It started as any normal day, you prepared for your performance, you’ve done it a hundred times before. You’ve trained for years to get to dance on this stage, you get yourself in position, nervous but ready for your first performance but as the curtains open you know it very well might be your last. Pirouette is a solo horror TTRPG about a ballet dancer performing for an amorphous eldritch horror. Each move in your routine brings you closer to exhaustion, closer to that vital mistake which might just be the last you'll ever make. Played with a tarot deck and a block tower, Pirouette balances emotional prompts, rising, unforgiving tension; and the art of ballet. Dancers train for years to pirouette professionally, to gain the skill and grace you need to perform ballet, to land a Grand Jete en Tournant without incident. One wrong move can lead to severe injury - The show must go on but how long can you last? Sweat drips down your cheeks, your foot starts to ache. This routine is finite but the moment has been stretched to the infinite. The silence of this moment is deafening, drowning out the backing music. You just about make the first leap, this is where the dance becomes difficult, where you struggle the most. As you pirouette you feel a cold aching sensation in your face, any minute now your nose will start bleeding Dreading what you're about to do, you launch yourself for the second leap but you land wrong, pain shoots up to your ankle. The Audience crick their heads to the side in uniform, the shadowy silhouettes showing only their hungry maws of yellow rotted teeth bent into crooked smiles. Deep inside you know if you make one more mistake you will be devoured, absorbed into their distorted mass. You push past the pain, forcing yourself to ignore the burning in your ankle as blood drips past your lips. You feel exhausted, like you’ve been dancing for hours, your knees beginning to buckle. The routine is close to finished, one more leap and the rest is easy. You jump but your form is off, as you land you hear a hideous snap from your ankle. The Audience stands up, ready for the final ovation, their hungry eyes waiting for you to collapse. Tears pour down your face, mixing with the blood on your cheek as you fall onto the ground. You drift into unconsciousness, hearing the last sound you will ever experience, the warped applause of the malformed Audience.
