Knowing and Knowing Not.

We were raised not knowing anything about anything. And even if you did know, you would pretend that you didn't know, because you couldn't know-- you couldn't ever know. And as you grew up in the dismal grey of reality, they would watch you. They, the Keepers, would decide what you could and could not know. You couldn't know a lot, and what you did know what a small, dissatisfactory amount of nothings that were so transparent, you could see through them with the naked eye. I never understood this system, but I suppose I wasn't meant to. We were raised not knowing anything about anything.

There was a rumor that the Keepers got to know all; everything about everyone of every field in every corner of the world. To this day, I still cannot decide if this is true or not.

Growing up, we had watched the people show their skills, but we could never know anything else. Just whatever we were meant to see-- the musicians fiddling away with their various instruments, the athletes charging in their numerous sports, the dancers floating along. We could only see that finalized result. Only when the musicians had small, delicate, wiry fingers, could they perform. Only when the athletes were so muscular and gigantic and magnificently massive that they resembled a bull, could they play. Only when the dancers had long, graceful legs that seemed to go on for days, could they dance. Only their end product could be viewed by the public.

Once I had seen too much. My keeper, Elsa, and I passed the musicians court on the way to my academy lesson. Elsa had shouted, "Avert your eyes!" to me before I could see what was going on. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that I hadn't seen anything. But I had; just a glimpse, a small fraction of a second, really, but it was enough to make a lasting impression on me. What I saw was a young man, no more than 19 years of age, his face raw and ripped apart with agony as a pudgy, balding man stretched his fingers long and thin.

I was not selected to be a musician, however. Lady Lucinda, the Academy Warden, on my 15th birthday and graduation, took one look at my slightly longer than average legs and deemed me a dancer. And that was that.

My academy days were nothing special-- no different than any other child's academy life. My academy career began at the tender age of two. That year had been especially hard for me; it was my first year away from the nursery sector, and my first year away from my breeders, the ones who gave me life and kept me alive for the first two years of my existence.

I can no longer remember who they were, nor can I remember what they looked like.

But, not long after the separation, I was placed with Elsa, my Keeper. She had been my caretaker from day one. She fed me, sheltered me, helped me, and took me to and from the Academy.

The Academy: A large, monochromatic cube where all children go to learn everything. "Everything" pertains to life skills; how to talk, how to walk, what to say and when to say it, the proper way to eat a meal, how to respect your elders, proper ways of viewing the professions, basic math and english, and how to follow directions. For 13 years of your life, you go to the Academy-- 10 hours a day, 7 days a week, year-round. Your keeper did not come into the Academy with you, however. During the day, you were placed in a teaching room with 29 other children and one Warden. The Warden was who taught you right from wrong, up from down, left from right. Strict. They were strict. They are strict.

Having an abundance of friends was uncommon and frowned upon. Cadene was my first friend. We were placed in the same year three academy class. Year three was the year where it was acceptable to have friends; by acceptable, I mean that everyone gets assigned a friend-- someone to journey through the next 10 years of the academy with. Cadene was the person I was assigned to. She would be in my teaching room with me from now on.

I remember first meeting Cadene. For a five year old, she'd had a strangely mature look to her, a sort of sternness I had never seen in a child before. Her eyes were hazel-- rough, ragged, hazel. Her eyes seemed to crawl into your soul and dig through every piece of information, yearning to discover something peculiar about everyone, before finally settling on one minuscule detail. Throughout the years, this was the only thing that remained the same about her. Being born with curly, strawberry blonde hair was not what the Academy had in mind for her, so they had changed it to a deep brown color that parted at the center and fell in long waves. That was how the Academy operated. If they didn't think something about you fit, they would change it. They had left my bright blonde hair alone, but they altered my nose to be smaller and straighter, or as they called it, more elegant. I didn't know what elegance was, I was only seven at the time of the alteration.

My friendship with Cadene was something very important to me. She became a sister-- my second half. We did everything together; we would listen to the musicians, watch the athletes, admire the dancers. Cadene has always loved the dancers, I could tell they were her favorite. She glowed when we watched them, she always had, ever since we were kids.

Giggling softly, Cadene spoke, "I want to be just like them."

"Really? You already know that you want to be a dancer?" I asked, wide-eyed. It was uncommon--practically unheard of, definitely frowned upon-- to want a specific career.

