Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 548

During the New Year, most dance companies and orchestras were staging holiday performances. Emma’s troupe, however, had nothing scheduled.

Her aunt suggested they take a break and see a concert or a ballet as a family. “You should be in the audience for a change, Emma, not always the one on stage.”

Emma went online to look for tickets and was stopped cold by one particular listing: *Soaring Wings*.

It was being performed by a classical dance company. As she studied the promotional images, a sense of uneasy familiarity washed over her. Then she scrolled down and saw the name of the choreographer: Isla.

Just then, her phone rang. It was Cindra.

“Director, have you seen the ads for the New Year’s shows? There’s one called *Soaring Wings* getting a ton of publicity. I don’t know, but something about that dance…” Cindra’s insinuation was crystal clear.

“Buy tickets. We’re going to see it,” Emma said.

It wasn't that she merely questioned Isla’s integrity; she was convinced the woman had none. Isla had left the troupe about a month and a half before Emma went to Ireland for a month. To create, choreograph, rehearse, and stage a full-scale production in such a short time was nearly impossible. Even with Isla’s deep pockets, Emma was deeply skeptical.

She had been living in a bubble for the past month, disconnected from the online world. Only now, after seeing the listing, did she realize that the internet was saturated with promotions for the show, both at home and abroad.

The marketing narrative claimed that Isla had spent five years polishing this one masterpiece, a work of supreme aesthetic beauty destined to spread the power of dance across the globe. Every press release was written with a fiery, righteous tone and had garnered widespread praise.

Since the show had already run for a few performances, online reviews were overwhelmingly positive. Some people were even stirring the pot, comparing it to *Forest Lullaby* and claiming it was ten times better.

*Five years of work?* she thought. *Really?*

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