the school and complain about the favoritism of Anton. Anton had never cried about any of it, but when one of the parents had gotten in his face and told him that he was never going to succeed in a world of real ballerinas for he simply would never make it, he made his way home that day crying.
Still wearing his rehearsal clothes, he was tugging around his bag as he made his way home. He was fiddling with the necklace he was wearing when he was suddenly slammed back onto the concrete sidewalk as what he could only assume was a large bird had charged into his chest. The bird had completely knocked the wind out of Anton, and not only crying but finding it hard to breathe was a perfect mix for nothing short of an anxiety attack.
He continued his walk home until he heard the flapping of wings once more. It was an aggressive flapping of wings that was coming from behind him and he could hear it getting closer and closer. It was in the knick of time that he ducked when he did as the bird came charging back at him, talons reaching out as it went charging for his head. He had no idea what was with this bird, but it was out for blood.
He had been sitting on his butt when the bird charged at him once more. Still, with his fingers wrapped around his necklace, he dove out of the way and hit the ground as the necklace came unclasped and in his hands became a bronze glaive. Not only being distracted by the angry bird out for his blood but the now unmanageable blade that was once his necklace, he could not have been more confused in his life.
The bird was still on his tail, and Anton thought that this glaive appeared as a sign that he had to kill this bird. Anton wasn’t violent, he didn’t like violence, he didn’t like being angry. However, at this moment it was fight or flight, and this bird right now had him beat in both departments. He could hear the flapping of the wings once more and he readied with the blade that was extremely difficult for him to hold.
It swept down at him once again, and thankfully, his ballerina agileness gave him the option to sidestep out of the way. However, doing this with a giant glaive blade was a little difficult as he was getting real close to slicing himself. He readied himself, pointed toe and everything as the bird swept downwards at him.
He stuck the blade in front of him as the bird dove at him, slamming into the glaive blade, releasing a squall as it made contact with the blade right through the center of its body. However, instead of being covered in the blood of a bird-like he was expecting to, the glaive transformed in his hand back into his gorgeous gold necklace, and the bird’s halves were nowhere to be seen.
Anton had never walked home so fast in his life after that experience. His first response was to talk to his mom about it. Fleur sat listening in on the conversation and chuckled. Maybe she was right, about something...for once in her whole life. Giselle didn’t really know what to say. For she couldn’t tell him the truth about everything, but she had an unnerving presence in her gut that she had to confess it all. However, she told him that if it was to ever happen again, she would always be open to hearing him out. At that moment though, she told him to prepare for bed and get some rest before school the following day.
Anton didn’t have to worry about coming to his mother about those stories again, but he did spend time watching videos explaining how the hell to use a glaive. For the sole reason, he never told his mom those stories again. It wasn’t that it didn’t seem like she was going to be there to listen, but it was the fact that she made it all seem implausible. That thing was so hard to even hold, especially being the fact that it was almost the same size as him.
The next three years went by incredibly smoothly for Anton. Well, if you would call smoothly being attacked by those exact same birds for the second and third time at ages twelve and thirteen. Both times were nice experiences, giving him a little bit more use with the glaive. It was still difficult to manage, but swiping at some birds at twelve, and impaling some others at thirteen gave him some sort of encouragement that he could down them again if needed.
At fourteen he had to re-audition for the School of Ballet, which was weirdly an easier audition and less stress-free than the ones he had faced prior. He made it in with ease and had to laugh when he saw the kids who had been expelled the years earlier at the auditions. He knew well enough they had no chance of making it back in.
It was right about this time when Anton realized he wasn’t like the other boys at his regular school. The same way he looked at girls, he looked at boys. Maybe even a little bit more in the boys than in the girls, which wasn’t a bad thing, but he knew that if others knew, he was going to be made fun of for it.
He didn’t know how his mom would react to it, but he knew his Aunt Fleur would probably be open about talking to him about it. She was, she didn’t care for labels either, she said she was probably just about the same, she didn’t really care about what other people said, you loved who you loved and if people had a problem with it, then they needed to mind their own business.
When starting his next year at the School of Ballet, it was a shock to see the girl who had previously ripped up his pointe shoes many years earlier back in attendance. No matter how much Fleur and Giselle complained about it, the headmaster told them that she had an equally as good audition and deserved her place back in the school. Besides, people can change.
Everyone in the school believed that they had bought their way in, which wasn’t too hard to imagine with the fact that the girl’s mother was a highly acclaimed world renown ballerina with a daughter who had two left feet. It didn’t add up that this girl got back in the school, especially with the fact that years prior the headmaster had talked about a no-bullying policy.
Anton faced his fourth beast at age fourteen. This time, it wasn’t a bird. Rather, a built hound that chased him straight home from the Ballet School. Albeit, this was not something that he had been prepared for. A mean bird and a feral hound were very far from each other and was something he had not been prepared for. Thankfully for his own luck, Anton managed to blend into the bustling crowd of the Paris cities and must’ve distracted the animal enough to make his way home.
While it bothered Anton to have her back in the same class as him, he couldn’t care less. He had his own inner turmoil to combat and battle with, he didn’t need some bitchy fourteen-year-old girl to worry about. It was funny enough to watch her fail at the techniques everyone else had mastered, but it was even funnier watching the headmaster try and teach her how to do things when clearly she had no talent.
Anton’s fifth experience with something he couldn’t explain was at fifteen after a performance. His mother and Fleur were in attendance, and he had a whole solo dance to himself. However, due to having the solo dance, he hadn’t been in the two ensemble numbers prior. He didn’t mind not being in them, all he was going to do was stand out among the people next to him who couldn’t even properly pirouette.
