#masterofshangfu

The winter air bit against her pale cheeks as she exited through the stage door. Her joints ached, feet pounding in protest with every step she took. Dance may have saved her, but it was breaking her down as well. She’d have to take care of that at home, undo the last week of damage.

She lit a cigarette, held it between her lips before inhaling deeply. The burn in her lungs was a familiar comfort as she trudged down the city streets. At one time, she might have fled into the night life at this hour....but now she was disillusioned, unsatisfied with the life she’d loved and more than content to continue her tightrope routine of half-assed sobriety in her tiny apartment.

However, her plans were interrupted as a scene to her left caught her eye. She wasn’t normally one to interfere in the affairs of others, wasn’t normally one to step in when blood was being shed, but tonight she did stop. If it got out of hand, she could make it stop..in the most literal and immediate sense.