The ground beneath my feet (open)

[MARCELINE ABIGAIL BELLEFONTE]

Marcy walked silently down the cobbled stone pathways that made up Diagon Alley. The keys to her studio swinging lightly around her fingers. She loved the smells and sounds of the alley and the fact a certain tattoo pallor was on her morning commute. Though she rarely went in there for anything other than a tattoo, she spoke more words to the owner of the shop than her own employees. She enjoyed the smell of freshly baked bread and morning coffee. Speaking of coffee she stopped at the cafe to pick up a cup of coffee,a smile and a pointed finger was all the cashier got. She still refused to talk, she didnt want to hear her mother's voice. It was bad enough she got the constant reminder from her father, she didnt need it from at her place of peace.

Marcy unlocked the front doors to what she considered her greatest achievement. She bought the studio with her own money, not her fathers. Even if the money was clean, she made herself..adding her own skeletons and staining her own hands. Turning the lights on one by one she smiled at the mirrors and the sight. She quickly went to change into her dancing clothes which consisted of a pair of dancer shorts and long sleeve half shirt. She tilted her head taking in her tattoos wondering where she should get a new one. She sighed at the cold floor beneath her bare feet, the most comforting feeling ever would always be cold. She hated the warm feeling of anything really. Maybe thats why she as singe..or why she pushed people away, it had nothing to do with her being a mute by choice.

She began to stretch her muscles all her years at Beaubaxtons had taught her that her body was a temple and she needed to worship it. Though she always wondered what it was it like to have someone to worship with her. She just didnt want to be held and caressed she wanted passion, raw passion that left you breathless and gasping for air.

Sadly she was ballerina, she screamed china doll when her tattoos were covered, perhaps that was the reason her father never took her seriously. Sighing she turned the music on before getting lost in the sounds of the violins and pianos. She loved music more than she loved the feeling of the floor beneath her feet.