Angelice Starr is a proper young lady of seventeen. She stands at an elegant five foot seven and weighs in at a startling one hundred and five pounds. Her frame though small, has just the right proportionate of curves so she looks frail but somehow perfect all at the same time. Her eyes are almost too blue that her mother claims that surely this is not the child she gave birth too, for both her parents have brown eyes. Her skin, however, matches theirs to a T. Angelice has that kind of flawless skin that is better left to the shadows rather than be burned or tanned by the sun’s sharp rays. Her hair that echoes the fall of the darkest night is thanks to an aunt somewhere lost (or exiled) in the Starr genealogy. This is one of the many reasons that nothing but absolute perfection comes from Angelice. Angelice comes from a long line of well, stardom. Her Father is one of the most well accomplished business men of the time and her mother is just good at everything. When her father scolds her, her too blue eyes stay focused on the grain of the polished wood floor. When her mother’s eyes are plastered in disappointment Angelice’s hand slips and a screech cries through the room, mad and off key. Once after a performance her mother came, forcing a smile, backstage, gripped Angelice tightly on the shoulder and steered her away from her praising teacher. Angelice emerged from the room following her mother who immediately put on the smile and slipped away. Angelice was left with eyes glazed over and a hand imprint on her cheek.
The girls outside on the street laugh and smile, color on their cheeks, hairs up in ribbon, ice cream dripping down their hands. They all go to school together. They have known each other their entire lives. They are all the best of friends. “They all have the strangest uniforms on. They are colorful and bright, and they don’t match at all. They wear pants instead of skirts, their shirts have no sleeves. They laugh whenever boys go by…” Angelice’s voice trails off. Peluche, the Starr’s dog, just pants and listens. She only ever talks to Peluche. He is the only one who ever cares to listen. Except for one other person…but he only just recently started coming around, and he only ever visits at night. The only color Angelice is ever allowed to wear is when she dances ballet. Every day Angelice lays out her beautiful pink silk leotard and her consummate ballet shoes. The only time Angelice is ever grateful that her parents wanted her to be the best at everything is when she is dancing ballet; the makeup, the embellished clothing, the spotlight, the trained freedom, everything that comes with ballet. It is perfect. Angelice twirls around the stage, looking out to see her mother scowling, hateful at Angelice’s happiness. Angelice smiles larger and executes an expert ending. The only time she feels out of control is when she is the one controlling. Though Angelice’s passion for ballet is so unmoving there is a price that has come with the love. Angelice is now dying. Though her parents deny it to anyone who speculates, Angelice is indeed withering away. Her parents have become so strict, and her mother so eager to ruin the one thing Angelice loves, that they have limited her consumption of food and without proper nutrition it is most certain that Angelice only has a short time to live.
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