She's free- free, free, with the movement that allows her to escape the outside and the inside of confiment. Until it shatters. Then he's the only one who can save her tattered self- the one who shows her dreams.

Soundtrack: Goodbye My Almost Lover- A Fine Frenzy


Is it possible to break noise?

She contemplates her ballet shoes- collecting dust in the corner, so long since she'd danced. A month. But her hiatus is over now. She can dance again- can move again. Can be free. Can let herself go. Can forget.

She knows, from the scars decorating her forearms, how hard it is to forget. It's almost impossible. But she can. She will. She will move onward. She will dance.

To break noise would be to silence it.

Like he'd said. To break it is to ruin and shatter a soul.

Can you really just forget?

Yes. No. Memories are everlasting, forever there in your brain. Even if you forget that memory, your brain won't. And it's simply waiting for a moment to bring it back up again. But if you love it-with all your soul- can you just really forget it? No. She shouldn't think so. Yes and no. Maybe.

It's impossible to forget those you love. But slowly, slowly, you can remember them.



In all glaring honesty, Ariadne's never liked Mrs. Vienna- she, in Ariadne's opinion, is a woman who lost all creativity. Pencil thin, face a strange yellow color and hands wrinkly. She posesses a strength that should be unheard of in those stick-like arms. She click-clacks across the ballet studio and comes to a halt in front of Ariadne. Her high-heels are glaringly tall.

"Hello," she says. There's a silence. Behind Mrs. Vienna, Ariadne can see Sastiana starting her stretches. They're in the same advanced class. Sastiana waves at her. She had missed Sassy. The black girl had a talent, along with an attitude, that matched no other.

"You've missed a lot of class," is what Ariadne is expecting to hear.

"We've started arabesque," is another thing that she's expecting to hear.

But no. Not even close. In fact, so far out of the ball park that Ariadne takes a step back.

"Welcome back," Mrs. Vienna says stiffly. Then her face cracks into what Ariadne assumes is a smile. She smiles back, caught unawares.

Then it's back to buisness.

"Start your stretching. Sastiana is already ahead of you."


Move. Turn. Breathe. Become. Let go. Feel.

This is dance.

She and Sastiana mimic each other- twist and turn in front of the mirror. The piano plinks and Mrs. Vienna misses a note. "Okay," she says briskly. "That's enough for today." She's blushing at her mistake.

Enough? (No.) There is never a limit to dance.

It sets you free. Pushes you from confinment. And the moment that music stops, you're back in that cage that everyone can't see. Invisible to them, the cage that is life. Ariadne says her good-byes to Sassy and Mrs. Vienna, and starts her walk home.

It's a thirty-minute walk. But she would rather walk then accept a ride from her father. Or her mother. They would rather kill her or themselves then allow her to dance. To be free is a crime. To love is a crime. Sometimes Araidne wonders how they are married to each other.



Their motto.

Ariadne knows her way around the city, but lost in her thoughts and the darkness, she quickly finds herself in a neighborhood she hadn't ever encountered before. NYC is a big place, and she's been walking for forty minutes before she realizes she is lost.

She mutters a curse to herself and pulls out her map from her bag.

It doesn't take long until she sees that she can't see anything in the utter and complete darkness.

She curses again and stuffs it back into her bag. She glances around. She notices someone walking down a alleyway. She fingers the pepper spray in her pocket and walks oward the figure.

"Excuse me- excuse me, sir- do you..would you know where 22nd street is?"

The man turns, and she gets a glimpse of dark eyes and an impeccable suit. He looks lovely, she thinks. Beautiful and smart.

"Yes," he says. "Just turn down that way-" he points to the right, "and continue walking until you see a restuarant."

She knows what restaurant he's talking about- Rocco's. She can find her way from there.

"Thank you," she says, and takes off running.


It is entirely possible to break noise.

Arthur watches the figure run out of sight.

She'd need dreams. He could see it in her eyes. The rising panic, stifling her voice and shoving at her mind. He'd been like that. She'd come to crave dreams like the drug thay are. And soon-so soon- she wouldn't be able to let them go.


She does dream. Not everyday. When they come, fleeting as they are, she does welcome them. Dreams are like dancing- an escape. She craves escape. Escape from the darkness, escape from her heart and soul, escape from the death that still has her trembling.

She is a murderer.

Escape. She'd been providing escape-simply- a helping hand. She'd help him escape into the darkness that isn't darkness.

Tonight she dreams.

She dreams about the dark-eyed man, she dreams about dreams, she dreams about dance, she dreams about death. She dreams about cages.

She wonders if she can ever escape.

A/N: So this fic is a fic unlike any other I've ever done- so keep an eyes out for the next chapter. Review! Review!