Arabella? Arabella! Jesus, trapped in this little hospital room with a sprained left foot, when just yesterday you were dazzling audiences with your breathtaking pirouettes and astonishing grande jetes! How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? Don’t worry, you’ll be back out there in no time, just give that stupid little thing a couple weeks to heal and you’ll be good as new!
What? Of course you’ll be on that stage again! This isn’t over, Arabella! It can’t be!
Think how far you’ve come! Remember growing up together in the slums, waiting for mother to come home from dead-end job after dead-end job? Remember standing outside the New York City Ballet in the dead of winter, just hoping for a glimpse of the beauty inside? And you did it, Arabella! You live that beauty! You’ve got talent that most dancers only dream of.