Cat lost her persona. Zia slipped away from her like water in sunlight on a hot day She turned to steam and drifted away on the breeze. She reached to grab it, to pull it back, but her hands grasped only smoke. She sat in the changing room, mere minutes before her performance, her hands gripping her knees so tightly her nails dug into her skin. They left impressions, like miniature scars.

[i]Leave Taygete before you can’t get out.[/i] Star’s last words to her rang in her head, as loud as the church bells back home. They rang every Sunday, and her father always give her and her little brother a piece of candy after service. The anticipation of getting that treat always made Cat love going to church on Sundays, and now that she was older she recognized the clever scheme for what it was. She hadn’t been inside a church for years.

What would it be like? After she left home and began traveling around the world, religion was one of those things that changed wherever she went, and after seeing the similarities between all of them, she wasn’t truly sure if she could follow any one. She followed none of them, but at the same time, she followed all of them.

[i]This life will suck you in and won’t spit you out until you’re as withered and dried as a corpse.[/i] Cat grimaced. She did feel tired more often than not lately. With her job pulling her one way and her night life pulling her another way, the tiny apartment she was only able to rent because she had a roommate to split the costs, and the mold growing in the air conditioning, it was a wonder she found sleep at all. Angie was a wonderful friend, and Cat really did love her, but…

Star was right. This life was draining her. Straining her. Every day felt the same, and the bits of joy she managed to eke out of her life seemed like pitiful embers compared to the blazing bonfire she’d known when she was traveling around the world. Why was she here, in Taygete? Why did she stop moving from place to place? She didn’t need to come here, not when there were hundreds of other cities she’d yet to see. She could have performed around the world, and her notoriety would have spread that way.

So why was she still here? [i]Why?[/i]

[i]Go to the country, find a farm somewhere or a husband or both, and give your life to something worth doing.[/i] Cat would have liked to find a husband. Children were one of her life’s goals. But she didn’t want to stop traveling either, and to do that, she’d need to find someone willing to leave everything behind for a life on the road. By the time she saw every end of the world, maybe then she’d be ready to settle down in one place for a time and raise her sons or daughters. She’d treat them better than her mother had treated her. Her family would be whole and unbroken. That was something worth devoting her life to, wasn’t it?

The clock ticked the hour, and Cat knew she was running late now. She tried to reach for Zia’s persona, but the mask again slipped from her reach. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she stood and walked out of the changing room. She felt oddly calm. Her nerves should have been a frazzled mess—she should be halfway to panicking—but instead she was…ready.

[i]No singing tonight,[/i] Cat thought, moving through the dim hallway towards the stage. [i]No music, either. Just me.[/i]

She could hear the crowd in the Heritage. The club would be packed by now, and the lengthy pause between performances hadn’t gone unnoticed. The stage manager was giving her a dirty look as she approached, but she ignored him and moved out onto the stage. As she did so, she let her mind drift, letting it focus on the nails in the boards below her. With a subtle turn of her awareness, those nails turned into magnets, gently pushing against her skin until she strengthened her aura and directed it into the nail-turned-magnets.

The result was that she rose into the air with every step, as if she were climbing a set of stairs no one could see. Her shoes, with nothing left to support them, fell off her feet and clattered to the ground. Cat stopped center-stage and looked out at the crowd, perfectly aware she was giving the front row a chance to look up her skirt. She didn’t care. Let them see. They wouldn’t find any strings holding her in the air.

For a moment she merely stood there, scanning the crowd and waiting. She recognized few of them—only the regulars who came almost every night, though she didn’t know them personally. A pair of men in the back were watching her closely, but no more closely than anyone else trying to see what was holding her up. They’d never suspect the truth. Nothing held her up.

Then, finally, the mask of Zia fell over her eyes and took control. Relief flooded through her, and Zia began her dance. She swayed to the music in her mind, the tune in her soul and the beat of her pulse. It was a fast beat, and it grew faster as she danced through the smoke-filled air, the scent of cigars and off-brand tobacco or weed heavy in the air. She danced, and she let her multi-colored dress shift and dance with her, until she appeared to be not just one, but two separate dancers in the same body.

She threw herself across the stage, the beads in her hair clacking with the rhythm in her heart. She twirled and twisted, spun and pirouetted, and flared her skirt out so far she exposed herself to half the crowd. But she didn’t care. She didn’t see a crowd anymore. She saw a field of grass and a bonfire so bright and hot the wintry breeze never touched more than the sweat on her brow. The tribe danced with her, and there was laughter, singing, and clapping in time with the beat of the drums.

She danced with the men. She sang with the women. She laughed with the children. Sweat flew from her brow as she danced on the stage, but Zia was reliving a memory now, and paid no mind to it. She danced long into the night, and she remembered the young man that had come to her. Picking her over of a dozen women from his own tribe to dance with. She remembered his hands on her skin. The touch of his lips. The spice on his breath.

“Stay,” he had whispered to her. But she refused. Back then, she didn’t need to think about it to know she didn’t want to stay grounded in one place for too long. If she had stayed, she would have become his wife and would never again leave the village. She’d have children by now. Sons and daughters, and plenty of both. But that life wasn’t for her.

So why Taygete? Cat wondered, the slip in her mask almost causing her to stumble. She slowed the pace of her dance, her eyes still closed. Compared to life here, she would have welcomed her chance to join one of the tiny villages and live the rest of her life there. So why here? What made Taygete so much more appealing a place to stay?

Slowly her dance came to a rest, and Cat let herself drop back down on the stage. She opened her eyes, and saw a crowd of eyes staring back at her. She blinked, startled by the unexpected sight. There was no bonfire here, only cigar and cigarette smoke, mixed with the scent of alcohol and her own sweat. She was drenched. Sweat poured from her brow, and her breathing came in dry, ragged gasps.

[i]How long have I been dancing?[/i] Cat glanced to the side, aware of the stage director’s stern glare, and swallowed the lump in her throat. She gave a deep curtsy to the crowd, then briskly exited stage right. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Star’s figure again, and her final words echoed in Cat’s head.

[i]You don’t belong here, kid.[/i]

“I know,” Cat whispered. “I’m going to leave.”

“Finally!” the stage director grumbled. Cat started. “First you’re ten minutes late, next you go almost half an hour over your allotted time. We have other performers waiting their turn, so if you don’t get off the stage when I tell you to, you’ll lose that privilege. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir,” Cat said. “I’m very sorry.”

The man harrumphed at her, and Cat took her chance to scurry away. She returned to the changing room and quickly washed the sweat from her face and hair, then changed out of her clothes. She moved quickly, wanting to be out of the Heritage as fast as possible, and on her way back to her and Angie’s apartment. She’d spend the night, pack her things, then leave in the early morning.

She wasn’t sure where she would go. But she had already decided to leave, and for now that was enough. She stormed out of the Heritage, and into the night.