She nodded once, then turned her attention back to the leaping ballerinas, watching them pirouette on their long, stiff legs. Cadene was mesmerized by their delicate moves.

"But," I protested, trying to keep my voice as low as possible, "you know that you can't know. Only Lady Lucinda can decide what you are."

"Oh Maeven, of course I know that, but how can I not want to be one of them? Just look at them, they're so beautiful."

I had just stared at her, for I was unable to speak. Yes, the ballerinas were attractive, but they were no more attractive than any other profession. The notion that the ballerinas were somehow superior to anyone else was crazy. I continued to stare at her, studying her attentive face carefully. She noticed.

"I know what you're thinking, 'Cadene, you've gone mental,' but I haven't, Maeven, I haven't," it was almost as though she was trying to convince herself more than me, "My Mother was a ballerina."

"M-Mother?" The word felt foreign on my tongue, "What's that?"

"My female breeder, you know, one half of my life source," her voice trailed off to sound like she was asking a question, but I knew that this was a statement. I was still curious, and a bit worried, as to how she knew who her "mother" was. Almost as if she could read my mind, she continued, "I just got to know her a bit after I entered the Academy, that's all. Really, it was only by accident that I got to meet her again."

I just nodded, hardly believing this new information. Cadene knew one of her breeders. That just… it was so wrong. The mere idea of it made feel sick to my stomach. I knew that I should tell someone, but Cadene would get in trouble, and I needed her. So I kept my mouth shut.

Cadene, too, had been chosen to be a dancer, though I wasn't quite sure why. She wasn't exactly a tall person; her legs were short. 'She should be an artist, she has such a keen eye for detail,' I thought to myself. But instead, she was selected as a dancer, which was fine by me-- I would get to see more of my friend.

Graduating from the Academy meant getting assigned a new keeper. I had known this day was coming, but I had shoved the thought far back in my mind. Now, the day had come, and I would have to say goodbye to Elsa, the only caretaker I'd known. Our goodbye was very formal, she had remained straight faced throughout the whole ordeal, helping me gather my various belongings, and delivering her summary of our 13 years together. I had tried to keep my emotions in check, but I mistakenly let a tear slip out. She had seen it. I braced myself for a scolding, but none came, she just wiped it away with a casual sweep of her index finger and said, "Tears are for the faint of heart, but you are strong, you must act like it." I had smiled at that, it was so like her to say that. I had given her one last hug, before walking to the transport cab and stepped in. And as the doors whirred shut, I didn't dare believe that I saw a tear fall down her cheek.

I had heard of Specialty Keepers before, we all had; they told us about them at our occupations briefing. Essentially, we were to be assigned a new keeper, but this would be someone who had studied in the same career we had been assigned. They were to help us prepare for our new lifestyle. I would be living with a dancer who was level seven. I don't know what I'd expected, but being placed with such an inconsiderate and rude keeper was not it. Ada hadn't even spoken a word before I knew how stern she was; she didn't need to, I could see it. Her eyes were black like coal and were constantly narrowed in a glare that could pierce your heart and cut your will to continue existing. She was a powerful woman who would whip you into shape. Meeting her had only made me miss Elsa more.

Cadene and I would be sharing a keeper. This was something else I hadn't expected. Two students? I was confused.

We immediately got to work. Ada watched Cadene closely, suspiciously studying her every move. I felt invisible, and I had felt that Ada cared more for Cadene and didn't worry about my success at all. I felt neglected. But still, when Ada pulled her to the side and started asking her rapid-fire questions, I was concerned. Though I couldn't hear her words, I knew it had to be serious, because Ada wasn't the type of person to stop a lesson for no reason.

That night, as we all traveled back to our house, Ada spoke up, "Maeven, you really have some potential, we just need to work on your balance a bit," she said, her exterior still as cold as ever. Cadene chuckled lightly. "As for you, Cadene, I'm curious-- you dance as though you've been doing it your whole life. You know things that normal level one dancers don't even begin to comprehend. You dance with the fluidity of a level nine dancer. How?" Ada asked, fire and heat had been rising in her voice, until she was practically shouting.

Cadene had shrunk back into the seat, eyes wide with fear. She'd opened her mouth and she seemed to want to say something, but quickly shut her mouth and remained silent.

