To the Pointe

Tights of white, leotard of black, pointe shoes laced at the shin. Curls wrestled tight into a bun. The blasting of classical music masking the sound of the blocks of canvas in her shoes tapping against the wood floor. Back to the studio and back to routine. It might be devoid of the thrill of dodging bludgers but it was what Charlie loved all the same.

Done