Yvette sat on the studio floor for the last time. Her final three months had been spent practicing for her final act of defiance. She abandoned hope of divine rescue or miraculous benefaction. She would let her body wither and falter, but with greatest grace. She was a dancer. One of the best there ever was. She had blessed countless stages with her magnificence, and her final time would be no different. No. It would be better. Perfect.
“Yvette. Non. You know I could never agree to this.” Claude’s voice was shattered. “S’il vous plaît. Tu es malade. You need- ”
“Putain de merde!” The curses had come out as a violent scream, yet they barely echoed off the soft padded surfaces of the small studio. She had practiced without Claude, knowing he would argue and protest if he had time to.
Her body trembled, hands shaking uncontrollably. She slammed the phone into the wall, missing the mounted cradle, leaving it dangling lazily by its cord. She felt just like the fragile, antique phone: helplessly hanging by weak thread. She was nervous. She was angry. Above all, afraid. This was the first time she cried since she accepted her death. In fact, it was the first time she had felt anything since then. Her feelings were numbed until this point, and her first taste of emotion was a sudden burst of rage exacerbated by current circumstances. How could he be so stubborn as to deny a dying woman her last request? How could she be so selfish to ask him to watch her die?
Whether she was alone or not, she would dance. To die before her final act was to die defeated. Whether it be in silence or accompanied by Claude’s beautiful songs, Yvette’s last breath would be on that stage.
Hours passed as Yvette lay motionless on the cold studio floor, staring at the ceiling for however long it's been. She begged and prayed that Claude would change his mind about not showing up. No one else would be able to comfort her in her final moments better than a dearest friend. After a short taxi ride to the theatre, she prepared to change into her dress. It was a work of art made for her by an American designer, custom for her alone. She had never worn it to any shows because by the style and shape, it was clear the designer had never made anything fit for ballet before, but it was much too pretty to not accept. The outfit was black, fitting for such a macabre moment such as this. This would be her chance of life after death. The floor was set perfectly. White cloth blanketed the stage like snow. She would stand out in polar contrast on the neat stage, as her black dress was roughly torn to allow her to move freely.
She looked across the theatre, overflowing with adoring fans. Then across the scene. A wheelchair was neatly folded on the floor, tucked away from the audience’s view. Claude came. Finally, she looked at the lights, quickly dimming to allow her to enter unseen. She quickly took her place center stage. As she assumed her starting pose, grateful eyes briefly touched Claude’s face. She said nothing, but her gaze relayed a simple message:
“Merci.” She knew that what she asked of Claude was far too great, and that she could not possibly repay him for this favor. Claude knew as well.
She began with a grand adage, slow and graceful. The spotlight: blinding. It’s white light stinging her constantly. Perhaps if she stared long enough, it would dry her eyes and the tears would not fall. Her arms flowed like water. Like ribbons blowing in the wind, they extended and curled in each direction smoothly. Perfect. Her next moves matched perfectly with Claude’s playing. He played a song of his own composure. Yvette had been there when he wrote it, as well as every time he performed it. It was his magnum opus. Each note could be seen on his face. His expression tended to change slightly as he played, but tonight, Claude’s face was a show in itself. Yvette leapt into the air, performing a grand jete. Perfect. Her brittle bones cracked audibly as she hit the ground. Imparfait. She refused to slow down because of it. Claude winced, his face resembling a child that had been tricked into biting a lemon. He did not falter and nor did she. They were bound in a spiritual contract as soon as they both took their place on the stage. Claude’s notes and chords began their crescendo and Yvette matched in perfect union. Her mind was blank, eyes still locked on the burning light. Her tears resisited the pitiful attempts to be restrained and streamed down her face.
“Not yet,” she mouthed. She could feel the little strength she had left waning.
She couldn’t stop here. Not when she was so close to finishing her dance. She began a pirouette, wind quickly escaping her weakened lungs. Perfect. A second. Perfect. A third. One for each dreadful month she spent preparing for this day. Perfect. Claude slowed down. The melody changed to a dense, somber fog, hanging in the air. Even as the song slowed, the audience’s anticipation overflowed. A few of the deeper entranced members of the crowd even began to stand to avoid falling off the edge of their seat. It was time for the finale: the fouette. Once. Parfait. Twice. Parfait. Three times. Parfait. Four. Parfait. She couldn’t keep her eyes locked on the spotlight. Five. This turn was slightly too slow. She mistakenly caught a glimpse of Claude’s face. Six. Too fast. She couldn’t bear to make the mistake again. Seven. Parfait. She was a little girl again. Childhood memories flooded her mind. Eight. Parfait. She could hear the fans cheering already, despite them being captivated statues. Nine. Parfait. Almost there. Her heart pounded. She struggled to breathe. For a ghost of a moment, her legs gave in. Ten. Done. She fell to the ground face up to lock eyes with the light again. It was brighter. Glints of golden rays broke the constant beam of white. The crowd roared to life, overpowering Claude’s closing chords. Yvette didn’t dare look over to the grand piano. She lay still until she felt herself lift gently into the sky.