I had woken up to noisy shuffling and loud voices. Someone sounded like they were struggling, as though they were being attacked. I was scared-- frozen stiff. Cadene. It was Cadene. She had been screaming, shouting at them, the guardsmen, to let her go, struggling to break free. I could see her from where I had sat. One of the guardsmen placed a mask over her face while the other three held her down. After a few seconds, her thrashing stopped, and she laid still on the hardwood floor.

Shakily standing up, I'd asked, "Wh-at did you-u do to her?" My composure was completely broken; I was terrified.

One guardsman turned to me, as if suddenly noticing my presence, "You are?" he questioned.

I bowed my head slightly, "Maeven Lyle, sir, level one dancer, 16 years of age, sir."

He nodded, "And what exactly are you doing here, Maeven Lyle?" I could sense him mocking me, but I had chosen to ignore it.

"I, um, I live here, sir."

"Do you know who this girl is, Maeven Lyle?"

I nodded, but before I could respond with 'Yes, I do know her, she's my best friend,' another guardsman, the one with the mask, chimed in, "Her name is Cadene Hartlann. She is the biological offspring of Henry Charles and Ondine Packatt. We have confirmed that she has spoken with Miss Ondine Packatt after their separation. One Miss Ada Lews called us earlier this evening to report suspicious talent among one of her students. We must take Cadene into custody."

I opened my mouth to protest, but the guardsman with the mask cut me off, "Your friend will not be returning, Maeven Lyle. We must take her and deal with her before secrets get unleashed. Cadene knows too much and she is now a problem." As he was saying this, the other three guardsmen lifted Cadene and started carrying her off. I had made a move to follow them, but the guardsman held his arm out and stopped me, "She was meeting with her Mother, she knows too much, I'm sorry," and with a swift motion, he placed the mask on my face and gassed me. I'd fallen to the floor and watched his boots briskly walk from the darkened room.

I would not see Cadene again. I knew this. I remember a conversation I'd had with her not too long before the guardsmen "visit".

"Cadene?" I ask, my voice soft in an attempt to keep this a secret.

"Yeah?" she doesn't really pay me any attention as she scratches a fine design into the table with her fingernail.

"You met your mother, right?"

As soon as I say this, she stops what she's doing and looks at me, "Yeah, why?"

"Well," I start, afraid to continue my question. I do anyway, "What happened to her?"

Cadene stiffens. She doesn't respond. She doesn't move.

I continue speaking quickly, "Um, I mean, you don't have to answer if you don't want, it was just a silly question… that's all…" my voice trails off.

The voice that comes out of her next isn't her voice, but the voice of someone 1000 years old, someone who has seen all and can stick around to tell the tale. Her hazel eyes shift back and forth as she begins to speak, "They killed her."

"Who?"

"Guardsmen. Lots of them. She'd revealed too much, she had to be punished. I was really young at the time, so they assumed I'd never retain the knowledge bestowed upon me by her, but they were wrong. I remembered every detail, just to spite them. I remember her screaming, pleading to let her go, and then begging them to leave me alone. The worst part wasn't hearing her pleas, nor was it seeing them attack her. I had to listen as they pulled her to the truck and kill her. I'll never forget the sound that knife made as it cut her. The guardsmen just laughed. They just laughed."

I thought of Elsa's words. "Tears are for the faint of heart, but you are strong, you must act like it." I could not cry over this. No. Crying would not bring Cadene back, nothing would. I had to be strong. But its so hard when all I want to do is curl up in a ball and scream.

Life went on as though nothing had happened. I'd asked Ada where Cadene went, but she'd looked at me blankly and asked, "Who?" I decided that it was better to let it go. Forcing the issue could have landed me in trouble as well.

I danced. The years passed, and I just danced. I danced for Cadene, I danced for Ondine, I danced for the mother I couldn't remember, I danced for Elsa. Hell, there were some days I danced for Ada. I danced because it was all I had left. And suddenly, there I was, a level seven dancer. Performance level. Alteration level. Only when the dancers had long, graceful legs that seemed to go on for days, could they dance. Only their end product could be viewed by the public. I'd approached the surgery room cautiously. The knot in the pit of my stomach had pulsed with a dull ache. I knew what was going to happen. I knew there was no going back. I knew I had to do it. I had to do this for everyone who didn't get the chance to-- my unknown mother, Elsa, Ondine, Ada, Cadene. I had been doing this especially for Cadene, who'd wanted this so badly that she went against the rules to devote her life to it. Yes, I had been doing this for her. The dull ache at the pit of my stomach was nothing compared to her pain. Nothing compared to what she had lost. Everything. Squaring my shoulders, I'd walked right into the room-- no turning back.

