The wooden ballerina holds a static pirouette. Her blonde hair is tied into a bun, not a stray hair of yellow paint on her carved face. Sunken human eyes dart across her form as eager hands find the little knob on her pedestal. Suddenly, she turns and turns and turns as “Lara’s Theme” cranks out below her. She’s a real girl now, her pink nose pointed in the air as she transforms into Anna Pavlova. Her lithe form slows; the dainty, sad notes elongate. She remains in muted rest, her kinetic energy waiting for the next turn of the dial.
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Title by: DWRoelands
Story by: CeCe Garcia
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