Rough, calloused hands yanked me upright from a fitful sleep. Up close, her face spoke volumes of the resentment and disappointment I always seemed to cause. was tightened into a frown of disgust, and every wrinkle on her aged skin folded in on itself. Words were useless when juxtaposed with emotions; the untangible always were. The anger that contorted Gyeong's face could never be expressed. At least, not with words.

"I knew there was something strange. Why are you such a stubborn girl?!" she yelled, pulling me up by the collar of my shirt. Words clogged up in my throat; always useless when I needed them most. I allowed myself to be dragged wherever she desire, not wanting to anger her more.

"Do you know what our teachers used to do when we were young? Hit us. Strike us till our backs were sore, and then tell us to return to work. But I'm not going to hit you. Only because it'll cause me my job again. So I suggest you listen up," Gyeong said, finally releasing me onto the floor.

I wish I could listen! But prickly vines were wrapping around my skull, rendering anything I heard, felt, tasted, breathed, unrecognizable. Those vines s around my body, viciously covering every inch of my skin in nail deep needles. The hands, once again reached for my throat and clasped on tightly. I screamed, but those hands only held on more savagely.

"Gyeong!" I exhaled, searching feverishly for her, for anyone. But a dark figure only stared back, its sadistic grin carved into its pale face.

He was back. Oh, he was back!

*                                *                                *

"Did you see that performance?"

"She was spectacular! There's no doubt she'll be a world famous star!"

"Those pirouettes she performed excelled even Paloma Herrera when she was young,"

"This girl has so much potential,"

I am eight year old again, walking off the stage from my first ballet competition. Strangers, of all shapes and sizes come to congratulate a girl that they've never seen, or even heard of till now. At that time, I never understood what it meant to be someone, verses being someone of value. So I just did as Mom had told me, and smiled gratefully to everyone. I remember so clearly that look Mom had on her face when we returned home. My heart was so full of happiness, I could've died and been peaceful. For the first time, seeing that word "proud" manifest on her bright face was enough for me.

"Mom is so, so proud of you darling," she told me. I relished in her excitement and let her ramble on about how all these big names were coming up to compliment her daughter. Needless to say, it was an important night for ballerinas, but we just happened to get caught in the middle of it.

"Remember now, people are going to expect amazing things from you Kiara. They'll watch to see what levels you'll reach next. But only when you meet their expectations and exceed it, you can really become someone with power," Mom said. Her words burned into my memory, playing on repeat when everything else retired for the night. Why did I need to reach those levels? Who would be judging me? And what will happen if I don't become who they want me to be? I began to panic. What if this was a one time thing? A luck of the draw? There was no guarantee that little me was born to be phenomenal prodigy. 

"What if I'm not what they were expecting?" I whispered to the silence.

"Then you'll be thrown away," a voice replied. My attention snapped up to a young man that had been conjured from the shadows. A wide, mocking smile was carved into his face from ear to ear. Frosty silver hair hung loosely over grey, lifeless eyes that held nothing within them.

"W-who are you?" I asked in a shaky breath. Instead of responding, he approached me. Bone thin fingers reached up to forcefully caress my eight year face, and I let him. Only now do I regret giving in. 

"Looks like we'll be seing each other for a long time. Nice to meet you, my name is Reality,"

*                                      *                                       *

Reality was everywhere. He hovered over me during my everyday life and stayed close by my side. What Mom, teachers, and the people surrounding me couldn't do, Reality could. When I was nervous during my first recital, Reality nudged me forward, beckoning me onto the stage. When I struggled to perfect my Grande Jeté, Reality prompted me to keep practicing till my feet bled and he would carry me home. Even when I placed fifth in the Youth World Ballet Competition, Reality put both hands together for me and watched from the audience.

But he never did these things kindly. In every obstacle I'd faced, he'd whisper harsh, grating words, sometimes even lies to propel me forward.

"You've practiced for months to perform at this recital. Are you so pathetic that you cannot even walk onto that stage like every other girl? Why can't you simply go?"

"Your Grande Jeté is falling behind. Are you such a nobody that you can't even perfect the simplest of techniques?"

"Your existence is worthless if you can't even place in an international competition. Ballerinas don't make that much unless they can prove themselves to be special. Are you going to be common? Being common will make everyone lose all respect for you. Judges will disapprove of you, and the world will turn its back on you. Even Mom will," 

Reality's world was frightening and never, ever forgiving. He'd stolen my heart at the tender age of 10, when I had my first panic attack. I had been going into the locker rooms to change, when I heard their quite exchanges.

"I'm so sick and tired of Kiara kissing up to Ms. Chae. She's so annoying," Janne, who I thought to be one of my best friends, told the other girls.

"Yeah. She thinks she's all that just because she got fifth in the YWBC," another girl remarked.

"Actually, the system was rigged. Ms. Chae didn't want me to tell anyone, but she had paid one of the judges to rank her first to boost her overall score," Janne said, suppressing a giggle. Reality's presence felt thicker, heavier as she spoke those words. 

"How disappointing, you really are just a nobody. A normal, nobody," Reality laughed sardonically, dancing around in content. But he abruptly stopped, slowly turning to face me. In a brief, terrifying second, Reality had both hands around my neck, blocking all oxygen from entering my small lungs. I now remember those hands; pale and thin, yet strong in their cruelty.

"What are you?" he asked, mercilessly holding on. I pried at his ghostly fingers, willing them to release me.

"What are you?!" he asked again, getting louder, his voice growing in intensity. There were so many answers I could give him; so many aspects of myself I was proud of and would eagerly tell him. But those answers weren't the ones that would allow me to breathe.

"WHAT ARE YOU??!" Reality shrieked, laughing like a madman.

"A-a nobody," I exhaled, finally speaking the words out loud. In an instant, he was gone, just like that. But his cold hands left imprints on my neck, marking me for what I was: a normal, nobody.