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The Swan of Rome
Last Updated:
2025-06-08 14:25:56
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Wrapped The Bully Around My Fingers My shadow in black suit
The city was quiet at dawn. Rome always woke slowly—like a lover reluctant to leave bed, curling back into warmth and marble silence. I stood by the tall window of my apartment, my hands wrapped around a cup of black tea. Below me, the street was just beginning to stir. A Vespa buzzed. A café owner unlocked his doors. The sky above was pale lavender, the kind of color that made me feel like I had already danced through a dream. I turned away from the view and moved through the apartment—barefoot on cool, polished floors, the silk hem of my robe whispering at my ankles. My rehearsal bag was packed. Hairpins ready. Pointe shoes tucked in like sleeping swans. A knock at the door broke the quiet. Three knocks. Not loud. Not urgent. Just... expectant. I didn’t even need to ask. It was him. I opened the door and found him standing there. Black suit, no tie, simple white shirt. Tall, lean, not brutish. The kind of man who blended into any hotel lobby or opera house. You wouldn’t rememb
Wrapped The Bully Around My Fingers This is my world now
The city of Rome gleamed beneath the dusky sky, its ancient streets echoing the low hum of life. After the warm dinner with Mama and Papa, I returned to my sanctuary—the apartment that cradled the version of me the world knew as Amara Liora. The Swan of Rome. The driver pulled up to the front of the building, and the doorman, Roberto, greeted me with a warm smile. " Good night, miss." "Good night, Roberto," I replied softly, stepping out as he opened the door for me. I nodded politely, tired but glowing from the comfort of home. The building was tucked in the quieter part of Trastevere, away from the tourists and noise. But nothing about it was modest. A beautiful blend of classic Roman architecture with subtle modern elegance, its cream façade held wrought-iron balconies adorned with red and white flowers. I took the private elevator to the top floor—my floor. The doors opened with a soft chime and I stepped into my apartment. Light spilled across marble floors, polished to a mu
Wrapped The Bully Around My Fingers Where light feels warm
The sky over Rome shimmered like brushed gold, melting softly into lilac as the sun began to sink into the arms of evening. My heels clicked gently on the polished floor of the studio, echoing faintly, like the last memory of music still hanging in the air. The interview had gone well. I’d smiled, answered kindly, even laughed once. But my eyes had strayed once or twice toward the fading sky beyond the arched windows—toward home. A different kind of spotlight waited for me there. Warmer. Quieter. I stepped into the backseat of the sleek black car. The driver greeted me with a nod, and we slid into traffic. I leaned my head against the window, watching the ancient streets blur past, golden lamps flickering to life, shadows dancing on cobbled stone. --- Their house stood at the edge of the Tiber River, on the quiet side of the city where green ivy laced through marble balustrades and the windows always glowed with golden light. It wasn’t just a house—it was a villa, a sprawling blen
Wrapped The Bully Around My Fingers The interview
I was still breathing through the echo of the final note, my chest rising and falling with the memory of the spotlight. Caelum was somewhere nearby—smiling easily, his suit tailored to perfection, the picture of charm. The golden embroidery on my white gown glistened as I was led toward the lounge, where the interviews would take place. Applause still throbbed like a second heartbeat from the other side of the walls. I adjusted the sleeves of my dress, pulling composure over my body like another layer of costume. "Miss Amara Liora, the Swan of Rome," a journalist said warmly, rising from his seat with awe stitched into his voice. “Tonight’s performance was described as ethereal, revolutionary... almost mythic. How do you feel, having captivated Rome once again?” I smiled—soft, professional, practiced. “I feel honored,” I said. “And grateful. There is no stage quite like Rome. The energy here—it’s ancient and alive. Every performance feels like dancing in conversation with the
Wrapped The Bully Around My Fingers The Swan of Rome
Five years later They call me The Swan of Rome. The world does. But my name is no longer Pearl Hart. Not here. Not anymore. I changed it the day I landed in Italy with a single suitcase and no voice left to scream. I am Amara Liora now—a name whispered backstage in breathless awe, scribbled on concert programs in gold. A name that carries light and mystery, not history. I'm 23 years old now, the youngest ballerina, Rome has ever seen in her entire history. I’ve danced in Paris, Vienna, Florence. I’ve graced the stage in Milan and Istanbul, once under a ceiling of glass where light fell like water. But Rome—Rome is my home. The place where I became something else, someone new. To them, I’m not a girl with a vanished past or a heart that once bled quietly on marble floors. I’m just The Swan of Rome, the youngest principal ballerina in the Compagnia Reale. I belong to velvet curtains and the trembling hush before the music begins. But in private, in the silence between rehearsals
Wrapped The Bully Around My Fingers The echo of her absence
I should’ve known something was wrong the moment her phone didn’t ring. I stood in the middle of the prom, music thudding around me, people laughing, lights swirling—and all I could feel was the cold settling in my chest. I’d checked every corner of the ballroom. The hallway outside. Even the terrace. But she wasn’t there. Pearl had vanished. I texted her again. Where are you? Nothing. I called. Voicemail. Again. And again. My heart started racing. A different kind of panic. Not the kind that makes you run into battle—but the kind that makes you realize you’ve already lost. I shoved past a group of seniors, ignoring someone calling my name. I was already halfway down the long corridor that led to the exit, the echo of my footsteps louder than the music now. The air outside was biting as I ran to my car. My hands were shaking as I unlocked the door. She wouldn’t just leave… right? But then again, I couldn’t find her. I couldn’t reach her. And my gut twisted with a sickening cert
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