The "day after" at the Richmond Academy of Dance did not possess the bitter taste Azzurra had imagined while nervously cleaning the tips of her pointe shoes in the dormitory. The silence that enveloped Mrs. Bennett's office, as she, Oliver, and Maya stepped across the threshold once more, was no longer icy, but vibrant with a suspended tension.
The headmistress was seated before her large monitor, but this time she was not looking at the students. Her eyes were fixed on the grainy closed-circuit footage. The woman's fingers, usually stiff and authoritative, drummed on the desk following a rhythm that was not that of classical music.
"Sit down," she said, without taking her eyes off the screen.
The three teenagers exchanged a puzzled glance. Azzurra felt the void on her chest where, until the day before, Alfio's pendant had hung—now locked away in Aunt Erica's safe. Without that metal against her skin, she felt naked, exposed; yet, curiously, the fire she had lit during the night had not entirely gone out.
Mrs. Bennett pressed the pause button at the exact moment Oliver lifted Azzurra and the lightning bolt illuminated the room. The frozen image displayed a geometry of bodies that defied the laws of the academy: there was no symmetry, no "proper" placement of the shoulders, but there was a visceral truth that pierced through the screen.
"I have spent the entire morning watching this video," the headmistress began, finally turning toward them. Her face appeared more tired, but her eyes held a light Azzurra had never seen before: the light of someone who had just remembered why, fifty years earlier, she had started to dance. "Initially, I was furious. I thought of a breach of regulations, an act of childish rebellion. I even called your aunt, Azzurra, speaking to her of instability."
She stood up, walking slowly toward the window overlooking the misty park.
"Then I looked closer. I stopped looking for technical errors and started looking for meaning. What you did is not an infraction. It is a choreography of devastating power. I have seen nothing like it in thirty years of teaching. There is pain in it, mud, rage, but also a sort of... ancestral protection."
Maya held her breath, while Oliver gripped the armrests of his chair. Azzurra felt a lump in her throat.
"Azzurra," Mrs. Bennett continued, approaching the girl. "Your aunt wants me to bring you back to the tracks of perfection. She wants you to be the perfect 'Lady of Richmond.' But I am, first and foremost, a choreographer. And to deny the world what I have seen in this video would be a crime against art."
The headmistress returned to her desk and picked up a folder. "The Christmas showcase is in three weeks. The program is closed: The Nutcracker, as it is every year. Tradition, rigor, reassurance. But this year, I have decided to insert an off-program piece. An opening number, before the curtain rises on the Stahlbaums' party."
She stared at the three of them, one by one. "I want you to bring 'The Dance of the Draunara' to the stage of the Richmond Theatre. I want you to make it professional, to polish it without stripping away that raw, wild soul you brought out last night. I will give you the Grand Hall for three hours every afternoon, privately. I myself will supervise the staging."
"But ma'am..." Azzurra murmured, incredulous. "Aunt Erica will never allow it. She wants me to forget... she hates everything related to the storm."
Mrs. Bennett gave a sardonic, almost complicit smile. "Your aunt is a great patron, Azzurra, but she is not a dancer. We will tell her we are preparing an academic exercise in modern expressionism. When she sees the ballet at the theatre, before all of London's high society and the critics from The Guardian, she will have no choice but to applaud your immense talent. Beauty, when it is this absolute, silences even the most stubborn prejudices."
Oliver took a step forward. "We're in, ma'am. We'll bring Sicily to London."
Maya nodded vigorously, already imagining the lights and costumes. But Azzurra remained silent, thinking of her mother. If that ballet became public, the secret of their bond would no longer be theirs alone. It would become a cry.
"There is one condition, Azzurra," the headmistress added. "You must be the one to lead them. You must teach Oliver and Maya to feel that 'heartbeat of the earth' you spoke of in the video. If you can replicate that energy, this piece will change the history of this school."
Leaving the office, the three of them found themselves in the corridor, overwhelmed by a mixture of euphoria and terror.
"Did you hear that?" Maya exclaimed, jumping up and down. "We're opening the showcase! We'll be legends!"
Oliver looked at Azzurra, who was still staring at the office door. "We'll get that pendant back for you, Azzurra. If we're going to dance the Draunara, you need to have your strength with you. Aunt Erica will realize she can't lock the sea in a safe."
Azzurra nodded slowly. She felt that Mrs. Bennett, despite knowing nothing of curses or magical silk, had sensed the truth: pain is not to be hidden, it must be shown so that it can heal. As they walked toward the canteen, Azzurra felt a sudden warmth on her chest, right where Alfio's metal had once rested. It was as if Belinda, from Sicily, was whispering to her that the path was the right one. Richmond Castle was about to tremble again, but this time, it would be for applause that would cross the ocean.