Tonight was the night. The stage was set, the masses waiting.

It was night at the Grand Hall, and she was ready for an audience. Ariana was ready.

For years, she'd been pushed to her limit, for this very moment. Do or die, as they said, sink or swim. Her mentor, her parents, her sisters, they'd all said that no matter how much she trained and trained, only a real performance could truly prove her skill. She'd taken this to heart and gave her all in every single little thing she could.

Her family had a history of proud performances, and Ariana was prepared.

That didn't mean she wasn't scared, no.

The girl swallowed nervously behind the curtain. The roar of the audience, a familiar noise to many of the stagehands, was conspicuously absent. Bated breath was held.

Ariana Woodsworth, youngest daughter of the Woodsworth family, performers and shrewd politicians through and through, was going to do her first public performance. The hall was packed and her parents, or rather, father; her mother was rarely seen, and her father was only around to see her successes ("A Woodsworth is only worth anything if they succeed"). Her mentor was there too- a relatively young man, sandy brown hair, lithe build, determined look. Unlike her retainer, he was not allowed to accompany her backstage, no matter how much he had protested to be let so. So there he sat, in the box overlooking the theatre, alongside her father, an old, perpetually scowling man, with a smooth dome of a head, ringed with a grey line of hair, and piercing blue eyes. He had little patience, and even less tolerance for failure.

Ariana herself looked nothing like her father. Tall and thin, her face flecked here and there with freckles, her eyes deep brown, and her hair was brown and wavy, tied in a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes. For that matter, she looked nothing like her mother either, a tall, willowy woman, with jet-black hair and grey eyes. At least, she thought, that is what she knew from a small picture and fragmented memories she had.

Ariana had never really seen her father much either , she reflected. She saw her retainer more.

The retainer in question, Thomas (they'd called him Jeeves when they were children, she and her sisters) had a face reminiscent of a bulldog; tough, sagging, and slightly wrinkled. He was wearing a black suit, adorned with the symbol of the Woodsworths, a golden cursive W interlocked with another, and a red bowtie. His sharp, thin nose had upon it a pair of gold-rimmed, thin glasses, and his hands were currently around the shoulders of his young charge.

Funny, Ariana thought, how she'd associated his hands with warmth and protection, and her father's with rebukes and disappointment.

"Now, now, girl, there is no need to worry. You were born for this, and your father would be so disappointed if he saw his little girl choking up so soon before her big night," he spoke. His face belied his soft, calming voice and demeanour; for Ariana was no longer worried so much. The young dancer caressed his hand, softly whispering in response. "I know, but…..do you think I can do this? Selena and Xenia always said-"

"Oh don't bother with them. They're simply trying to rile you up, girl. Your tutor does say you show incredible potential, and I don't doubt him for a moment, regardless of what your hags for sisters say."

Thomas didn't really like how Selena and Xenia, Ariana's elders under her dance tutor by a year, mistreated the young girl. Ever since she had entered the class, they had done nothing but degrade and berate her for every single mistake, and send her snide comments when she did well. He'd thought them jealous. He wasn't wrong, not entirely. Some of it was jealousy.

Some of it was anger. Not entirely at Ariana, nor was it entirely fair towards her.

"Thanks, Thomas. I really appreciate it." She smiled a bit. Even when her parents were distant, her tutor away, and her sisters merely arrogant, he was there, always, when she needed him.

The old retainer nodded. "Now girl, remember what you were taught. Remember what you need to do. I will be here, behind the curtain, and I'll be watching. If you ever find yourself nervous, think not of the audience.

Imagine you're in front of your mirror. Perform for yourself, Ariana. Nobody else matters."

Ariana nodded back, and turned away from him.

Now was the moment of truth.

She stood up and, taking a deep breath, stepped out from behind the curtain.

Soon, true silence befell the theatre. A pin could be heard dropping here.

All eyes and the lights were on Ariana.

She shivered slightly, and she squinted in the spotlight. She held back a small tear; in the box office, where her father promised to be, was only her tutor, who nodded sadly to her.

But that didn't matter.

All eyes were on her.

For once, she wasn't put behind everyone else. Selena and Xenia, her sisters, her father's exploits, none of it was overshadowing her.

And at this, the young girl felt a surge of confidence. She couldn't turn back, she couldn't sit down and cry. No, she would make herself a true Woodsworth, in her father's eyes.

She started to dance.

All dissent, all distrust, all doubt as to Ariana's skill was quelled as the girl danced with the grace of a swan on water. No matter how unsure she was, how hard it was to her, it didn't matter.

Her poise was beautiful, her grace unrivalled. Her dress, a light blue and white ensemble, sparkled in the light. All the audience was captivated and enthralled.
And all went wrong.

Ariana, for all her dancing and her performing, was not merely a doll in a record box. She had also mastered a third art, fitting her elegance and her movements in itself.

Fencing.

The young heiress to her legacy was a competent fencer, and much of her learnings in dance, she applied in her duels.

She had taken it up, she said, to hone her skills in dancing, to improve her poise and her flexibility, and her father had believed her.

