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Cross-posted from Hetachallenge

Title: Prima Ballerina
Fandom: Hetalia
Author: kira
Chars/Pairs: Anya (Russia)/
Genres: angst/nostalgia
Warnings: Nyo!talia characters used
Word Count: 724
Summary: Anya dances in the studio by herself, reliving the past…

Anya Braginskaya tied her pointe shoes, before pulling on her leg warmers. The dance studio was cold and she shivered as she tied her wrap-sweater tighter. Getting up, Anya made her way gracefully to the barre and warmed up. As she stood en pointe she glanced into the floor length mirror at herself. A brief smile flitted across her lips as she turned towards the side. Standing perpendicular to the mirror, Anya let go of the barre and slowly danced across the floor. She remembered the greats she had danced with like Nijinky, Baryshnikov, Godunov, and Nureyev to name a few, some of which had defected to the West

There were new faces now, with names like Tsiskaridze, Vasiliev, who now danced in the West, and Ovcharenko. While they danced in roles she was familiar with, like Petrushka, the Specter of the Rose, Albrecht, Prince Siegfried, and James, she never danced with them, preferring to do as she did now; dance with her beloved partners of old. She supposed in time she would come to love them as well and dance with them in the studio, having long since retired from the stage.

Anya could hear Tchaikovsky's score in her head, the music for the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.” She pirouetted in time to the familiar tune as she danced the solo. When she came to the end, she could hear the sound of applause in her head. Closing her eyes, Anya gracefully took her bows, until she heard the sound of real applause.

“Bravo, Anya,” her brother, Nikolai Arlofsky, clapped his hands. He smiled although it never reached his eyes.

Anya rolled her eyes as she looked up at him. “What do you want, Niko?”

“Nothing. I just came to see my sister, the prima ballerina, dance.” He shrugged.

She snorted. “You saw me dance, now go.” She made shooing motions with her hands at him.

Nikolai chuckled. “Fine, be that way,” he smirked.

Anya shrugged.

His expression briefly softened. “You know most of them are all dead and gone, only a few are still here like Misha.”

She sighed. “I know… But I can still dance with them in my head.”

“Then dance, Prima Ballerina.”

“I will.” Anya got en pointe and with arms raised above her head, she pirouetted away from him. Keeping time to the rhythm of his retreating footsteps, she danced across the studio floor. When he closed the door behind him, she paused, raising her leg in an arabesque. She held it for several heartbeats, imaging Nureyev’s hands about her waist, before they began to dance a pas de deux.

She took bits and pieces from the various ballets he had been in, dancing the female leads as well as some of the showier parts of the danseur’s choreography. Anya danced her heart out in much the same way she had had over the years with each ballet company she had been in, rising in the ranks, but stopping just short of being a prima ballerina in each company. As much as she loved ballet, since she did not age as the personification of a country, she had to keep a low profile. Dancing with the greats was something she did in the studio, or when it was onstage it was in the corps du ballet and later on as a Coryphée dancing in a small group.

Anya pirouetted to a stop. Once again she could hear the thunderous applause of her imaginary audience. Unlike last time, no one came into the studio to disturb her and pull her from her memories. Anya bowed gracefully. Straightening up, she walked over to the lone chair in the room where the Ballet Master would sit and she sat. A single tear slid down her cheek. Her brother was right. That was the past and while it lived on in memories and photographs and videos and movies, it was still the past and that former glory would never return, no matter how hard she wished it to. Another tear joined the first and then another as she leaned forward and untied the ribbons on her pointe shoes.

“There’s no use crying over it, Anya,” she said softly. “Life goes on and on and the past is simply the past.” Getting up, she left the studio, never to return.


the Duchess of Crack! and the Queen of Fluff

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