A Word of Praise

Kiara was having the exact opposite of a blast. The changing room they set aside for her was bigger than she was used to, and it seemed like the old childhood bedroom of an entitled little prick. It probably was, considering what she'd seen so far.

One of the party organizers had thoroughly instructed a servant to lead her there through the back entrance, so the attendees wouldn’t catch a glimpse of the ‘performer’ before the ‘main act’.

Main act my ass, all those stuck up moneybags couldn't care less about her performance. They would certainly be occupied closing billion-dollar deals and complaining about the rise of the minimum wage.

The agency hadn't specified what kind of event it was but based on the size of the kitchen she went through and the number of servants running like crazy, she assumed it was a fancy-ass party. And thrown by the modern equivalent of royalty, no doubt.

Who else would hire an aerialist to perform in the middle of a ballroom and guarantee a ceiling height of twenty feet for her silks? Not even the professional tent she performed on the summer had that kind of structure, but those messed up people thought their home should have a triple-height ceiling to compensate for their small dicks.

She wandered around the room, getting familiar with the place. Bounced a bit on the perfectly laid bed, messed the order of books too clean to have ever been read. She had a little bit of time before she needed to get ready because they made her arrive two hours before the show.

The action figures were kind of cool, but still too systematically organized for her taste. The owner even sorted them out by cinematic universe, for Christ's sake! Kiara couldn't help herself and switched the Hulk and Batman. Much better.

She considered taking the Spider-man as her prize, but it still didn't feel quite right. She deserved something else from that place, something nice. So she kept on searching, opening a few drawers and cabinets to find her trophy of the night.

Most of them were empty, suggesting the room was indeed a leftover from the child that once lived there. Probably the heir to that damn empire, if she were to guess.

One of the drawers, much to her delight, was locked. The promise of hidden treasures was too much for her, and she couldn't contain the small devilish smile that made its way to her face.

She opened her traveling costume bag and took out a hair clip, trying to remember the YouTube video she saw the other day about unlocking doors with the thing. It took her way longer than the video suggested, and she had to watch it a few more times to get it done. But soon enough that magnificent click sound was heard and bingo.

Inside the faithful drawer was a full collection of jewelry. She was no expert, but the total sum would undoubtedly surpass the order of millions. She rummaged through the pieces as if she was accustomed to it, but the truth was she had never put her hands in that amount of money before. Least of all that literally.

Her fingers felt the sharpness of the diamonds – at least she thought they were diamonds – and took a few pieces out, to help her see everything inside. You had to be filthy rich to pile up gemstones like that. It looked like her lingerie closet, and that was saying a lot.

After a few minutes of search, her index finger accidentally worn a magnificent diamond ring that immediately caught her eye. If was a fucking masterpiece! Unlike most other pieces, it wasn't ostentatious in size or weight. It was actually fairly light, with two crossing bands filled with little stones and converging to a slightly bigger one in the middle.

That was is. She couldn't even argue. That perfect little ring would be her prize for the night. It slid to her finger by itself, it wasn't even her fault. She chewed over the idea of wearing it to her performance, weighing the risk.

It didn't take her long to conclude she should go for it. The piece would be too small to be seen from up high and nobody would be paying much attention to her anyway. She was mildly concerned it could get stuck in the aerial silk, but it was clearly made to be worn with fancy lace dresses without tearing them apart. Her instrument would be safe.

Kiara checked the time and decided to begin her preparation. She still had an hour to get everything ready before midnight. How original, scheduling a performance to the party right at midnight.

Her process was fairly simple, but she took it seriously. It was her art she was talking about, and even though those unappreciative bastards might not pay much attention, she would perform with all her heart. Her only hope was that at least one soul would watch carefully enough to take a piece of it home, much like she'd do with her new ring.

That night she would present a personal favorite, a fifteen-minute performance to the piano version of Sia's Chandelier. Not that they deserved it, of course. But she didn't get many opportunities of a ceiling high enough to allow her to ‘swing’ from the virtual ‘chandelier’.

She wanted to perform it on a festival she took part a while back, but much to her dismay the inner circles of the circus industry are not very accepting of modern song's routines.

She would have done it anyway if it wasn't for the strict selection process lead by one of her former instructors. The Russian aerialist slayed on the silks, and Kiara was crazy in love with her art, but the damn woman didn't accept any routine performed to a song released after the invention of the internet.

A final look in the mirror let her know she was good to go. Her makeup was dark around the eyes, making her blue eyes shine with a mysterious vibe. ‘Thank daddy dearest for that’ she thought, looking up to the roof in a silent prayer.

Her hair was loose to improve the flow during the routine. People would always cheer when she got upside down and flipped her hair, showing her sidecut.

The outfit was her favorite part, a cut out black lace unitard that contrasted brilliantly with her blood-red aerial silks. She knew it stood in a grey area between sexy seductress and murderous dominatrix, but that was precisely what she was going for.

She checked the time again, ten to midnight. The silks' safety knot was attached to the ceiling at the very center of the ballroom, three floors below.  She would come in from the balcony on the second floor and swing her way above the public.

She estimated the ribbons would stop about eight feet above the ground, allowing them to flow above people's heads. Prior to the event, she asked to do a technical rehearsal to sort those things out, but apparently the hostess rejected the possibility. Bitch.

Kiara reached the balcony where her instrument was safely tied and undid the knot. She signaled at the DJ to plug in her flash drive and took a deep breath to concentrate on her silks and her number. When the first few notes of the top hit song played on the speaker, she clutched the fabric and jumped towards the main hall. Showtime.