While sitting in the third-floor dressing room, a small creaking was coming from the connected bathroom. The bathrooms had connected the two male dressing rooms, the other being empty. It was odd to hear, but it was an old performance space, so if things were creaking and shaking, it wasn’t something too out of the ordinary. It happened once more, and then again, and then it finally prompted Anton to get up and do something about it.
He stood and entered the other room, seeing what seemed to be a woman, but with the bottom portion of a reptile. She slowly turned to face Anton, and immediately darted at him. He dove out of the way, slamming against the hardwood floors of the dressing room floor. While he was down, the woman came towards him again, while he rolled out of the way once more.
He scrambled to his feet, and ripped his necklace off, transforming it into the glaive. Sure, he wasn’t proficient in it, but YouTube videos definitely served as some sort of help. She darted at him once more, which he sidestepped out of the way of. As she reeled back, her tail smashed against one of the mirrors, causing it to shatter into hundreds of shards all over the counter.
She hissed and darted at him, prompting him to take the glaive and dive it deep into her womanly abdomen, and out the other side. She continued to slowly slide down the blade up into his face, where she tried to bite at him again. He dove from the side of her, and as she turned to face him, he spun into the air and kicked her across the face and ripped the glaive from her abdomen. As she came at him once more, he took it and shoved it deep into her throat. The beast scoffed for air but eventually dissipated into golden specks of ash that disappeared in the air. He finished it just in time to make it downstairs for his solo.
Anton told the story to his mother that night, which prompted her to give him the letter, which entailed everything. Anton was happy to see that he wasn’t going crazy, but he knew that sooner or later he was going to need to make it to that camp, otherwise it wasn’t only going to be him that was getting hurt. His mother agreed and suggested that he began learning English, as he was eventually going to be living in America.
Learning English was the easy part, fighting off the monsters that kept knocking on his door was another story. One night, Fleur and Giselle decided they were going to go out and enjoy some girl time, which Anton found fitting. It was giving him some time to practice his English, memorize his recital piece. Everything was going just fine until he heard a scratching at the downstairs door. Assuming it was another hound he had faced off against years prior, he prepared himself with the glaive in hand.
He had binged some more YouTube videos between the last time he had faced off against the creature, and thankfully this time he was ready. Once he got downstairs, he could see it. Red eyes peering in through the glass door, slobber dripping down from long fangs. Anton knew that this hound was going to bust in one way or another, preferably without shattering the screen door.
He took the blunt end of the blade and threw the door open. The hound pounced towards him, but he kicked out a nearby chair from the dining table to block him off. As it dove at him, he did an air slash towards it, slicing at the front left paw. It whimpered, turned and charged again, prompting Anton to throw the glaive towards it, implanting itself in the upper abdomen of the creature. It still kept coming though, and with a dancer’s precision, he kicked the blade deeper in the abdomen of the creature, finally ending its miserable life. And with that note, he took his glaive and went upstairs to continue learning his recital piece.
Anton did just that, which deemed especially helpful as the Juilliard School in New York seemed very intrigued in the video audition that he had sent to them, and wanted to see him in person. At seventeen, Anton traveled overseas with an intermediate understanding of English and auditioned for the school. They fell in love with his skills, as he knew such an understanding of his body and ballet technique.
He was offered a scholarship, and as a seventeen-year-old French boy, he had no other choice than to accept it. He was so ready to take it, that was right up until he was setting up his dorm room with his mother and aunt when he was attacked once more. This time, it was a harpy who had shown up in the room. Fleur, in her head being the badass she thought she was, tried to stop the harpy, which only gave her a nice fright, causing her to fall face-first into the exposed bed frame.
As the harpy flew at him, Anton kicked the beast back into the hallway, took out his glaive and threw it at the harpy, impaling it against the wall in the hallway. The beast scratched and clawed at Anton as he removed the glaive blade from its abdomen, only prompting him to stab it once more. He knew it was time, he was not going to be able to live a normal life unless he wanted to live in danger for the rest of his existence.
He packed up his things, but not before they could take Fleur to the hospital to get the new claw marks treated. They needed Anton there as he was the only member of the trio that could understand and speak some portion of English. They managed to clean up Fleur’s face, and though it was going to require some stitches to close the wounds that she had received from falling face-first into a corner of a metal bed frame, she was going to be just fine.
They packed all his things into the back of a taxi cab, and thankfully, the ride from the hospital to the nearby area around camp was less than a half an hour drive, but even though Waze might have said that was how long it was going to take, New York traffic probably added another forty five minutes to the ride. However, it was a nice final bonding moment for Anton and his aunt and mother.
As they arrived, Anton grabbed his things from the trunk. Two suitcases, a backpack, and a duffel bag all took over his six foot one frame as he wished his final goodbyes. Sharing some farewell kisses, tears, hugs, some more tears, and one more goodbye. He made his way to camp. Like his mother did many years ago, he felt weirdly overwhelmed and stressed. Tears overwhelmed his face.
He had worked towards being a professional ballerina his whole life. A scholarship to Juilliard. Almost a dozen years of training at one of the most highly acclaimed ballet schools in the entire world. He was saying goodbye to all of it. He didn’t know what emotion to feel. He knew that getting to this camp would relieve the danger. His family would be okay. Yet, he was throwing his dreams away. Whether he was resentful or hopeful, he couldn’t do anything but cry.
Once he saw the campgrounds however, something silenced his tears. He just faced the camp. The eleven-year-old ballerina who had no experience holding a glaive in his entire life had made it here.
Maybe it wasn’t the dream he had thought of. But he would make new dreams here just fine.
