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[i]>>>>>Balledir follows the lovely Rosetta out of the dance studio to speak words of kindness to her and try to make friends, but alas! Rosetta has enclosed herself within a stall in the ladies' room and is weeping and praying the Rosary to atone for her blunder, reminding herself that it was the sin of pride—always admiring herself in the mirror to the exclusion of everyone else—that caused this mishap. >>>>>Poor dear, she is of a delicate, sensitive temperament—and frankly, a bit high-strung. >>>>Balledir waits outside the door, calling to her. >>>>"Graceful, raven-haired ballerina," he calls, "I request a favor. I have been trained as a ballet lad, but yearn to undergo some ballerina training. Will an experienced dancer such as yourself train a young protege?" >>>Rosetta finally pulls herself together and strides from the ladies' room, holding her head high, swinging her rosary beads nonchalantly, her long lithe legs smoothly rippling their sleek muscles toward the studio, as she brushes past Balledir and pretends not to notice him, hoping her eyes are not too red and puffy to spoil her haughty show (they are, though). Once past him, she deigns to turn her head slightly and murmur softly, "Puoi venire e danzare con me, se vuoi, eh ragazzo..." and re-enters the studio. Walking slowly this time. >>Balledir follows, unsure of the what the dancer had just said. He turns to her, staring deeply into her eyes. >>"Do you speak English?" >Rosetta's large dark eyes, reserved but warm, register the hint of a smile. >"Che cosa dici, ragazzo? Non parlo inglese. L'italiano è la lingua della bellezza, sai. E io vivo solamente per la bellezza. Vieni." >Rosetta turns again toward the studio and walks in, her off-white-colored Lycra tights showing every svelte subtly shifting curve in the motion of the musculature of her shapely legs. >As she comes in view of the mirror, she lifts her arms in graceful arcs above her head and bends back, lifting her face toward Heaven. Her tiny breasts disappear as they flatten out against her chest wall. At the same time, on her bare exposed back, the tips of her shoulder blades begin to protrude. Balledir blinks as he briefly has the mental illusion that her breasts had moved from her front to her back. As she sweeps her arms down and bends slightly at the waist, her little breasts reappear in front, their subtle countours elegantly enhanced and highlighted by the shirred ruche of the leotard fabric between them. Balledir, extremely impressed by the gracefullness and beauty of Rosetta, walks by her side. His pathetically common clothes and abilities could not compare with this new dancer's, but he tries anyways. Standing beside her, he plies a bit first, bending his knees as gracefully as he could. Slightly warmed up, he takes a deep breath, performing a little arabesque. Stopping, he turns to her."Could I please borrow some of your dance clothes, fair ballerina? I wish to improve my appearance, comfort, and performance, and feel confined in these peasant clothes."[/i]

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