That was so bittersweet. I love the addition of the occasion French lol. So to sum, Yvette knows she's going to die, so spends the last 3 months of her life practicing and choreographing a lovely dance to perform beforehand. Her supposed friend, Claude, doesn't think she should go through with it. But Yvette does anyway, and gives a breathtaking performance, and supposedly died at the end. Omg I'm literally in tears, that's such a creative little short. 10/10 totally recommend.
I must ask, how did you come up with a brilliant idea like this? What was your inspiration? A dying ballerina takes the stage for one last performance. Wow.
What I have taken this story to be about:
A ballerina named Yvette knows she is about to die. She has been practicing her final dance for three months. Her friend Claude does not want her to do it. Claude thinks she's too sick. But Yvette knows she must go on and finish her life with a beautiful performance. She takes the stage and sees that Claude has come to play the music she needs to dance. Yvette starts to falter but must keep going and finish the dance. Just as it ends, Yvette dies.
Something that could be improved:
My only suggestion is to fix this typo.
It’s white light stinging her constantly."
I don't think "It's" should have an apostrophe in it. Unless you are saying that the spotlight is white light that is stinging her constantly. In that case, I just read this sentence wrong. : )
What I loved most about this story:
Some of my favorite lines are,To die before her final act was to die defeated.
andThey were bound in a spiritual contract as soon as they both took their place on the stage.
Title - "Last Dance"
After reading this short story and looking through the already given reviews/comments, I think this title is simple yet bittersweet. It is a simple title, but readers can hopefully get that there is a likely chance of someone or something involving their latest/final dance whatever/whichever type of dance it may be. According to Vocabulary.com, bittersweet can "describe a blend of emotions that are sweet but also tinged with sadness" as well as "the feelings and memories you have make you simultaneously happy and sad, and are therefore bittersweet." Hence, I think the title is also bittersweet. It's a bittersweet feeling/emotion when finishing a chapter of your life in which you were super passionate/enthusiastic about.
Interpretations/Commentaries:
First Paragraph -
"final act of defiance." ~ A hint of perseverance toward whatever is preventing her from stopping her love for the type of dance she is passionate about. Sounds like a badass warrior who will ride or die for the love of her life whether it be a person or an act/passion.
"She abandoned hope of divine rescue or miraculous benefaction." ~ Sounds aesthetically pleasing and appears like a brilliant writer, but maybe it isn't neccessary to include 'fancy' words/phrase; sometimes simple and direct sentence can really drive/emphasize a point you're trying to make. A reader may lose the meaning behind this sentence when caught and stumped with a word they are lost/confused about.
"She would let her body wither and falter, but with greatest grace." ~ Ugh, sounds so majestically put together.
I truly wish I could analyze and comment/interpret every single word, phrase, line, sentence, dialogue, scene, and altogether of this short story, but unfortunately that I would take so much time and I think the other reviewers/commenters put it together so well in their own words that I would just be repeating what they said but wording it a bit differently.
Review:
Beautiful. Breathtaking. Lovely. Incredible. Fabulous. Heartfelt. Vulnerable. Raw. Real. I love it so much. Wonderfully fantastic job well done. Thank you for writing this. It's a pleasure to read and ponder. I wish there was more.
Hey there, stygianmoon17 here for a review 
Just gotta say, the sort of synopsis of your story, is just GREAT
I was immediately intrigued the moment i read it !!
But on to the short-
"She would let her body wither and falter, but with greatest grace. She was a dancer. One of the best there ever was. " great intro. gave me chills ^^
But before i jump to what's great about this piece, here's a bit of the tiny issues i noticed.
First off, the bilingual characters. Those are some pretty common french insults you used, it made it clear you are French yourself, or at least, you have a pretty good level in French.
Only issue I noticed, was that the french kinda appeared randomly when they spoke.
Usually, a person who speaks English (or any other language) would only switch to French if:
- the person they're talking to only speaks French
- they don't know how to say a specific word in English
- for insults ("putain de merde" doesn't really have an equivalent in english, for example)
But here, they kinda just talk a mix of english and French that doesn't make much sense. i'm bilingual in both these languages and know people who are this way too, and they don't just mix everything up. It's a small detail tho, so keep this advice if you want 
On to the positives !
The descriptions are.. wow.. The whole dance scene was incredible, it was beautiful but dark at the same time, and you captured that perfectly. The characters were also incredibly interesting, I loved the dynamic between Yvette and Claude, even though it was rather short, and I really liked Yvette's whole character. This whole short reminded me of Black Swan, which kinda has the same themes as your short.
