Act II

"You're back, finally." Émile's tone was accusatory, as usual. However, that evening, her mate's words couldn't scratch her, at least not much; Adèle's mind was occupied only by the eyes of the stranger she had met under a lamppost.

Suddenly, the small apartment she shared with Émile for over a year in the Montmartre neighborhood felt tighter than ever. Her relationship had never felt so oppressive as it did in that moment.

"Why do you have that look on your face? Your eyes are so... well, radiant." Émile now appeared suspicious.

"You know very well what effect dance has," Adèle replied, partially lying. Dance could make you feel so alive. But, of course, the encounter with the stranger had left an even greater emotion on her, one that certainly showed in her eyes.

Émile's face instantly darkened, and Adèle realized too late the mistake she had just made. She had come to despise him, yet some traces of the love she had once felt for him remained. Therefore, hurting him was the last thing she wanted to do.

Émile's face, meanwhile, grew darker and darker.

He, too, was a dancer, or at least he had been until six months ago. His career, lasting about two years and about to take off towards the École de danse at the Opéra, had been shattered by a nasty fall during a performance. A...