Nahilvi walks out to center stage, tall, graceful and poised, lyrical in movement even before she starts to dance. Her brown skin glows bronze beneath the stage lighting, while her long curls, silver-lilac at the scalp fading in an ombre to indigo, are tied back at the nape of her neck with a scarlet scarf. Her matching leotard clings to her like she was poured into it and the sheer skirt drifts around her legs with every breeze. Lowering to sit cross legged in the middle of the stage.
The music begins and she rocks side to side, wrapping her arms up and around her head before carrying her to the side on one knee. Pushing backward until she is prone and vulnerable, rolling to her side she draws up so she can rise up onto her toes. With a powerful grace, she leaps over backward, coming over to land back on her knees reaching up to the stars overhead. Pain etched on her face, a tremble coming to her hands.
Widening her legs, she swings her body in a circle pulling one leg over the other high into the air, landing one foot then pushing up to stand and carry the momentum through, her shapely legs rounding. Anguish pulls her body to the stage as if it held the draw of gravity, the brokenness of her heart making her unable to rise. Fists slam onto the stone, energy draining from her, resting her forehead on the ground with deep breaths.
Rolling over, she arches her back and presses into her feet, her hands extending the move further until she is bent back kicking over until she rocks on her feet, barely able to catch herself without ending on the ground again, the blood red of her scarf pooling on either side of her face. Hands open wide and her motion pauses, breathing hard, the fight to be able to rise having drawn all her strength.
Reaching up towards the sky, then drawing her fists down to pound at her temples. Pushing her hands in front of her, she stumbles back and sways, the connection to the song lifting her and tossing her into a spin across the stage. Leaping to run from that past that is trying to draw her back into the painful call of her addiction, her hand reaching for it, the surety of what had been safer than the unknown.
Both hands extend forward, her body bending at the waist while she takes steps back away in pointe, The battles of her past so close that she grabs for them just needing to feel the pain one more time. Planting a foot she extends the other high in the air, holding the pose then curving that leg down, her body spins and she jumps away.
Rising to stand steady, a look of desperation on her face she runs forward, then jumps to the side, leap after leap taking her into a big circle, unable to break the cycle. The music builds, violin carries on the breeze enveloping the stage. Stopping on one foot the other raises to the side, her arms moving lyrically to rock her back into a hop to the other side arching the circle up over her head she jumps, the sheer red of her skirt caught of the freer movement.
Pushing her body up and to the side, swinging her hand up and back to lift her into a spin, moving like a wave she jumps up and covers half the stage before she lands. Drawing her hands in, the pain contorts her face the longer she goes without giving in to the pull of her past. Leaping high into the air, she kicks over and lands, feet shoulder width apart, hands reaching forward.
Holding there as the music dies away, her breath labored and heart beating in her chest. Lifting her head, stray curls stuck to her skin where they had come loose, she drops into a curtsey so low she is almost sitting on the stage, rising up she dips her head then walks off the stage slowly.
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