<span style="color: #8040FF"><span style="font-style: italic">Beep Beep Beep Beep!</span><br/><br/>Four every morning, Emilie's alarm would sound. Five minutes past, she would be slowly rising to a sitting position, hands rubbing her hazel eyes as her body cracked and popped with the movement. A yawn would loose, followed by a slightly-coherent yawn, and shortly thereafter her hand would be feeling out for the knob on her bedside lamp. Another two minutes would pass as her eyes adjusted to the dark before she was able to untangle herself from the silken sheets she'd fallen asleep in the night before.<br/><br/>Feet finding themselves in her slippers, she'd shuffle over to the bathroom, flipping on yet another light as she drew her perfect shower. It took the bathroom filling with steam, 104Â° water pouring from the shower head to pull a small smile to her face.<br/><br/>Her shower lasted twenty minutes on the dot, and encompassed a rigorous bathing routine. It started with the intense cleaning and conditioning of her hair; A product that changed every other day, every other month, to ensure that her hair never became complacent, keeping her lustrous Auburn locks in check. From there, shaving with a high-in-moisturizer cream, to keep her legs soft. Next came the cocoa butter body scrub to keep herself as clean as possible, making sure her perfect skin remained unblemished. Finishing with a minutes worth of icy cold water to keep her skin vigilant, she'd finish at 4:32 a.m.<br/><br/>Stepping from the shower, Emilie would pat herself dry, so as not to over dry her skin and turn on the radio. Hearing the news of the day helped keep her awake, giving her something to focus on apart from the process of getting ready, a process that was second nature to her now.<br/><br/>Opening the secret compartment in her counter's top, her make up station would rise. Nothing too  extensive here, but she hated clutter on counter and table tops. <span style="font-style: italic">"Everything has a place,"</span> was her mantra when it comes to cleaning. <span style="font-style: italic">"Even better when that place is out of site."</span> A simple facial moisturizer, followed by a light powdering to make her skin look dewy and fresh. Slight shadow added to her eyes to give them a bit more depth, followed by mascara and a nude lip gloss and her face was complete.<br/><br/>Hair came next, falling in waves part way down her back. Brushing it out, she'd leave it down, tossling it a bit to give it more life as it air dried. No reason to put it up and have it remain wet. That's how bacteria manifests.<br/><br/>5:04 a.m.<br/><br/>From here, it would be the task of finding something to wear. More often than not she was on her way to a ballet rehearsal, so she'd only want something simple she could take off and put back on without hassle. Simple flats, or sandals sufficed as her go-to shoe. Loose-fitting shirts, or slip-on dresses made up the majority of her daytime torso attire, while leggings and cropped shorts comprised her bottoms. A cropped jacket generally completed the ensemble before adding her ballet bag.<br/><br/>Her dressing wouldn't take long, as each article was chosen for its easy demeanor. Rather than want her day dragged down with difficult fabrics, she kept it simple. No telling what time she'd get called while out and about for added rehearsals, scene changes, and the like. It was better this way, to always be prepared.<br/><br/>Forty minutes later, Emilie was ready to leave the house. Bag slung over her shoulder (equipped with her leotard, tights, slippers, and hair essentials) and phone in hand, she was out of the house by no later than 5:44 a.m. New Orleans, being so heavily prominent in bars and liquor-serving locations, never woke up any earlier than eight, so her walks went undisturbed. This allowed her to take in the scenery, to watch a slowly waking world as the sun started to brighten the sky with its luminous rays.<br/><br/>Along the way, fifteen minutes into her walk, she'd stop at the little corner cafe, a local favorite that opened at six sharp every morning. Coffee, black, with a fruit salad was her order. Every once in a while, she'd deviate and add a slice of wheat bread, or perhaps some cottage cheese, but those were only on days she knew would be more stress on her body. Breakfast was a must, something she never dared skip on account of her daily activity. Going without would leave her light-headed, weak. Lines wouldn't be straight, jumps wouldn't be as high. Everything would lack.<br/><br/>And that wasn't acceptable.<br/><br/>Each morning, she'd read a paper and sip her coffee, relaxing for another fifteen minutes before leaving the corner cafe to continue on toward her studio. Being that it was ten blocks away, it took her about a half hour in a straight shot from her home to the door at a leisurely pace. After her breakfast routine, and the rest of the walk, she'd reach the studio at 6:30 am.<br/><br/>The door would be unlocked, ready for her to get there, as per her usual. She was always the early riser, the one to go over her routines from sun up to sun down, to make sure they went off without a hitch. Muscle memory was the key with her, making a scene second nature so she could put the necessary expression into the movements without worrying of missing a beat. Her steps would carry her to the locker room, changing from her clothing into her practice leotard. Ballet slippers laced up her calves securely, pad into the studio itself, going for the remote on the piano next to the full wall mirror. <br/><br/>Pressing play, her usual track, <span style="text-decoration: underline">Clair de Lune</span>, would resonate through the space as her warm up began. From the warm up, she went directly into each scene, a sound track of her quaint orchestra's music would filter through the speakers. Her body would transform, becoming whatever it was she was currently portraying. This would continue for three hours, before her compatriots would begin to filter in. They'd begin their warm ups as she continued on her own in her corner. Their warm up lasted thirty minutes and then they'd run the show in its entirety.<br/><br/>A lunch break would arise after the run through ended at 1:00 p.m. She'd once again change, this time leaving her bag behind to get a grilled tuna salad and herbal tea at the restaurant next door. Around this time, she'd have begun to grow tired, and would relish in her time to break, resolving to stay in her chair...in her favorite window-side table, sipping her tea and eating until the end of their hour break at two.<br/><br/>Going back, she wait for the rest of the group to mill in, as well as their director, for their instructions. They'd be given their critiques from the night before as well as any notes they had from their run through. They'd be instructed to pack their things and head over to the performance space no later than five, at 3:00 p.m. A converted Catholic church at the other end of the French district, she'd walk once more, this time weaving in and out of the crowds of locals and tourists looking for fun. This walk would take her an hour and a half on a normal day. During particularly crowded days, or if it were raining, she'd use the full two hours.<br/><br/>From there it was costume re-fittings and fixes, to make-up and hair. More warm-ups would follow and then they'd wait.<br/><br/>Each show started at seven thirty, sharp, and ended at ten-thirty. They'd meet with fans who came back stage, pack their belongings, and head home. She'd meet with the crowd for thirty minutes, change and then take a cab home, a ride that would take a mere twenty minutes. Once there, she'd eat some yogurt and crackers, sipping some more tea, chamomile this time to relax her, as she watched Golden Girls reruns on the TV.<br/><br/>By eleven-thirty, following her nightly routine of face washing, brushing her teeth and stretching to keep her muscles limber, Emilie would be fast asleep.<br/><br/>That's how it'd been for six years.<br/><br/>In those six years, her routine never deviated, apart from normal dancer necessities.<br/><br/>Doctors were called in to see her while in rehearsal, as she refused to see them in their offices. She didn't go out with her fellow dancers after performances, nor did she have any friends to see otherwise. Her life was devoted to dance, to the self-expression it lent her. If something couldn't fit into that mold, it wasn't in her life. She had no boyfriend for that reason, as no man she'd met was able to accept her schedule. No pet as she was hardly ever home, save for roughly four and a half hours of sleep, and the few she was awake before and after work. Her life was a solitary one.<br/><br/>Just the way she liked it.</span>