I folded into the opening pose—spine curved, chin down, hand reaching toward the floor like grasping at something lost.
The music dropped.
Beat three arrived.
I froze mid-motion, muscles locked, every line deliberate. The mirror caught my reflection—a phantom trapped between movements.
"Mirror sequence!" the taller coach barked.
I pivoted sharply, matching the trainee opposite me. Our arms swept in mirrored arcs.
Left became right. Right became left. The synchronization demanded absolute precision.
My turn came too fast.
I spun, planting my heel, shoulders snapping square. The motion burned through my thighs.
"Intensity!" The shorter coach clapped his hands. "Every pose carries weight. You're not dancing—you're haunting."
I committed harder. Fingers spread wide. Eyes hollow. Each freeze position held until the music released me.
Nothing got easier.
