He could smell powder, the burn of the lamps overhead, the scent of sweets and wet ice and damp boots. As before, as ever. This was the competition ring, the stage. The audience were faceless; a blurred, rippling mass not made any clearer than the contacts in his eyes.
As he came to a stop, ice flying from his blades, he turned to gaze ahead, set his shoulders, take one of those deep, deep breaths before the plunge. Meet the eyes of the man standing at the entranceway. Composed, as ever. One of those ambiguous smiles, as ever. A wolf amongst the crowd. He could still feel the warmth of his neck against his jaw and the play of his breath at his ear.
‘For you, I’ll become desire.’ he thought. ‘So watch me.’