The room was darker than I'd expected it to be. And dirty, too. There were two five-foot-long wooden posts-- I knew what those would be for. Something slightly shiny caught my eye, and I stared down each surgical instrument. I'd noticed how dirty they were. There weren't very many, though, and they were all large tools. My brow furrowed in confusion as the Surgeon entered the room. He was stumpy, and that was putting it lightly. But then I noticed his hands. He didn't have fingers. Instead, there was a different surgical hand tool where each finger would be. That explained the lack of small surgical instruments laying out on the table. The man didn't say anything, he just motioned toward a short, wooden, bloodstained table in the center of the room. The surgery table. I could feel myself shaking, and I knew that he could see it too, but I didn't care. I was scared. I looked back toward the wooden posts, knowing exactly where those would be in ten minutes, and remembered when Cadene told me about them.

"When you reach a certain level in dance, they alter you," Cadene explained grimly.

This piqued my interest. We had already been altered once, what could be so bad about this one? I cocked my head, not quite understanding, "Alter you how?"

"Remember all those times we'd watch the ballerinas?"

"Yeah.." I did remember. How could I forget? It was our favorite activity to do together.

"You saw how long their legs were. Those aren't natural. Legs don't grow that long and thin," her face was pale, but she was still buzzing with a bit of excitement.

"What do you mean?"

Her excitement slowly left her face as she thought of a proper way to explain it. Her skin turned a ghostly pale color as she swallowed hard. "Wooden posts," she started, "It's a surgical process involving wooden posts. They use posts that are about as tall as you are. They detach your feet from your legs, creating a flat area to attach the posts. They make sure all of the nerves are taken care of so you can still feel and move, and they attach the posts to the bone and muscle in your legs."

My eyes were wide with fear as she continued to speak.

"The muscle will cover part of the posts, but your leg muscle won't stretch to 5-feet-long, so eventually it's just post. They realize how ugly this looks, so they add some fatty-type substance to the posts to give the legs a bit of mass, but not much. Slender legs are still the most beautiful. But this next part is the worst. They take your skin and coat it in a blue milky liquid. It makes the skin real stretchy. Stretchy enough to travel 5 feet down a wooden post and cover it. They use some sort of sealing liquid to get the skin to stay attached to the bottom of the post. But the blue milky liquid eventually dries, and your skin will want to go back to its original form. Unbearable pain. It's all unbearable pain. Most dancers pass out or die from the pain. And the others… the others chicken out before the surgery, and choose to become keepers instead." Her voice had become very firm. She had a purpose, I could tell.

"Cadene, you want to be one of the few dancers to endure the pain and dance to prove it, don't you?" I asked. I honestly was hoping she'd say no, hoping that she wouldn't be crazy enough to put herself through that. It was insane.

"I don't just want it, it will happen. Just watch. Someday, you're going to see me on stage, and say 'That's my best friend up there,'."

I couldn't help but smile at that. She always knew what to say to alleviate the tension.

The Surgeon was about to cut into my right leg, when the door was kicked in. I jumped back in surprise. Four guardsmen ran in and circled the table. I sat up just a bit, just enough to get a better look at them. One was familiar.

"Maeven Lyle." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, but I nodded anyway. "You are being taken into custody."

The guardsman with the mask. The one who took Cadene. It was the same man. He almost seemed disappointed. He seemed like he didn't want to take me into custody. We both knew what custody meant. It was a black hole. Inescapable. I made no move to protest, so they made no move to restrain me. Gently, the guardsman with the mask took my arm and led me out of the dark surgery room. I was doing this for Cadene. Everything I did, I did it for Cadene. Dancing was for her passion, this was for her knowledge.

We were raised not knowing anything about anything. And even if you did know, you would pretend that you didn't know, because you couldn't know-- you couldn't ever know. And as you grew up in the dismal grey of reality, everyone would watch you. They all knew what you could and could not know. You couldn't know a lot, and what you did know what a small, dissatisfactory amount of nothings that were so transparent, you could see through them with the naked eye. I understood this system, but I was still foolish enough to break it. We were raised not knowing anything about anything.