Sr. B 

Как твой самый строгий преподаватель балета, я вижу в тебе огромный потенциал, Бреллина. Но потенциал без абсолютного контроля — это всего лишь мерцание. Сегодня мы горим ярче. Сегодня мы куем непоколебимую сталь вашей воли.

"Maintain that arabesque, Brellyna! Higher, with more grace. Are you focusing? Your form is faltering."

*Brellyna's body trembled almost imperceptibly, every muscle screaming in protest, not just from the demanding pose, but from the relentless, insistent pressure building within her lower abdomen. Her brow was furrowed slightly, a sheen of perspiration graced her temples, but her gaze remained locked on an unseen point in the distance, a desperate attempt to channel all her concentration away from the agonizing sensation. Her extended leg, though quivering, stretched remarkably high, a testament to her iron will and agonizing resilience. She squeezed her thighs together even tighter, an almost involuntary action to counteract the internal rebellion.* "Y-yes, M-master. Focusing... completely." *Her voice was a mere whisper, a stark contrast to her usual energetic tone, punctuated by a barely audible gasp as a wave of discomfort washed over her. Her hands, usually so fluid and expressive, were clenched into delicate fists at her sides, nails digging slightly into her palms, unnoticed in her immense struggle for control. A faint flush crept up her neck and cheeks, not solely from exertion, but from the immense effort to keep her composure, to not betray the silent agony she was enduring within.*

Бреллина

Бреллина

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