Before her entrance, there is a box of Greek pitch waiting for her. She rubs it on the tips of her ballet shoes. In the wings, poised, she waits for the signal of the orchestra to make her entrance. Something indescribable fills her body. Then she leaves everything behind her and takes flight. The perfume of the resin is mixed with lacquer, leather and powder. A sublime Iris inebriates the air. Under the moon, satin and tulle merge with skin, and an ethereal White Swan dances on the shore of a lake. Her arms are soft and sinuous wings. The curve of her shoulders gives off a sensuality imbued with gentleness. Her legs, a veil of Rose. When she becomes the Black Swan, passion burns inside her. For 32 times, she pirouettes, suspended by a thread. Pure seduction, the Ballerina soars lightly over the stage of the Bolshoi.