For a moment, Minako turned away from the sight of her little ballet boy– now turned Eros seducing the room with each turn and sweep of his come-hither fingers. For the first time, and only briefly, she watched the gloved hands fall from Viktor’s face as he watched, rapt and unblinking. It was the impassive stare of a carnivore.
She recognised it. She had seen it the day she had stepped forward to claim the title of principal dancer from her senior. The older woman had moved towards her to kiss her cheek, her hands gripping her shoulders a little too tight, her stare a little too cutting.
‘Fuck you if you think you could ever cast dirt on my legacy,’ it said. ‘Fuck you if you think you can best me.’ And there- there it is. The same cold terror that flickered in that hard gaze all those years ago, that had lanced through her own heart when she saw her own younger, prettier, sexier model enter through the dancing hall door years later – and that now stood sentinel in those cold blue eyes.
‘Oh God,’ it whispered. ‘What if you can.’
Desire, jealousy, pride, love. I like to think Viktor’s a little more complicated than meets the eye.