The dance is many things to her: escape, pleasure, craft. She can spend hours perfecting a small twist of the fingers to better capture the wistful flutter of a blossom past its prime floating to the ground, and others, her very spine is so off center that every move she makes is misaligned. The gisaeng meet her dedication with a mixture of admiration and resentment and confusion; they all have their own escapes, and for some, the limits of their livelihood is reason enough to never give themselves fully to anything. Jin-Yi understands but cannot do the same, and on some rare days, she dances not thinking of the curve of arm or even the emotion the piece is meant to convey. Everything drops away—friendships and lovers and fear of the future, artistic philosophy and the quest for beauty, the bright things of the world along with the ugly, until all that is left is the music and the steps.