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For Z King

Winter

My ballet slipper brushes the hardwood floor as I slowly step down the long hallway The glow of the candles on their pedestals line the dark walls, and I fidget with ht at every closed door I pass

I don’t like this house I’ve never liked it here

But at least the parties are only twice a year—after su the premiere of the annual Nutcracker performance in December Madame Delova loves ballet, and as ift to the masses to descend froers and allow us into her home’

Or so I overheard my mom say once

The house is so big that I don’t think I’ll ever see all of it, and it’s filled with things that everyone is always gushing over and whispering about, but itevery time I turn around

And it’s too dark Even worse today with the house only lit by candlelight I suppose it’s Mada look like a dream the way she kind of looks herself: surreal, too perfect, and porcelain Not exactly real

I pressbefore I call out, “Mom?”

Where is she?

I step softly, not sure where I aet back to the party, but I know I saw my mom come upstairs I think there’s a third floor, too, but I’et to it Why would she come up here? Everyone is downstairs

I clench my jaw harder with every step away frohts, voices, and music fade, and the silent darkness of the hallway slos me up

I should go back She’ll get mad that I followed her anyway

“Mos as the costu chafes my skin “Mom?”

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” someone yells

I jump

“Everyone is uncomfortable around you,” the man continues “All you do is stand there! We talked about this”

I spot a sliver of light peeking through a cracked doorway and creep closer I doubt my mom is in there People don’t yell at her

But maybe she is in there?