When I go on stage in high heels, everything inside me burns with the thirst to be desired. Every movement is like touching without touching, every rocking of my hips is a promise that I make to the viewer without saying a word. My heels click on the floor, and with every step I take, I feel their gaze clinging to the curves of my body, as if they want to hold me back, stop time. Dance becomes a game on the edge: I control the rhythm, but I actually control them — their breathing, their pulse, their fantasies. My back arches, my hand slides over my hip, and the room gets hotter than under the spotlight. I feel like I'm getting caught up in this tension myself—between what I can and what I want. Dancing in heels is not just a movement, it is a seduction in which both the dancer and those who dare to watch dissolve.