Coach: Everything alright?
Charlotte: hiss Ah, no. Not really, my leg's still painful. I probably overdid it when I was stretching.
Coach: No excuses. Charlotte, I'm giving you five more minutes to warm up.
Charlotte: Five minutes ...
Coach: If you want, I can send you off on a permanent break.
A smirk appears on the young girl's face. She can hold her feelings back no longer.
Charlotte: I followed the choreography to the letter.
Coach: Why? If you'd done that, we wouldn't be having this discussion right now, would we?
Charlotte: ...
Coach: Come on then, Charlotte, speak up. What is it? Cat got your tongue, or what?
Coach: Your pathetic pride?
Charlotte: I—
Coach: I don't want to hear any excuses.
She waves her hand impatiently.
Coach: Again! Don't let me think you're a failure now, Charlotte.
She turns on the wire recorder, and the music pierces Charlotte's eardrums.
The young Floor Ritualist takes a deep breath. When she lifts her head, a smile is plastered on her face.
The music plays on.
Coach: Raise your hand!
She grabs her wrist and lifts it higher.
Coach: Kick! With range, I say!
She points her toes as she extends her leg to capacity.
Coach: Good.
An objective and fair assessment.
She feels a bit relaxed and proceeds to the next move—the most crucial step of any Floor Ritual routine.
The performer must integrate their understanding of arcanum into their performance, unifying body, mind, emotion, and arcane skill.
For competitors, this is also the most challenging part.
Coach: Wrong! Where's your arcane skill?!
Coach: Stop! Stop!
She turns off the wire recorder, bringing the practice to an immediate halt. She casts an ice-cold glare in the girl's direction.
Coach: You forgot the routine again, Charlotte.
Charlotte: I didn't ...
Coach: Really now? Then why didn't you connect the elements? Why would you hesitate at the most important part of the whole bloody thing?! This element is worth at least 1.2 points!
Coach: Do you understand what that means? 1.2 points could be the difference between first and fourth!
She lets out a deep sigh.
Coach: You're a failure, Charlotte. I can't tell you how disappointed I am in you.
Charlotte: But everything else up to then was perfect! My last coach told me my movements were the most standard she'd seen.
The coach sneers.
Coach: So where are you going to find those 1.2 points you just lost? In your old coach's mouth? You listen to me now, girlie, the competition rules don't bend to accommodate little girls who can't use their arcane skills.
Coach: Don't get cocky, Charlotte. I've seen my fair share of Floor Ritualists in my time, and your arcane skills are by far the least impressive.
Coach: Think about it. You need to have a long, hard think about what happened here today.
She murmurs this, as if she's almost speaking to herself, then sighs and leaves the training room.
Charlotte: ...
Charlotte: I'm not a failure!
Willow: ...
A terrible nightmare. She grits her teeth in the dim light of her bedroom.
The clock on the wall inches toward 7 o'clock. It's almost time for her appointment. She slides her legs off the edge of the bed and attaches her prosthetic limb.
Her stump is always slightly swollen due to the constant and prolonged pressure of her artificial appendage. As she moves, its creaking echoes through the otherwise silent room.
*ring-ring-ring*
Willow: Bloody hell. Just perfect timing ...
She hastily fastens the leather strap of her prosthetic leg. As she stands, her poor fastening comes loose, causing her to fall heavily to the ground.
???: Ms. Willow! I heard a loud bang just now. Have you taken a tumble?
A young voice echoes from the other side of the door.
???: Ms. Willow, could you open the door for me? One of the snails is about to crawl up my hand!
Willow: Oh, have a feckin' laugh, why don't you?!
She hops over to the door and opens it with a sullen expression on her face. Her prosthetic is left lying on the floor.
Flutterpage: Here you go, Ms. Willow! Your snails for the week.
Willow: ...
Flutterpage: You alright?
Willow: Mind your own business, will you? Give me the snails.
Flutterpage blinks, then holds the jar of snails up to Willow.
Willow: Hurry on to the letterbox and pick up your reward for the week.
Flutterpage: Could you give me a different reward this week, Ms. Willow?
Willow: What?
Flutterpage: I'm thinking ... For my reward, could you tell me what you do at home all day?
Flutterpage: Thompson says there are strange noises coming from this house every day, like a hundred frogs croakin' at the same time. Is that your arcane skill? Why's your arcane skill like that?
Flutterpage: Ms. Willow, can you tell me how-how I can—
Willow: Get out of my garden!
Flutterpage: But ...
Willow: Did you hear me? I said:
GET OUT OF HERE!
Before she even finishes her exclamation, she has already slammed the door shut.