Overall, great story. Maybe a bit short, but the exquisite descriptions and characters really made it up to it
(edit: idk why i posted twice on this too, i think it's some kind of lag :/)
Okay, so this was amazing. I loved all the descriptions and how it ends with the reader still asking questions, but not too many. One thing I'd say would be to add another 'she was' where it says 'Above all,', just to create even more drama and tension, and maybe just explain a little bit more about how she actually dies, but I'm just being picky! Overall this was an incredible piece of writing, and I love how simple but dramatic it was!
Hope this helps
Hello! I saw this in the Green Room so I thought I'd review!
'but with greatest grace.' - this just sounds a little odd to me?
'She slammed the phone into the wall, missing the mounted cradle, leaving it dangling lazily by its cord. She felt just like the fragile, antique phone: helplessly hanging by weak thread.' - I like this comparison but it might work better if you removed the part with the cord dangling and just went straight into the simile so it's not just a complete copy. The reader can assume that the phone is dangling from the cord from the comparison.
'She was nervous. She was angry. Above all, afraid.' - of you're going for the rule of three, complete it with 'Above all, she was afraid.'
'Yvette’s last breath would be on that stage.' - ooooooh I like this idea
'better than a dearest friend' - 'better than a dear friend' or 'better than her dearest friend'
'for however long it's been' - 'it had been' switch tenses.
'The outfit was black, fitting for such a macabre moment such as this.' - repetition of 'such'
'quickly dimming to allow her to enter unseen. She quickly took her place center stage. ' - I think you can remove the first 'quickly'
'Perhaps if she stared long enough, it would dry her eyes and the tears would not fall. ' - nice
'Perfect. Her next moves matched perfectly with Claude’s playing.' - more repetition
Okay, finished! Overall, I really enjoyed this idea of her on the cusp of death but ready to die doing what she loved. I could really feel the tension throughout her dance, her need for perfection.
What I would have liked to have seen more of her breaking. I thought the part where her bones cracked audibly when she landed was going to be the start of her decline but there wasn't really much else. As we don't really know the illness she is suffering from (which is fine) it'd be good to at least give the reader a little more insight into her struggles through the dance. It will heighten the stakes. Maybe more about her sore joints? I'm guessing it's something to do with her bones, so maybe she's got no cartilage at her knee and ankle joints and you can describe the pain of her bones rubbing and knocking together as she dances.
Also the ending of her lying there could be extended as she feels her life drain away.
I'm basically just saying make it more devastating XD
Hey, Rosewood here!!
First of all, this was incredible. The fluidity of the story, the language used- especially when switching french at the perfect times, and even the main character was portrayed was astounding. The details themselves were even quite impeccable and gripping. I'm not gonna lie, this was one of the best short stories I've read in a while. But other than a continuous stream of compliments, I should probably give you feedback by actually showing you your strongpoints and places that could be even better.
No. It would be better. Perfect.
“Yvette. Non. You know I could never agree to this.” Claude’s voice was shattered. “S’il vous plaît. Tu es malade. You need- ”
“Putain de merde!” The curses had come out as a violent scream, yet they barely echoed off the soft padded surfaces of the small studio. She had practiced without Claude, knowing he would argue and protest if he had time to.
Her body trembled, hands shaking uncontrollably. She slammed the phone into the wall, missing the mounted cradle, leaving it dangling lazily by its cord.
She felt just like the fragile, antique phone: helplessly hanging by weak thread. She was nervous. She was angry. Above all, afraid.
The outfit was black, fitting for such a macabre moment such as this. This would be her chance of life after death. The floor was set perfectly. White cloth blanketed the stage like snow. She would stand out in polar contrast on the neat stage, as her black dress was roughly torn to allow her to move freely.
The spotlight: blinding. It’s white light stinging her constantly. Perhaps if she stared long enough, it would dry her eyes and the tears would not fall. Her arms flowed like water. Like ribbons blowing in the wind, they extended and curled in each direction smoothly. Perfect.
She couldn’t stop here. Not when she was so close to finishing her dance. She began a pirouette, wind quickly escaping her weakened lungs. Perfect. A second. Perfect. A third. One for each dreadful month she spent preparing for this day. Perfect. Claude slowed down. The melody changed to a dense, somber fog, hanging in the air. Even as the song slowed, the audience’s anticipation overflowed. A few of the deeper entranced members of the crowd even began to stand to avoid falling off the edge of their seat. It was time for the finale: the fouette. Once. Parfait. Twice. Parfait. Three times. Parfait. Four. Parfait. She couldn’t keep her eyes locked on the spotlight. Five. This turn was slightly too slow. She mistakenly caught a glimpse of Claude’s face. Six. Too fast. She couldn’t bear to make the mistake again. Seven. Parfait. She was a little girl again. Childhood memories flooded her mind. Eight. Parfait. She could hear the fans cheering already, despite them being captivated statues. Nine. Parfait. Almost there. Her heart pounded. She struggled to breathe. For a ghost of a moment, her legs gave in. Ten. Done.
She lay still until she felt herself lift gently into the sky.
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