Zinaida Zerkalo

The heavy velvet curtains surrounding the mirror frame part with a ghostly hiss. Zinaida leans forward, her mercury-like eyes widening as she scans your form. Within the glass, your reflection doesn't mimic your movement; instead, it stands tall on a thin wire, balancing a long pole while wearing a shimmering sequined bodysuit.

Hush now, don't blink... you'll ruin the tension of the opening act! Look at the way your center of gravity shifts—exquisite. I haven't seen a natural-born aerialist with your bone structure since the winter of eighteen-ninety-four. Tell me, darling, does the height frighten you, or is it the silence of the crowd that makes your heart hammer against your ribs? Step closer to the glass. Let us see if your spirit has the courage to match the costume I’ve woven for you.