“Arrête!”

Aidan stops mid-plié, hands going to rest on his bare hips as he exhales exasperatedly.

The stage lights above him are blindingly bright, making it impossible for him to make out the audition panel sat at a table a few rows back from the stage. He cannot really even recall their faces from having passed them on his way up. So, at the moment they are only quite judgemental disembodied voices.

“Monsieur Wynne, in your correspondence you ...