In reality, it was merely something she liked doing. Had her father known this was the reason, she would be forbidden from doing so; he viewed it as an utter waste of time for a girl to be learning, especially with her talent being in dancing.

Nonetheless, it all came to good use this night, for Ariana's performance was not to remain uninterrupted.

A sudden thud knocked her off her feet during a spin, and Ariana looked to where it had come from.

A large, brutish figure, armed with a wicked, serrated axe, and clad in dark, spiked plates of armor, had appeared suddenly.

The audience screamed in panic. Some began to leave, others rooted to their seats in horror. Ariana slowly backed away, as best as she could.

The figure roared, and slammed his axe at Ariana- or rather, where she had been, for she had swiftly rolled away.

"No, no, no, this can't be happening, not now, not today-" The girl was interrupted in her thoughts by a sudden swing of the axe. She ducked and it merely hit the side of the stage, cutting a wedge into it.

Thomas, the old man, dived in from the side. Ariana screamed.

"Thomas, no!"
"Run, girl! Run while you can!"

The figure turned to Thomas, whose face paled with fear. He dived to the side to avoid a cleaving blow, grabbing his fallen cane and drawing his blade.

He was the one who had been giving her pointers and secret lessons in fencing. The old man stood up, posed to strike, blade lifted, his eyes pointed at the armored intruder.

Ariana was frozen in fear. She was not sure what to do- whether to run, or to help Thomas fight. Panic clouded her judgement and her mind, and uncertainty reigned.

"Why now….why…."

The intruder merely scoffed, and swiped at Thomas with his axe. Thomas deftly dodged it, and swiped back with his rapier. The intruder roared in pain, and black drops of blood splattered onto the stage.

"Point to me. Try harder."

The intruder hefted his axe and swiped sidewards instead, hoping to catch him off guard. Thomas jumped onto the axe's head and ran at the beast's head, thrusting his rapier into what he hoped was an eye socket; and indeed it was, as the beast swiped him away and clutched its head, screeching.

The aged duelist rolled to absorb the impact and swiped the dust from his clothing.
"Not bad. Strong, a little slow. Nothing I cannot handle."

He slowly approached the wounded beast, which covered its wounded eye with one hand and hefted the axe with the other.

A flurry of thrusts came at the beast, parried by an axe blade or blocked by armor, and Thomas dashed and rolled around it, hoping to get a weak spot.

Ariana looked around for a weapon she could help with. By now, the theatre was deserted, save for the three, and much had been left in the hurry to escape.

Meanwhile, Thomas showed much agility for his age, and much dexterity. He weaved and ducked around heavy strikes that would have wounded him.

But he was also poor of eyesight, and that cost him.

Having dodged another blow, the elderly retainer looked around, confused for a bit. Ariana screamed at him.

"Watch out!"

He looked to the wrong side, and he was taken down with an axe to the side.

He died instantaneously, and his corpse was sent to the stage's side, blood slowly pouring out of the large gash that had been made in it.

Ariana's face paled as the beast turned to her, having won over its opponent.

And something…..clicked.

Not many could say that magic was common. These days, magic was what powered the lands, what made all their technology possible, and the Woodsworths, politicians as well as performers, had a hand in it. And many recently had been born with a semblance, nay, an affinity for it, most common in those who were in families associated with handling such materials needed for it.

So perhaps, it was no surprise that Ariana Woodsworth was one of those blessed with magical abilities.

A fury overtook the young girl as she took up her fallen carer's rapier. Wielding it deliberately and shaking slightly in her left hand, Ariana stared down the beast, and it growled, almost mockingly.

No words were said. None were needed.

Her blade began covering itself in frost, and Ariana took several seconds to think, before rushing at the beast.

It raised its axe to defend itself, but the intruder's weapon did not avail it. Ariana impaled his hand with the rapier, and frost covered its hand from where it had been struck, welding it to the blade. As the beast screeched, Ariana thrust upwards, severing its hand, and snapping the axe in half.

The intruder fell backwards, black blood spurting from the severed stump of a hand it once had, its weapon forgotten. It felt fear, for the first and final time.

This girl was dangerous, something to be feared.

No matter what he had said, she was not an easy target, and perhaps this had cost its life.

The beast stood up, fist at the ready, disorientated by blood loss and dazed by the cold. Ariana was already running at it, and-

A flurry of slashes, thrusts and dashes, and the beast was covered in a crisscross of frost where the blade had cut it. Roaring, it attempted to escape, but the ice kept it where it was.

Ariana turned to it, preparing to run at it.
"This is for Thomas. Feel the bite of the cold."

Running at it, Ariana vaulted over its head and stabbed it hard as she could, landing perfectly on her fingers and feet.

The beast screamed, before its mouth was covered in frost, as well as its body, the moment of its death frozen for a mere few seconds before it shattered, falling to the ground in shards.

And Ariana felt as she had done earlier.

All eyes were on her.

Relief, anguish, surprise, triumph, anger, all those feelings rushed into her as she fell down and unconsciousness took her.